The Work o' the Devil (525 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesLabels: fiction
Rating: 1.91 on 22 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Flash Harry (View user info) at 2008-05-08 06:48:45 EDT
I cursed silently as the keys dropped from my hand, landing with a quiet tinkle on the doorstep. For a second I paused, in swaying stillness, before stooping over to grab them again. It took all my hand-eye co-ordination to pluck them from the cold ground, and I staggered, as I stood upright. Drunk, late and noisy are sins on their own, in my father's mind; combined they amount to unforgivable blasphemy.
I finally stabbed the key into the slit, after several misguided attempts. The door creaked horribly as I opened it and stepped through into the hallway, cringing at the thumps my clumsy feet made on the floorboards and recoiling at the crunching of the lock as I turned the key again. I slipped my shoes off and listened.
Silence. Blissful, reassuring silence. Now all I had to do was make some food and get into bed, and all would be well.
I stepped into the dark living room, relaxing at the texture of the rug underfoot. I ran my hand along the wall, searching out the light switch, when a gentle cough brought me to a shuddering halt.
"Where the devil have you been to this hour?" whispered my father's voice from the shadows. "Turn the bloody light on, you drunken scoundrel, and look yer father in the face!"
With trembling fingers I found the switch, and the room was filled with light. There he sat, in his chair, his mouth set in hard defiance and his brow knitted with menace.
"Get your filthy hand off my wall, boy," he gently growled. "How many times must I tell ye? Look at the state o' it!"
I dropped my hand by my side, and looked at the wall. Around the light switch the wallpaper was dark, and grubby. The result of years of my sliding hands feeling the button out.
I looked back to my father. He sat in his chair like a Viking god on a throne. His head was utterly hairless, glowing in the harsh light from the bulb. His face was fierce, and round, with an unruly, bristling beard bursting out from his chin and crawling down his meaty chest. When he was younger this beard was a fearsome shade of black, almost blue when the light caught it, but over time it had dulled, with flecks of silver dancing through the wiry strands.
He eased himself out of the chair, grunting with the effort, wheezing from his blackened lungs, his joints crunching under the girth. I felt like a rabbit in the headlights as he fixed me with that look; the mad stare that froze my blood and turned my stomach. My father's cavernous nostrils flared, a giveaway sign that he was in a fightin' mood. He casually tipped the last drops of whisky from his tumbler, and set the empty vessel down on the table, next to the sparse bottle.
"Now, son," he said with a friendly lilt. "Are ye gonna tell yer old man where ye've been 'til this ungodly hour?"
I stared at the floor, trying desperately to hide my drunkenness. I feared I would wobble, in voice or in balance, and betray my sin.
"I was at Abel's, father. We were playing cards." As soon as I said the word, I regretted it. His eyes widened considerably, and he drew a wet, pink tongue along his bottom lip.
"Cards?" he seethed. "Gamblin'?! Oh, you have brought a shame upon this house!" he roared, pointing a fat, grubby finger in my direction. He turned his head upwards and muttered a silent prayer.
I wondered if he was begging forgiveness for the beating he was about to give his first-born son, and slinked into a chair, cursing my candid mouth.
My father closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Well, now. It is not as though I did not flirt with stupidity when I were a young 'un. I ought to remember you are but a lamb, and lambs can act like daft wee cunts in the absence o' the shepherd."
Such an attitude, and such language, took me by surprise. I wondered if my father was mellowing in old age, as his stomach expanded and his nasal hair accelerated.
"So ye were playin' cards. Ye'll repent, of course, and I'll confess to failin' ye as a father." I nodded and muttered something about humble gratitude. The great bear sat back comfortably in his chair, and regarded me through those inquisitive eyes, which questioned without words.
"I'm sorry I'm late," I offered, since I could see he wanted a deeper narrative. "But there was a bit of an argument about the last hand that kept me back."
One of my father's shaggy eyebrows twitched upwards with interest; 'go on', he was telling me.
"Abel was dealing, as he was the host, and he'd been having a great run of luck all night. I wouldn't accuse him of fiddling at all, for he's not got the mind for it. You've always told me that 'ye can beat a good player, but ye canna beat a lucky player', and so it was proving."
My father nodded his approval, and poured another glass of golden whisky. "On the last hand I stayed in 'til the flop," I continued. "But when that came out I decided to fold there and then. I had been dealt a Queen and a Two, and the cards didn't run kindly. I've come away with a small profit, mind, so I didn't feel hard done by. James folded at this point too; he'd taken a right humping and didn't fancy his chances at the last, it seemed. So that left Abel, Baxter and Chester interested, and each had a keen glint in their eye.
"Now, the flop had come out wi' an Ace, a King and a Three, I should tell you. Well, when they saw this they all hummed and hawed and rubbed their heads, but I had no doubt they would place handsome wagers, and so it proved. Another card was turned over, by Abel mind, and it was another Three. I noticed Baxter's eyes shine at this, though his lips and his hands remained straight and steady.
Well, in this round o' wagering the chips went down even more keenly than before, wi' Baxter leading it from the rear, calling and raising like a serpent. Then Abel burned one and flipped over the River card, and to Hell if it wasn't another Ace."
