Dice, Drink, and Ghosts.
A story of the ‘Forgotten tales’ Collection
by Jake Murphy
Copyright 2012 Jake Murphy
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Dice, Drink, and Ghosts.

It is a barely describable thing, to feel what a gambler feels. A man of gambling cares not, not really, for shiny jewels or sparkling riches. He is a man of sentiment. He is a man who does not want, but longs to feel. 
Do you see? It is not the amount he wages nor the odds he plays, it is what he feels as the wheel turns, as the ball spins, as the dice fall. 
''Alea iacta est'' -The die is cast-, uttered the first and greatest of the Caesars, as he crossed the forbidden river to conquer the world against all rational counsel. That feeling, which he felt whilst crossing the line, that forbidden limit, that is what all gamblers and swindlers wish to feel. 
Listen attentively, passer-by, for I was such a man, a man of excessive waging, who longed to feel that which all gamblers seek out within their addiction. I sat there, night after night, playing the dice in taverns, brothels and docks. The money and dice would be set on a barrel, and we'd play all night, sipping rum, whiskey and mead until the coins were no more. Such was the life of the gambler: he played, he felt, whether in rejoicing or disappearing, he feels. Men go on their whole lives feeling naught, only resolving to stay alive, accumulating dust in their veins and wrinkles upon their features. But not men such as me, for we will feel, drink, sing, laugh, and cry.
I sat there one night, drink clouding my sight and loud voices interrupting my thoughts. I sat there, before the barrel. I saw the die cast by my opponent, and there they flew, through the air, such a marvellous sight, such an amazing sensation. The heart stops, time itself ceases for one magical moment. All turns to stillness and darkness, until there is nothing in the world but those two dice and the barrel they are to land on. They seem to take forever to land upon the wooden surface. 
Seven. 
My opponent roared. I buried my face in my shaking hands; the wager had been lost. I asked for more mead and turned to my victorious opponent, begging for one more bet. Everyone listened to my request and laughed until they grew tired of it and left the tavern. I was served more ale and I drank to make my pain disappear. 
Then I wandered the streets of London a while, my drunken mind leading me to no particular place. I saw other wretched men like me, wandering and hallucinating and talking aloud. Lord, what an England Charles' reign had become. Mud, violence, rape, and drink, all out in the open. The Lord Protector was long dead and so were his prohibitions, and now excesses ran freely, unchecked, unchallenged by the law. There was no self-control, no path, and no objective. 
I looked down to find the dice in my hand, and a bottle of drink in the other. I took a gulp of some excellent and potent stuff, and fell to the ground, in the gutter. 

