At Least He's Not On Fire: A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head Read online

  AT LEAST HE’S NOT ON FIRE:

  A Tour of the Things

  That Escape My Head

  Chris Philbrook

  At Least He's Not on Fire: A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head

  Copyright © 2010 Christopher Philbrook

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America

  First Publishing Date October, 2010

  All characters in this compilation are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover illustration by Ian Llanas

  Design and interior layout by Alan MacRaffen

  This freebie is dedicated to the thousands of people who have parted ways with their time and money to get their hands on the words that have slipped free of my imagination, and are now running amok inside yours.

  -Chris

  Also by Chris Philbrook:

  A Reemergence Novel

  Tesser: A Dragon Among Us

  Elmoryn - The Kinless Trilogy

  Book One: Wrath of the Orphans

  Coming Soon:

  Book Two: The Motive for Massacre

  Book Three

  Adrian’s Undead Diary

  Book One: Dark Recollections

  Book Two: Alone No More

  Book Three: Midnight

  Book Four: The Failed Coward

  Book Five: Wrath

  Coming Soon:

  Book Six: In the Arms of Family

  Book Seven: The Trinity

  Book Eight: Cassie

  Welcome to At Least He's Not on Fire

  Hey folks. I'm Chris. Thanks for taking the time to download and then theoretically read this eBook or part thereof. Frightening isn't it? Trying to get inside the mind of a stranger. I'm sure by now you're thinking to yourself; do I have enough coffee or beer or tea to make it through a decent reading session? If you don't go ahead and set this down and take care of yourself. Go pee too if you have to.

  Done? Excellent. Now the scary part: the stories.

  At Least He's Not on Fire serves a big purpose for me. I write a lot of stuff, and getting that stuff out to as large an audience as possible is tough in this day and age. The market is saturated with self published authors (some great, some good, and some… who should be working on coloring books) and to stand out in the crowd you need lots of reviews, and lots of opportunities to be discovered. This book is another way for me to be discovered, and it's FREE! That's my favorite four letter word beginning with F. I have another four letter word that starts with F I'm a big fan of, but I'm keeping that secret for now. Maybe one day, I'll share it with you.

  This book also serves as a way for me to share some stories I've written that don't have a proper home, and also as a way to thank my existing reader base. If you're new; welcome to the world of my writing. If you're already a fan of my writing and you're reading this anyway; you rock. I mean that. Every review you write, every person you talk about my books to, and every little message you send my way helps me in some way or another. You are making my dreams come true, and that is NOT a little thing.

  At Least He's Not on Fire has a bunch of stuff in it. There's a table of contents in a page or so that'll lay it all out for you. There's enormous variety in my writing. If you read and dislike one thing, try something else. There's a really good chance you'll like a different story. What's weird is if you like one thing, there's a good chance you'll like it all. It's weird like that.

  Or you won't like any of it. If that's the case, no skin off your financial back. This shit was free.

  However… I did steal some of your life, and that's like winning for me.

  Enjoy this book. Writing the contents of it has been a huge pleasure for me, and I'm excited to share all of my work, old and new, with friends old and new. Trying to be a writer is the hardest work I've ever loved.

  Also, here's a mad shout out to Ian Llanas, the dude who did the cover for this. Loved working with him, and I love the final product. Good on you sir.

  Chris Philbrook

  Hillsboro NH, April of 2014

  TABLE OF CONTENTS:

  Welcome to At Least He's Not on Fire

  All In

  Preview:

  Adrian’s Undead Diary

  Hell Hole

  Preview:

  Tesser: A Dragon Among Us

  A Reemergence Novel

  The Vampire of Menlo Park

  Preview:

  The Wrath of the Orphans

  Book One of The Kinless Trilogy

  About the Author

  Additional Online Content

  Merchandise

  All In

  I wrote all in as a submission to an anthology a couple of years ago. When I submitted it, I was real proud of it, and like every other writer in the world, I KNEW it was going to be picked up.

  It wasn't.

  I shared it as a premium short story over on adriansundeaddiary.com and the folks there said nice things about it. I pulled it up for this project and edited the crap out of it. Added over a thousand words, and fleshed it out to be a little creepier, and a bit funnier. With all the additional work put into it, it's far better now.

  A hand of cards with the Devil? Might win a pot of things you don't want.

  Enjoy.

  “So have you ever actually been to Georgia?” Wallace asked the Devil.

  Sitting across the card table from Wallace, riffle shuffling the deck between the two of them the Devil cracked a wide, evil grin. He could appreciate the humor in the joke. “Oh Wally. What a charming question that is. I’ve never heard that one before. I’ll answer that and the next one, free of charge. I most certainly have been to Georgia, and I can play mean fiddle to boot.”

  Wallace’s blood ran cold. He suddenly wished he’d never opened his mouth after losing a hand at this very table earlier. The casino both figures—man and greatest power of evil—sat alone in at the moment, had emptied in the snap of a finger the moment Wallace threw his hands up in the air, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “What, do I have to sell my soul for a fucking pair here?!”

