Bone Dice

Here is a quick short story for “30 Minute Shivers.” Of course, this is a very rough draft, but I think I got the meat of the idea down. I already have ideas of what to revise, but I will let this sit and stew for a bit.

Bone Dice

At first, Jimmy didn’t think he hit him hard enough. He looked up and down the dark alley to see if he was still alone, and no one noticed. He knew he was alone, but he checked again anyway. One couldn’t be too careful when you have just committed murder.

                He had gotten cleaned out of the last coppers he had in the world. He had been hungry but decided to try his luck, improve his situation, and maybe get a room for the night as well as a hot meal. But that son of a bitch must have been cheating. He saw the dice. They must have been loaded or weighted somehow or otherwise controlled. That had to be it.

                Jimmy waited outside, shrouded by shadows of an overhang across the street by an even darker alley. He waited for the last of the patrons to leave and for the pub to close for the evening. Well, he was waiting for the damn cheater to leave, at any rate. It was fortunate (for Jimmy, not the son of a bitch) that the pub was closing and everyone was leaving. While he waited, his hunger growing stronger every second, he looked for a suitable ‘tool’, and a fist-sized stone seemed to fit the bill.

                The cheater staggered out of the pub happy as can be, his pockets heavy with coins, my money, he thought,  and the dice. Jimmy watched as the cheater hummed happily to himself as he wandered in the direction of wherever he called home, though he was never going to make it.

                The cheater had run out of luck if he had any to begin with. Nonetheless, it had run out as he made his last mistake, choosing a shortcut in the alley next to the overhang where Jimmy had been lurking. Jimmy glanced around, ensuring there was no one else and that he or they were alone.

                As quietly as he could, Jimmy closed the gap between him and the cheater and swung the stone down hard on the back of the cheater’s head with one smooth motion. The stone glanced off his skull. The cheater stopped in his tracks, said nothing, and did not move. For the briefest moments, he thought he did not hit him hard enough, but the cheater didn’t do anything. Just stood there. Just as Jimmy decided to take another whack at him, the cheater slumped to the ground.

                Jimmy dragged the son of a bitch to the darkest part of the alley and began to go through his pockets. He found the coin purse right away. Its hefty weight and jingle gave it away immediately, but it took some rummaging to find the dice.

                It was awkward. The dice were in the front pocket and were at a weird angle. He had to twist his wrist and slide his hand in the still-warm pocket, feeling for the dice. His fingertips brushed the edges of the dice, sending a flash of hope through Jimmy. He wiggled and stretched, finally gaining purchase, and started to slide the dice out of the pocket.

                A clammy hand clamped around Jimmy’s wrist as the cheater began to rouse awake and slurred his protest. “No, don’t, not the dice.”  Jimmy froze. His heart beat frantically as he tried to wrench the hand from his wrist without losing hold of the dice.

     “Take the money, but not my dice.” He slurred again. Jimmy reacted swiftly. The mumbling scared him and made him afraid of getting noticed. He swung the stone again, smashing into the face of the son of a bitch, silencing his protests with a meaty hollow-sounding thunk.

                Jimmy wasn’t sure what he tried to say, but the cheater managed one more attempt at protest, saying what Jimmy could only think, “Cursed.” As the bloody bubbles and drool leaked out of his mouth. The grip on his wrist went slack, and Jimmy finished extracting the cursed dice from the cheater’s pocket. He glanced around again, ensuring he was in the clear, and then took the coin purse and dice. He fled down the alley away from the scene.

                After a few blocks of fast walking, half jogging, he slowed to a regular walking pace toward the wharf. There was an Inn at the waterfront, and Jimmy was eager to get a hot meal and a warm bed for the night.

                He neared the waterfront, and the gas lamps illuminated his path. He was sure that he did not get any blood on him, but he checked in the reflection of a store window, just to be sure. Aside from being a little disheveled, he didn’t see anything incriminating. Feeling confident he would pass muster, he strolled into the Inn.               

                A few coins lighter (from his fresh supply), he acquired a hot bowl of stew and a room for the night. He tried separately not to hork down the soup and forced himself to pace each bite. He pulled the dice out of his pocket and inspected his new treasure.

                Cursed or not, they looked like ordinary dice. Jimmy pulled one close to his eye, looking at it like a jeweler would a gem. He did not see anything to indicate that there was tampering. They felt right. At least their weight felt right. He assumed they were ordinary ivory dice, but as he looked closer, he found they were made of some kind of bone. Bone dice were not unusual. They were almost as common as ivory. Ivory dice were nicer, of course, but bone dice were considered the poor man’s dice. That seemed appropriate.

                The following morning, Jimmy woke up feeling refreshed. He went to the dining area for breakfast, and maybe he could spark up a game to test his dice. He ate his porridge and washed it down with warm ale. His new dice and a few coins sitting in the middle of his table in invitation.

                A sailor passed by, eyeing the dice and coins. Jimmy saw and smiled wide, “Ya up for a quick game?” he asked hopefully. The Sailor grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “I got a few minutes. Sure, why not?” He said as he sat down in the chair opposite Jimmy.

