by Cal Noble
He sat in the dim light of the near-vacant bar, sipping his Jack and Coke. After spending three months sober, trying to decide if he was an alcoholic, Howard needed a drink. He could resist the temptation if he had to. He did it for three months. The time before this, he lasted almost seven months.
As he took another sip, his eyes landed on the small television set mounted in the upper back corner of the bar.
“Don’t forget your tickets,” the newscaster said. “Tonight’s lottery drawing is a record-setting six hundred and twelve million.”
“Man, I’d sell my soul to have that winning ticket,” Howard whispered to himself.
“Devil’s already got it,” a raspy voice said.
“Excuse me?” Howard whipped around to see a frail, white-haired man perched on the stool beside him. He hadn’t noticed when the man entered and sat.
“You said you’d sell your soul for that and I said the devil already has it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
The old man gave a warm smile like a proud grandfather. “Only a man who doesn’t know the value of a soul would sell it. Those belonging to God know what it’s worth. There are no undecideds.”
“You saying I’m going to hell?” Howard slapped his glass down on the bar, drawing the attention of the female bartender and the only other patrons, two businessmen at a table to his right. He lowered his head, trying to avoid the stares.
“No, sir. I don’t make judgments like that.” The old man craned his head forward and scratched at the back of his neck, grinning as if he had just satisfied a fierce itch. “For all I know, one day you might rush into a burning building to save a baby, discover the value of your soul while you’re in there, and become the greatest evangelist since Billy Graham.” He raised his head and looked at Howard. His eyes were dull like twilight. “I’m only saying the devil wouldn’t pay such a high price for something he already has.”
Howard gulped down the last swallow of his drink and shook the glass, rattling the ice.
“’Nother round?” the barmaid asked.
As soon as Howard nodded, she turned and hurried away.
“Make it two,” the old man said. “And put it on my tab.” He pushed a wrinkled and age-spotted hand toward Howard. “Reilly Prince,” he said.
“Okay, Reilly Prince,” Howard said. “I’d give a year of my life to get my hands on that cash. How’s that?”
Reilly cocked his head as if thinking. His eyes rolled up, taking one corner of his mouth with them.
“Indeed. Now, that would do the trick.”
“What would?”
“A year.”
“Piss off.”
The woman returned with two mixed drinks and set them both in front of Howard.
“I’m just saying—”
“Thanks for the drink, but piss off. I’m not in the mood.”
Reilly released a quiet giggle. “Indulge an old fool,” he said. “I follow the lottery—”
“And?” He lit a cigarette. Two months ago he swore off the cancer sticks. Three weeks ago, he gave them up again. The little darlings were just too tempting in times like these.
“And I know the service station at Fifth and Monroe has picked more winners than anywhere else. That’s where the last three big winners came from.”
“What’s your point?” Howard took a drag and exhaled in the man’s face, hoping it would shut him up.
Reilly swiped at the smoke with his withered hand.
“If I were a betting man, that’s where I would get my ticket.”
“So, go get yourself a ticket.”
Reilly laughed again. “Oh, no. I only go after the prizes that are worth something.” He tapped his fingers on the bar. “Even that kind of money wouldn’t do me a bit of good. You, on the other hand, look like you know how to spend six hundred million. Or whatever you get after taxes.”
Howard smiled. He knew what he would do with the money.
Reilly turned his glass up, chugged the contents, and set it back on the bar. “Good luck,” he said, moving his hand to his head as if he were tipping a hat. Then he stood.
Howard’s eyes lowered to the glass in his hand. He took a swallow. “Thanks,” he said, turning to face the man, but Reilly had already exited.
With three sets of eyes staring at him, Howard finished his drink. He rose from the stool, glared back at the two businessmen, and headed for the front of the bar.
“Where’re you going?” the bartender asked.
“Home.”
“Not without paying for those last couple of drinks.”
Great, he thought. Just one more thing to add to an already dismal day.
Howard handed over the exact change, stiffing the girl on her tip, and walked out.
The thought of winning that much money grew with each step Howard took until he could no longer deny the temptation for such a quick fix to his economic troubles. When he got to Monroe, he turned and headed for the service station.