  It was his worst mistake ever, Wallace had decided, and that was saying something. A failed marriage, a thirteen year old in rehab, and a car probably being repossessed in the parking lot as he played were just the recent mistakes he’d made. After his exclamation, blood boiling, Wallace looked back down from the ornate pressed-tin ceiling of the gambling house. Everyone had disappeared into thin air, and the dark lord of night himself had appeared across the green felt card table. Wallace didn’t need to ask him who he was, or what he was there for. A thousand people don’t just disappear in Vegas, leaving their drinks and their chips behind unless the one dollar buffet had just opened.

  Wallace was sure the buffet was closed.

  The Devil looked clean, smooth, and handsome. In a different light, on a different day, he could’ve easily been on the cover of a fashion magazine instead of being the leader of the legions of Hell. He had dark, smooth skin the color of pressed and refined olive oil. His hair was short, cut in the style of the 50’s,swept back, and glistened like it was made from strands of obsidian. The subtle red pinstripes on his black suit played with Wallace's eyes. The thin crimson stripes shifted and ebbed as if he had lava just below the surface of the
fabric. Heat waves emanated from his shoulders and shimmered into nothing as they rose toward the lights and cameras above. His eyes matched his tie, both scarlet red like the blood presently running cold in Wallace’s veins.

  “Wally please. Don’t stare. It’s very rude of you. You act like you’ve never seen evil before.” The Devil’s voice was sultry, and had an accent that he couldn’t place.

  Maybe that's a total lack of an accent, Wally thought suddenly. Evil doesn’t have a nationality.

  “What’s the game going to be Wally? Blackjack? Five card stud? Goldfish? I’ve always been partial to Omaha, despite what you might’ve heard elsewhere.” The Devil’s fingers danced over the deck of cards, splitting, shuffling and doing it again like a machine powered by centuries of honed evil grace. Every card moved to his finger’s will without hesitation. Wally’s eyes were fixated as the red backed cards moved in the Devil’s long, sinister digits.

  “Well, I uh, I was thinking maybe I’d just, you know, maybe cut my losses and call it a night. I’m out of chips anyway so maybe I’ll just be going, if you don’t mind.” Wally pushed the plush leather chair back from the poker table and started to stand. He thought of his son in Malibu, trying to flush the heroin out of his body. Wally had to get back. To see him. Squeeze him, and tell him his father loved him very much, and maybe, to apologize for being such a shitty father for so long. Wally just needed to get out of the casino…

  The Devil’s words stopped him like a statue, “I do mind Wallace. I mind very much. I’ve come all this way, and taken the time out of my very busy schedule to offer you a fair game of chance for what you’ve asked for, and I won’t leave without at least one hand. Sit. Play. After all I've done for you it's the least you can do for me.” The Devil never stopped shuffling. His eyes pointed at the seat Wally had just vacated.

  Wallace swallowed hard and slid back down into the chair. The worn leather creaked against his weight as he pulled himself back up to the table’s edge. The Devil presented the deck in the middle of the table like a sacrificial dagger on an altar. He sat up straight and interlaced his long fingers. Wally was reminded of a bat folding itself up in leathery black wings.

  “I could maybe play a hand of hold ‘em,” Wally offered meekly.

  The Devil’s eyed flared like coals hit with a gust from the bellows. “Oh could you Wally? Just one hand for little old me? That would just make my day. Cut the deck.” The Devil lowered his eyes and stared intently at the cards. Wally’s trembling hand brushed across the soft green felt and cut the deck in half. He sat the top of the deck beside the bottom, and took his hand away quickly. The cards were warm to the touch.

  Of their own accord the thin cards reassembled into a single cohesive pile and began to fly across the table, dispensing hands. One went to Wally, then the Devil, and then again until two cards sat in front of both players. Wally stared down at the two cards as if they were poisonous to the touch. The Devil reached down and scooped his two cards up eagerly, holding them up close to his face so that only his red eyes peered out above them. The Devil looked at his cards, and lowered them to the table face down, revealing a smile filled with pearly white teeth. For a moment, Wally thought he saw a speck of flesh stuck between two of the incisors.

  “Well, aren’t you going to look?” The Devil wagged a finger at the cards sitting in front of Wally. Wally licked his lips nervously and lowered one sweaty hand to them, eventually lifting one card by its edge, like a child peering under an old board in the woods that a spider might be underneath. Wally glanced down and saw it was the ace of hearts.

  “Wait, we totally forgot the wager!” The Devil leaned forward in his chair across the table until he seemed to be right in Wally’s face. Wally’s nose caught the foul odor of brimstone. “It seems as if though we’ve already looked at our cards, which is very much not normal. However, perhaps we can make a game within a game out of it? What do you say Wally?”