                Jimmy grinned and eagerly grabbed the dice, then rubbed them in his hands, ‘warming them up.’ A tiny sliver of bone sunk into his palm as he rubbed. He tried not to wince or indicate anything happened. He opened his palm to see a drop of blood smeared on the die. He went to casually wipe it off, but the blood soaked into the die as if there was nothing there to start with as if it was thirsty for it..

                The Sailor tossed some coins on the table, looking impatient for the game to start. Jimmy slid the dice over to the Sailor. Standard game etiquette, opponent rolls first. The Sailor rolled the dice, and the game began.

                Jimmy did well in the first few rounds, but his coin purse started getting lighter and lighter, making him nervous and frustrated. The Sailor started looking anxious, as the time was slipping and this was only a quick game. He looked like he was ready to leave. Jimmy’s palm itched where the sliver was, and something he could not tell, a feeling he was getting, told him to try one more time.

                Whether greed or disappointment, he agreed with the feeling and implied one more round before the Sailor left to do his business. Jimmy slid a nice stack of coins, upping the ante for the final round. His roll was nice, not impossible to beat, but it was a good enough roll to make it challenging. As the Sailor tossed the dice, Jimmy’s palm twitched, and he felt a pull on the dice. He saw the dice roll as if in slow motion.

                He saw the dice. They were landing on a higher roll. In the slow-motion movement, he watched as his heart thumped. He had to win this turn. His coins were almost gone. Cleaned out again his damn luck. He needed to win. At the last instance, the dice teetered and fell onto the high number.

                At the loss, the Sailor slammed his hands down on the table but had a good-natured grin.     

     “Well, good game,” he said and stood. Jimmy stood and offered his hand in thanks for the game.

As the Sailor walked away, Jimmy smiled and saw the pile of coins on the table. A few more than when he started.

                After sliding the coins back into the purse, he grabbed the dice. Gave them a good squeeze as if in thanks and then put them in his pocket. Another sliver, a bigger one this time, from the edge of the dice poked his hand. Jimmy winced and yanked his hand out of his pocket, then licked the puncture the sliver had made.

                He left the Inn, full belly and a little buzzed from the ale. He smiled as he strolled the walk to the pier. His thoughts were consumed with the dice. He started thinking about where to gamble next as he passed a crowd growing on the corner.  

                He felt panic grow as he realized where he was. The alley he acquired the dice from. It was dark last night, and he did not think anyone saw him, but he knew that he should not be hanging around the scene of the crime, his crime.

                The dice had all but consumed his thoughts, and a stab of guilt went through him as he realized the implications. I murdered someone last night. Jimmy was smart enough to leave. He casually acted disinterested in the commotion that was building at the end of the alley and strolled away casually.              

                He felt his luck was turning; maybe it was the dice, or maybe it was just his time to get lucky. He wasn’t arrested for murder. That was one thing. He almost felt guilty, but that son of a bitch took him for all his worth, and probably he wasn’t the only one that was victimized. But now he had the lucky dice. He promised himself not to be like the ‘cheater.’ He would play and win enough to not cause notice. He didn’t want to be the guy getting bashed in the back of the skull by the next guy.

                Getting a ride from a merchant heading the same way cost him a few coins. He tried to convince the merchant to play a game, his palm itching furiously at the idea, but the merchant was not interested in gambling. Jimmy gave in, handed him some coins for his trouble, and hopped on the back of the wagon.

                The ride was slow and peaceful. Jimmy unconsciously fidgeted with the dice. Not realizing that he had even pulled them out of his pockets. They were warm, and Jimmy felt a strange comfort in holding them. He rolled them in his finger, feeling every surface, finding the rough edge of one, like the edge that splintered, poking him twice already. Curious, he looked at the dice again, looking for the splintered edge. But in the sun’s warm glow, all the edges looked smooth and polished from years of use.

                Jimmy thought about the dice ‘drinking’ the blood from the splinter. Maybe he would have done better if he had given it more; perhaps it would have been a trade-off. Maybe this was the ‘curse’ the cheater was trying to say out of his broken face.

                They arrived at town, and Jimmy looked for the nearest Inn. He was excited to get another game going. His new trinket needed to be fully explored, and the thought of having more than a few coins and one meal a day fed his greed.

He got a room, straightened his shirt, and cleaned up as best he could.   The dice felt heavy in his pocket. He pulled them out and looked at them, saw the rawness where the splinter was. He fished out his pocket knife and, without hesitation, sliced his palm open wide. Wincing at the pain of it, he set the dice in the pooling blood. The dice soaked in the blood as fast as it flowed out.

Jimmy grinned at the marvel he was seeing. The dice greedily absorbed the blood, and it felt as though it was sucking it out of him, pulling more and more. He couldn’t believe it. There should be no way the small cube could contain so much liquid. He felt it wanted more, but Jimmy was eager to play and make some money. He grinned, pulled the ravenous dice from his palm, and wrapped it in the cleanest rag he could scavenge. Feeling lucky, he confidently headed to the pub.