I awoke in a dimly lit room unable to tell where I was or who had taken me there. I collected myself, and saw nothing but people, shouting and urging me to take on the dice. I shook my head clear and grabbed the dice and threw them onto the table, out of pure impulse. Neither wage nor bet had been made, I thought, so who cared?
The dice cast seven, my unlucky number from before, and a filthy wench who sat beside me shouted triumphantly, hugging and kissing me as the rest of the crowd applauded. I had won.
Won what, you ask? I was not sure, but was immediately enlightened as a huge bag of gold was thrust upon the barrel. 
Money!
I got up and shook myself completely awake, and was handed a bottle of rum and all those around toasted to my success. This was astonishing. I had no knowledge of where I was, who these people were, or who I had gambled against, but it was astonishing none the less. 
The drinking and laughing lasted a while, then ended with the challenge of a new bet, another, and then another. The group grew louder and louder, more money was accumulated, subsequently lost, won back again, and so on. On and on it went, until I had but one golden coin remaining. My opponent, a tall, pale elderly chap -a gambler, like myself- leaned forward and looked straight into my eyes. A bead of sweat ran down my back.
''Wager!'' roared my opponent ''I must have that last coin!''
All of a sudden I was overcome with fatigue and annoyance. My head swirled and span, and I felt my insides complain, refusing the hideous drink I had submitted it to during this day. I leaned over the side of the barrel and expelled my drink onto the floor, instantly feeling worse, almost dead. 
Death... now that was something truly attractive enough to wish for in the state I was in. ''Oh yes... death, take me now!'' I wished. I wished it over and over again, but death would not come, I was trapped in the ever-growing misery that was my state. 
''Wager!'' bellowed my opponent, eager to have his hand on my last gold coin. 
I looked around at the group that had formed; it was a group one would expect to have gathered in an exciting round of gambling: greasy, dirty serving wenches, fat drunken sailors and powdered, yet reeking aristocrats and poets, all gathered to see the spectacle that had become my losing streak.
''Wager!'' all cried out.
I lifted myself up with difficulty, and grabbed my coin. I coughed, wiped my mouth and spoke to the crowd:
‘‘A wager? For this little coin? Oh what am I to gain, another coin? Nay, I wish for more, my friends, I will not feel enough excitement for a paltry coin, sirs! I need more to feel, more to care! I must live life this way! I must have more on the table!'' I knew not from whence these people or the money, barrel, nor mead had come, but anywhere in the world, anyone I gamble with, my philosophy must stand true. 
My opponent was taken aback. He would not wager more than he would get, but a smile appeared on his face, as an idea took shape in his mind. He put it to me:
''Very well sir. I long for that coin more than anything else on Earth. I crave it, just as you crave to live and feel the joy of the bet. I want it, as if it were your very soul and I the devil... So be it sir! Let us gamble in a proper manner, like all good men should, and fairly! I will not put down some more coins to offer you excitement (but who would, I ask? There is nothing in it for me...), but I put it to you sir, that ALL my coins be on the table! And on your side of the bargain, be your own hand!''
The tavern exploded with excitement, a multitude had now gathered to see if I would accept. A wager 'of the flesh', had not been heard of in a while.
At first I hesitated, knowing what would happen if I lost, but I could not refuse. Oh, the excitement! Oh, to wager so much, to gain so many coins! I'd feel everything! I'd be everything I the gambler has ever hoped to be!
I drew my knife and threw it on the table. ''A wager we shall have! But I beg of you one thing, dear sir. I wish this game to be a card game, not dice. Cards are more exact, more numerical. A single game of cards, I plead, and you shall have your wager!''
''Very well!'' replied my opponent, ''He who draws the highest card shall win!''
There was a murmur of excitement as we abandoned the barrel and sat at a nearby table, as proper men do when at cards. ''Deal the cards!'' I shouted.
My opponent dealt five cards each, and we both looked our cards. 
He began by slamming down his first card: ''a six!''
I smiled and challenged ''an eight!''
The crowd was cheering now, all placing wagers amongst themselves to be part of our great quest for that gambling blissful feeling.
''Ten!'' roared my opponent.
I could begin to feel it now, that tingle in the heart, that wondrous feeling one gets when one stands to win everything, at the cost of losing more than just money. I could not stop now...
''Jack!''
''Queen!'' The crowd on my opponent's side roared and applauded, but I was not yet done:
''King!''
That was it, I had him. Oh God, how I roared with delight! How my people screamed with pleasure, how we meant what we stood for. Winners and losers, we felt our insides explode, our feelings out in the open... all except my opponent, who was smiling back.
''Jester! The high hand! HA!
My heart sank. I had forgotten that wretched card with no number, no identity. The secret card. It could be whatever the player wanted it to be, and if need be, higher than queen, king or Ace. I crumbled onto the floor, I felt faint, weak, and distraught. Too many things at once, you say? Not here, not at a gambling table, there was no such thing as ‘too much’. I felt everything. I felt nothing.
''Hand, hand, hand!'' clapped the entire audience. Was this truly happening to me? Was I about to lose my hand? I had to, as per the norm. I thought of resisting, but I'd not the ability to run away, I was far too intoxicated by drink. I had to do it myself, or suffer as someone else does it in a more painful manner.
I took the knife with a trembling hand.
''Hand, hand, hand!'' continued the mob, ''His hand or his life!''
I screwed my eyes shut, and thrust the knife into my wrist.
I screamed. There was no pain, no greater one than this that a person may endure. The pain was uncontrollable. I had hoped to save mine own life by honouring the wager, but as my hand left my arm, all I could think of was to die. Death! Come back to me! Kill me now, or suffer thy slave to live through this pain!
I could no longer see, no longer smell, touch, breath, or live. But neither could I die. I was trapped in a delirious state between two worlds, that of the living, and that of the departed. My pain was indescribable; words are unworthy to depict what I felt, only feelings; the feel of extreme and unforgiving pain. Let those who have suffered as much know what I went through that night, and let those who do not, place a wager and see for themselves, for I cannot explain with words what I felt that night. 
I tried to look around one more time, seeing glimpses of the crowd I had gambled along with, and saw them laughing and pointing at me. But something was wrong; I could see them, but not all of them. There was something about them not quite human. They were somewhat transparent, glowing, like ghosts...
Ghosts! I attempted to swallow my pain and look up to the crowd once more, but it was no use. I let out one last hollow scream and lost consciousness.

I awoke the next morning, feeling sick and hung-over. The sun shone on my face, and I was at first unable to open my eyes, for the brightness of the sun was worse than the darkest scariest night.
I could still see nothing at all, but I sighed in relief at the fact that the ghosts had gone. I attempted to get up, but could not move. I was paralyzed with pain, all over my body, as though the shock of drink had forced my body to an eternal state of paralysis. Damn! I thought. This was no good. Where was I? What had actually happened last night? Had it all been a dream? Had I really lost my hand in a card game with ghosts?
Nay, it could not be so. Ghosts do not exist. If only I could move my head and see if they were still here.... Oh, my hand! I had forgotten to check my hand!
Panicking, I employed all my bodily strength to turn my head to one side, resting my right cheek on the muddy ground with one eye open. I was still lying in the gutter; it had all been a dream... But none of this registered with my mind at first, for I was too busy screaming at the sight of a bloody stump, and my hand lying there next to me, twitching and bleeding next to my old pocket knife and my lucky dice.

And that is why, passer-by, you must spare me a coin or two. I am but a rugged old gambler, with nothing in life but the feelings I had that night. Had I really cut off my own hand in my sleep? Or had I truly gambled with a crowd of ghosts? Your guess is as good as mine. But one thing I do know, dream or no dream, I know that gambling is not about the money, no. We gamblers are men of sentiment, of feeling, and we will feel, drink, sing, laugh, and cry...

... whatever the cost.

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