He fished the change from his pocket. He had a dollar and twenty-eight cents to last him until he found a new job. That wasn’t enough to make any difference. After letting the machine pick the numbers, he wended his way through the city to his small studio apartment.
Howard watched the drawing that night. When the first number appeared, he smiled. When the second number came out as one of his, he took a deep breath. There was no point in getting too excited. By the time his fourth and fifth numbers matched, Howard was on the floor screaming, “Come on, Baby. Come on!”
Out popped the final ball—the miracle ball.
“Yes! Yes!” He held the ticket with two shaky hands and stared at it. Six hundred and twelve million smackers.
“Calm down,” he said, taking a deep breath. He let go of the ticket, watching it spiral to the dirty carpet. With his rotten luck, he might tear the thing in half if he held it too long.
Howard couldn’t sleep. Instead, he thought about how he would spend all six hundred glorious millions. When the first birds chirped and the apartment rattled from the passing commuter trains, Howard pulled on a ball cap and headed for the lottery office. He wasn’t one of those idiots that would sit on a ticket just to avoid the press. He had too many bills and too many dreams for that kind of foolishness.
He hiked the fourteen blocks to the lottery office and waited for it to open.
“I see you’ve won,” a youthful voice said from somewhere over his shoulder.
Howard reached into his pocket and clutched the ticket. No one was getting it away from him.
“Isn’t this the employment agency?” Howard asked as he turned around.
“Come now, Howard.”
“What are you doing here?” Howard looked at Reilly, surprised by the vigor in the man’s tone.
Then it hit him. The old man probably bought a ticket for himself. Surely, they couldn’t have both gotten the same numbers. But why else would he show up?
As if reading Howard’s mind, Reilly shook his head and said, “No, I didn’t play. But I won just the same.”
The old man’s eyes sparkled as if a pair of bottle rockets had gone off behind them.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I won,” Reilly said, leering at Howard like a wild dog looking at fresh roadkill. “You offered a year off your life and I accepted.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Not nuts. Like you, I’m here to collect my winnings.” Reilly’s body quivered. His wrinkled skin melted and his hoary mane dissolved until all the age had vanished and a short, young man with piercing yellow eyes stood there in his place.
“I got a year,” Howard said, panicking. He pulled his hand from his pocket and balled it into a fist. “I get one year.”
“Humans.” Reilly shook his head and crinkled his nose in disgust. “The deal was a year off your life.” He took a step forward.
Howard retreated a few feet.
“You see that building there?” Reilly nodded a
t an old tenement. “One hundred and forty-seven days from today, it will catch fire. A baby will be sleeping on the second floor. Her mother will panic and jump before thinking about the infant. Poor thing.” He shook his head.
“So?”
“So, you see, I was generous. I paid you for a year, but only got a little more than a third of that.” Reilly took another step forward, spreading his arms open wide.
Howard ducked the coming embrace and stumbled backwards. “You haven’t paid me anything.”
Reilly stopped his advance. “You wanted the winning ticket. You got it.”
“But I said I’d give a year off my life to get my hands on that cash.”
“Precisely.” Reilly closed the distance between them, growing in stature until they were the same height. “And since you only had a hundred and forty-seven days remaining, I lost out on more than two hundred days.” He pawed at the back of his neck, his lips drawn up in a snarl-like smile. “I’m sure we’ll find a way for you to make up the difference.”
“But my hands aren’t on the money yet.”
Reilly’s smile turned to a sneer then faded.
“Well, go get it.”
A rotund woman on the other side of the double glass doors unhitched the lock. She pushed one of the doors open. After a few seconds she asked, “You coming in here, sir?”
Howard shoved his hand in his pocket and felt the tab of paper. He knew he should pull it out and tear it in half, but he couldn’t do it. He had a hundred and forty-seven days to think of a way to collect. Until then, he’d just have to hope he could resist the temptation.
# # #
Thank You
Thank you for taking the time to read these short stories. I hope you enjoyed them. If you did, please rate this booklet.
About the Author
If you would like to contact him, Cal is available at the following:
Cal’s Blog: https://CalNoble.com
Website: https://HorrorVillage.com/howl (just launched)
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1528029810
