The Writers' Block Anthology

The Fae

 When it came to gambling, Clyde was the unluckiest man alive but that didn't stop him from coming to the saloon every night to get drunk and bet everything he had. It was a night like any other. The band was in full swing, barrels of beer were served by the pint, and every lucky-feeling man was trying his luck at poker.

Clyde, who was about mid-twenties with sandy hair and hazel eyes, found himself at a table with three older leather clad men with varying beard styles. All well into their third pint of beer about ready for a fourth and who seemed friendly with one another. He was an outsider.

"Well," began the man sitting to Clyde's left with a full beard and handlebar mustache, "I'll deal first. Everyone, throw somethin' into the pot."

The man to Clyde's right grunted, "Alright, Roy, I'll let you deal, but don't try nothing fishy."

Roy grinned, "I'd do no such thing."

"I mean it, Roy. I'll put a bullet through that thick skull of yours."

The man next to Roy, at the end of the table, scoffed, "Oh, quiet down, Wyatt. You ain't putting a bullet through nobody." He turned to Clyde. "Hey, kid. What's your name?"

"Clyde," Clyde answered.

"Well, Clyde. That sticky fingers, there, is Roy," the man said, pointing to the man to Clyde's left, "that idiot, there, is Wyatt," the man pointed to the man on Clyde's right, "And I," he pointed to himself, "well, you can call me Silas."

"Nice to meet you, gentlemen," Clyde replied with a weary nod, keeping his head down.

"You're a meek looking one aren't ya," Roy laughed. "Here, boy, sit up. You're playing poker, at least try to have a poker face."

Clyde gave a nervous chuckle and sat up just enough to take a long sip of his beer. These men knew each other and seemingly pretty well. They could easily strip him of everything he had and if, by the off chance, he won they could easily get back all his winnings once out of the saloon. Three on one is not good odds.

Roy dealt out their cards. Wyatt looked at him wearily, "You did shuffle these, right?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Wyatt, just play the damn game. Put somethin' in the pot."

With that, they played several rounds but Clyde didn't win a single one. If he couldn't cough up anything else to put in the pot after this round then he'd be out with nothing left to bet. He sighed as Wyatt dealt out the cards this time.

"Is there room for one more in this game?" A man slipped into the seat diagonal from Clyde, to the right of Wyatt. He was a pretty-boy with very pointed features. He had a sly smirk and sharp eyes that reminded Clyde of a rattlesnake.

Roy laughed, "You bettin' with your daddy's money?"

The man chuckled and reached into his jacket, putting a title deed and a banknote into the pot. "I've got more," he said, "if you'll let me play."

The three men looked at each other with a certain sparkle in their eyes, they saw profit while Clyde saw trouble. This man, whoever he was, looked very wealthy. He was dressed in his Sunday best, adorned in precious jewels. He had everything to lose and could gain very little from betting with four commoners.

"Yeah, we'll let you play," Wyatt said with a smirk, glancing at Roy and Silas respectively.

The man grinned and said, "Good luck, gentlemen, everything you have will be mine."

With that, the rounds of poker began. Roy, Wyatt, and Silas all won rounds, Clyde bet his last but the last few coins, and Pretty-boy sat smug in his chair while Roy talked smack.

"You were so confident!" Roy laughed. "But you're just a brat gambling your way through your daddy's money. What's your name?"

Pretty-boy smirked. He leaned forward, and answered, "You may have won your game of luck, human, but I have your everything."

"My everything?" Roy snickered. "I'm the one that has all your daddy's land. You're left with nothing."

Silas and Wyatt shared a look, shifting uncomfortably. Clyde, who was keeping his head low, looked up when he realized Pretty-boy was looking at him.

"Clyde," he said. "You are one lucky man."

Clyde felt his heart stop. There was something in this man's eyes . . . something dark. Silas cleared his throat, seemingly along the same train of thought. "I think we ought to leave now."

"Oh, no, Silas," Pretty-boy said. "You may not leave. Sit."

As Silas started to stand, he slammed back down in his seat and almost fell out of it. "Ow! Damn it!"

"Silas!" Wyatt shouted. He turned to the wealthy man, still sitting smug in his chair. "Who are you? What did you do to him?"

"Him? Try all three of you, except for Clyde, of course. He may not be lucky in your world but he is in mine," Pretty-boy chuckled. "I am what you call a Fae. When you three won my bets, you took my gifts. Your souls are now mine."

Before anyone else could react, Roy ran from the table to the front of the saloon. The Fae let out a guttural laugh, leaning back in his seat. He reached out with his hand toward Roy and made a clawing motion back to him. Roy slipped and fell face first into the floor with a cry, slowly being dragged back to the table by an invisible force.

The Fae snapped his fingers and Roy, Wyatt, and Silas disappeared along with all of the items the Fae had bet with. He looked at Clyde, motioning to the table where the rest of the winnings lay.

"As I said, Clyde, you are one lucky man," he said, snapping his fingers and vanishing with a flash.

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Eternally Yours,

~ Phoenix