  The image of the ace of hearts sat in the back of Wally’s mind like a brick of solid gold. The power of the ace in poker was nearly unmatched, and knowing he had one gave him a thrill. He tried to hide his situation by reminding himself he was playing the Devil. “I’m listening.”

  “Excellent, I knew you were a good sport!” The Devil sat back and tapped his chin with a slender finger, thinking. After a moment, his eyes flared mischievously, and he smiled once more. “I’ll let you choose your fate Wally. How’s that?”

  “I’m still listening.” Wally’s confidence was growing every second. HIs ace felt like, well, an ace in the hole for him.

  “If you place your bet before you look at that other card, I’ll agree that if you win, you get to keep your soul, and I’ll see to it that you win every pot for the rest your life. If you look at that second card before you bet, then your soul is still on the line, and if you win, you just get to keep your soul. No cash prizes as well. Sound fair?”

  Wally ran the numbers. He calculated all the odds of what hands could beat him, and decided that if he was going to put his soul on the line, he might as well get something for it if he won. He could pay for his son's rehab, and bank a few year's worth of child support payments all at once.

  “One card it is, I’m all in.” Wally reached down and flipped his two cards over. The ace of hearts came to a rest with the six of diamonds on top of it. Wally’s heart sank like a stone in quicksand. Starting with an ace there was little he would want less than a six that was off suited. It wasn’t a heart like his ace, nor was it low enough to help make a straight using that ace. He was reduced to riding the power of the ace alone, hoping another six came down to pair with his six, or pray that enough cards to make a straight somehow appeared.

  Once again it seemed like Wally needed a pair. He knew for certain he could get a pair for his soul now, but that seemed very insufficient at the moment.

  “Mmmmmm…” the Devil looked as satisfied like a cat with a feather poking out of its mouth. “Oh that ace lured you in, didn’t it? What a shame. All the glitz and glamour of that single, solitary red heart Wally. Gets ‘em every time,” the Devil said with a curling smile, and Wally knew his time was short unless he got very lucky.

  The Devil leaned back in the leather casino chair and with a flourish flipped and placed his two cards on the Kelly green felt. The six of clubs and the six of spades sat there on the table, practically mocking poor Wally.

  “I should’ve known three sixes would come down. I mean, it’s you, right? Fitting.” Wally smirked at the Devil. He was fucked and he knew it. For once, he didn't think of his own fate. He thought of his boy growing up without a father. Well, his boy finishing growing up without a father.

  The Devil nodded knowingly as if any other possibility was impossible. “If I’m going to do it, might as well be thematic about it. I’m a sucker for good drama Wally.”

  “Well, let’s see the flop, get this over with,” Wally said with a dejected sigh. He had resigned to his fate.

  “As you wish Wally.” The Devil wiggled his fingers casually in the air as if he were manipulating a marionette. In response, the top card of the deck lifted itself into the air and burst into flames, incinerating with a puff of black smoke. In slow motion the top three cards peeled off the top of the deck, rotated face up, and came to a rest three abreast. They could've been dealt by a ghost.

  The king of spades, jack of clubs, and ten of hearts.

  Wally’s heart raced as his mind assembled the puzzle. With his ace he could make a straight if a queen came down on either of the next two cards. If another ace came out his pair would beat the Devil’s pair of sixes. The Devil’s hand was still winning, but Wally had several outs, and his soul was not lost yet. A tiny bit of hope crept into him again. It felt like finding a twenty in a jacket you hadn't worn since the last winter.

  “Wally. Look at you, playing Yahtzee during a poker game. How lucky can a man be? You think that magical ace or queen is going to come down against me? I’m the Lord of Darkness Wally, ser
iously.” The Devil arched an eyebrow and looked at Wally incredulously, taunting him.

  Wally shrugged at the Devil and leaned onto the table. “I’m all in anyway Mr. Devil. Flip the cards and get this over with. I've got places to go and I’m feeling lucky.”

  The Devil smiled. “Mr. Devil? So formal. Wally you can call me Mr. Scratch if you like, or Nick. I feel like we’re on a first name basis now.”

  Wally smirked. He had to admit the fucker was charming.

  The Devil waggled his fingers once more and the top card levitated up, and burst into flames. The card below flipped over and came to rest beside the first three.

  The six of hearts.

  Wally leaned back in his chair and let his head flop backwards in disgust. Old Nick was up to no good, it was obvious now. Trip sixes for the Devil meant Wally’s chance at keeping his soul had plummeted. Eyes staring at the baroque patterns etched into the metallic ceiling, Wally heard the Devil laugh. It reminded him of a broken church organ, off key, grating on the ears as well as the soul he was about to lose. When Wally finally tilted his head up and back to the table, the Devil was sipping on a glass of thick, dark fluid. It could’ve been motor oil.

  “Thirsty?" the Devil asked him. "Might want to hydrate while you have the chance Wally.” The Devil smiled, holding his tumbler up in a mock toast.