"We'll do without the blasphemy, thanke'e," interrupted my father. I could see his interest had been piqued by my story, and as I apologised we waved his shovel of a hand at me to continue.
"So in the Flop they've all got pairs o' Threes and Aces, and its anyone's guess what's in their hand. It didn't take an astute fellow to tell they were all twitching wi' excitement, but they performed admirably to hide their glee. The bettin' went higher an' higher, and I don't mind saying that James and I shared a few glances of relief, and worry. Then, a disagreement broke out: Abel had re-raised already, Baxter said, and couldn't lift his stake any higher. Abel asked if was nervous, or just being ill-mannered to the host.
Well, these cold words brought a sinister gloom over the table. Baxter minded his lip and remarked that if Abel wanted to raise again, and Chester didn't mind, then he wouldn't grudge it; so we had another round of calling and bantering, and before long the pile was larger than all our previous pots put together. 'Alright then, lads,' I finally called. 'Let's see these hands o' yours, and if they've been worthy of your money and your manners.'"
"An' what did they have?" asked my father, sitting forward eagerly, stroking his great beard.
"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it," I said with a shake of my head. "Abel, the host, turned over first. He'd an Ace in his hand, an' wi the two on the table three Aces looked like a tight bunch to beat. Chester furrowed his brow and paused for a second, before showing his: he'd only been dealt pocket Kings, hadn't he? And wi' the King in the flop that gave him three o' them, as well."
My father began shaking his thick head in wonder. "An' the other lad?" he asked. "What did Baxter hold?"
"That's the beauty o' it. He'd a Three; or three Threes, what wi' the pair in the flop. I'd never seen anything like it, and hell if I could figure out who should take the pot. We all sat and stared at the cards in wonder for a moment, before the shouting began. I've never seen fury an' righteousness mixed together quite like it."
My father held his considerable belly and leaned back, chuckling heartily. "Of all the hands! What are the chances? So they're sittin' there wi' Threes, Aces and Kings, three apiece? Haw-haw-haw-haw!"
Just at that moment, as he bellowed out, a distinctive creak was heard from upstairs. My father froze on the spot, his voice cut silent. His eyes widened and his cheeks blushed with infuriated crimson.
"Do you see what you've done, you little swine?" he hissed. I instinctively grabbed the arms of the chair, holding on in case he swung out at me. His mood had swayed back to that potent rage he had first greeted me with.
"Do you realise what you've done, coming in at this hour?!" Flecks of spit sprayed from his wet lips as he cocked his ears and listened. Footsteps, loud but slow, could be heard on the stairs.
"You'll burn in Hell for this, you heathen peasant!" roared my father, as I cowered, and as he leapt from his chair with astonishing guile and searched for somewhere to hide the near-empty whisky bottle.
"Oh, hello son," came a frail voice from the darkness of the hallway, before my grandfather stepped out to join us. Time had shrivelled his body as well as his skin, but his eyes still shone keenly and his thick, white beard betrayed his proud, defiant demeanour. He gave me a friendly wink, and then turned to my father.
"You," he pointed an accusing finger. "What in the name o' the Heavens are you roaring about down here, eh? Wakin' me up and half the bloody street, too, no doubt. A man o' your age bullying a wee boy - why don't ye pick on someone yer ain size for once?!"
My grandpa's face twisted in a vile grimace, and he took a stop towards his own son, hand raised. My father covered his face with a yell which was more 'handbag' than 'hardman'.
A smile crept slowly across my grandpa's face. "Grow up, ye big Jessie," he scolded, before turning to me. "What are you doing up so late, junior?"
Embiggened by the sight of my father being told off, I recited the tale of the poker hands to my grandpa, who grinned and chuckled and poured himself a whisky. He sipped at it thoughtfully, interrupting with soft questions, until he had heard the full story.
At the end, he sat back and tugged at his beard. "Well, its obvious, ain't it? The lad Baxter won; ye cannae beat three Threes."
"Aw, come on!" argued my father. "Surely three Aces should take the pot, bein' the highest value. Ace over Three any day o' the week, everybody knows that."
"Apart from when ye've got the amount o' the value. I'm tellin' ye, had I been there, Baxter would've won. Who took the hand, then, son?"
"Well, we didn't really know what to do, and James and myself were keen to get home, so we suggested they split the pot," I replied.
"Split it?!" roared grandpa. "Of all the crazy things - ugh, whit lunacy! That poor bugger Baxter has a right to feel mightily aggrieved, I reckon."
My father disagreed, however, maintaining that the host, Abel, should've won with his three Aces. A simmering scowl grew on both of their faces, and before I could interject they stood nose to nose, fists clenches, prepared to argue their case to the hilt.
My grandpa lifted his gnarled knuckles, ready to deliver his point with real force, when all of a sudden deathly silence fell over the room. The pair stopped yelling, and a pale, timid pallor fell over their lips. Another creak had been heard from upstairs, followed my gently, dainty footsteps in the stairwell.
"Shit..." muttered father.
"Oh, please Lord, no..." echoed grandpa.
The door swung open, and in walked grandma. Her sensible nightgown contrasted wildly with the boisterous men in the middle of the room, who had come so close to blows.
"Hello, dear," she said to me sweetly. When she turned her gaze to my grandpa, her eyes burned with an inimitable fury.
"Jesus, its like staring into the blazing gates of hell..." whispered the old man.
"Go to bed, son, for the love of God..." muttered my father, as he took a step back and trembled with fear.
User Reviews
Submitted by loveinbrevity (user info) at 2008-07-21 11:19:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by maf54 (user info) at 2008-05-15 07:05:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
I must have not understood this.
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-05-09 10:30:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
" and as I apologised we waved his shovel of a hand at me to continue. "
ahem.
God I'm anal retentive today.
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-05-09 10:27:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
do rabbits get frozen in headlights? I thought that was deer.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-05-09 04:01:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Typos...damn, I can't even see any!
My proof-reading skills are woeful...
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-05-09 03:36:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-05-08 19:52:48 BST (#)
Ranking: 2
That was good. Really good.
Kill the typos next time, a quick spell check and once-over would do it right.
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Haha typos.
That is gonna spoil your morning coffee, FJ :)
Submitted by Average_Dan (user info) at 2008-05-09 01:47:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by spyder882001 (user info) at 2008-05-09 00:06:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
damn thats good
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-05-08 14:52:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
That was good. Really good.
Kill the typos next time, a quick spell check and once-over would do it right.
Submitted by SmirkDog (user info) at 2008-05-08 14:14:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Nicely done.
For authenticity's sake:
Abel's Hole Cards: A x
Baxter's Hole Cards: 3 x
Chester's Hole Cards: K K
Flop: A K 3
Turn: 3
River: A
(A K 3 3 A)
Abel's Hand: A A A 3 3 (Aces full of 3's)
Baxter's Hand: 3 3 3 A A (3's full of Aces)
Chester's Hand: K K K 3 3 (Kings full of 3's)
Each player has a full house, but Abel has the best full house.
Sincerely,
Smirkdog
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2008-05-08 13:05:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-05-08 12:47:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by theBarron (user info) at 2008-05-08 09:36:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I AM MORE EVIL THAN THE DEVIL, FUCK YOU!
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-05-08 07:37:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
That brought me straight back to my mothers house. Stone cold sober, taking every care you could possibly imagine, you can not get in that house without waking her. It took me quite a while to realise she would lie awake just so she knew exactly what time I came in at so she could yell at me about it.
I still fall silent if I walk past her house after 9pm at night incase she hears my voice and thats when I'm staying in a b&b.
===========================
I remember getting in late and tip-toeing about trying not to wake anyone up, and hugging the microwave to try and silence it as I made some munchies. Then crapping myself when it beep-beeped. And holding my dog's mouth closed so she wouldn't bark when I got in.
Submitted by LittleMonster (user info) at 2008-05-08 07:34:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
brilliant! Wonderfully brilliant!
"Drunk, late and noisy are sins on their own, in my father's mind; combined they amount to unforgivable blasphemy."
That brought me straight back to my mothers house. Stone cold sober, taking every care you could possibly imagine, you can not get in that house without waking her. It took me quite a while to realise she would lie awake just so she knew exactly what time I came in at so she could yell at me about it.
I still fall silent if I walk past her house after 9pm at night incase she hears my voice and thats when I'm staying in a b&b.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2008-05-08 07:28:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-05-08 21:27:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I threw embiggened in for shits and giggles, really.
No, I think there really is something with the three 3's. High card doesn't count if you have the quantity of the value, or something. Four 4's would beat four Aces, I have been told.
I was kind of hoping someone would know the rules well enough to clarify for me.
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I'm almost positive that three 3's is nothing more or less than 3 of a kind. 3 Aces beats it.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-05-08 07:27:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I threw embiggened in for shits and giggles, really.
No, I think there really is something with the three 3's. High card doesn't count if you have the quantity of the value, or something. Four 4's would beat four Aces, I have been told.
I was kind of hoping someone would know the rules well enough to clarify for me.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2008-05-08 07:23:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Incidently, wouldn't it just be aces high and that'd be that? Like, if I had a pair of 8's and you had a pair of jacks then you'd win, sort of thing?
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2008-05-08 07:23:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Embiggened isn't a word as well, no matter what The Simpsons may have led you to believe.
Brilliant story though, fo' shizzle.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-05-08 07:11:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Because its MY story Berty and I can pick whatever words I like!
*picks up ball and runs away, sobbing*
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2008-05-08 07:07:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"There he sat, in his chair, his mouth set in hard defiance..."
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Why does his face need to be set in 'defiance'? I think that gives the wrong impression of his role in this story. You could have just said he was "stony faced" or that "his eyes stared out from his crumpled features in an expression of menace" or something.
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2008-05-08 07:05:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Cool. Though sometimes I thought the guys were Irish, and sometimes Scottish. Good yarn though, and I fucking hate poker, unless it's late night on Channel 4 and I'm drunk and it confuses me to sleep.