It was starting to get busy at the pub, but he was able to get a free table. Several cards and dice games were already going on, but he wanted to use his special dice. He put them in the middle of the table and threw on a small stack of coins to garner attention. A couple blokes saddled up and accepted the implied invite.

The game started. He felt the same sensation as before, to make the dice land on the winning numbers, but made sure that he paced himself and didn’t win every turn. That was the smart thing to do. He knew for a fact that winning too much too soon would get your skull caved in.

He stayed in this town for a few days. His coin purse was almost full; he was richer than ever, and this was just the beginning. His idea of the blood sacrifice (he came to terms with that realization) was proved, but his hands were getting too sore, and he needed to heal. He decided to hire a coach now that he could afford such luxury and move on to the next town. It would give his hand a small respite and hopefully heal a bit before the next games.

He was playing it smart. He only stayed in a town for a few days before moving on. Did not want to attract attention or overstay his welcome. He allowed enough losses to make his wins seem natural. People were never happy when they lost, but at least he had not been accused of cheating or made people angry at him. He had good clothes, could afford good meals, and even a lady or two for the night. Life was good.

He had been making his way up and down the coast. Fishing villages and ports were great places to find strangers to fleece. This port town looked particularly prosperous, and he felt he could push his game a little. He got dressed in his nicest clothing and headed to the more affluent part of town. He found a pub he would have been most likely kicked out of a month ago since he looked no better than the average vagabond then. Now, that was a different story.

His diced buzzed in his pocket, the now familiar urging. It wanted blood. He wanted money. He unwrapped the now seemingly permanent bandage and reopened the wound. He let his greedy dice feast and then set out to get a game going. As usual, he played it cool, lost enough to make it seem legitimate, but always won in the end. His purse was full already, and he decided to call it a night after only a few games.

It was starting to get dark in the early evening as he strolled back to the Inn where he was staying. He did not notice the small group of thugs that had been following him from the pub. He turned a corner and almost collided with a big man slapping a fish club in his hand. He stepped back, realizing the danger immediately.

“Drop the coins and walk away,” the thug growled, looking at the fat coin purse hanging from his hip. Jimmy glanced over his shoulder, looking for an avenue of escape, but saw the rest of the gang making a semicircle around him. Realizing this was a losing battle, he held his hands up, giving in, “Okay, okay! Just don’t hurt me,” he said and began untieing the purse from his belt. He had just managed to free it when a flash of light flashed in his eyes as he heard a thunk, and his vision blurred.

He dropped to the ground, semi-conscious. He heard the laughter from the gang as they grabbed his purse and gave a few solid kicks to his ribs.

“A fancy lad like you must have more trinkets in your pockets,” the biggest one, more than likely the leader, said. The leader nodded to one of them and started going through his pockets. He did have a few trinkets in his pockets. But he didn’t care about those, just the dice.

They rifled through, finding a few things, but discarded his precious dice, to Jimmy’s relief. He lay there on the ground, sore and humiliated, but could see his dice scattered in front of him. He just lay there waiting for the gang to leave. They began to walk away as the leader looked back at Jimmy, seeing him staring at the dice. With a wicked smile, the thug stepped over and ground the dice under the thick leather sole of his boot. “No!” he screamed, “not the dice!” he cried, reaching for the shattered remains. The gang laughed at the poor sap they had just robbed and casually walked away, unconcerned about Jimmy retaliating.

His hand throbbed under the bandage, a burning sensation that had nothing to do with the beating he had endured. It itched. He felt anger welling up, no longer afraid of the group, and decided at that moment that he would get revenge.

The next night, he hunted. He had a plan all worked out. He had a small satchel with things he thought he might need, some rope a heavy club and a small saw.He walked up and down the boulevard pretending to be window shopping but all the while keeping his eyes open for the thugs. He smiled  I guess I still have some luck left in me, he thought as he noticed the gang leader trying to look casual near the entrance of an ally.

He walked around the block to the other side of the ally. He walked past a few times, gauging if the leader was alone, and as luck would have it, he was. As quietly as he could, he walked toward the thug, even more lucky as it was getting dark and little traffic was left on the streets. He had the heavy club ready to go. He walked up behind the thug And, with all his might, swung it down on the thug’s head. Just like the first time, the victim did not make a sound and crumbled to the ground.

Unlike the first time, this one was decidedly dead on the first blow, as dark red blood and gray matter began oozing from the shattered remains of the back of his head. He looked back and forth, making sure the coast was clear, and then grabbed the thug under his arms and dragged him into the darkening alley.

Jimmy had to work fast; he could be caught at any moment. He pulled the saw out of the satchel and began to saw furiously on the thug’s leg. He didn’t need much but knew he wanted a thicker portion to work with. The saw worked fast, the flesh gave almost no resistance, and the bone wasn’t much more effort. Before long, he had a sizable chunk of femur to work with. He shoved it in his back, wiped off as much blood from his hands and arms as he could, and then returned to his room at the Inn.

His first few attempts were failures. He wasn’t a craftsman or an artist. At least he had the forethought to ensure he had enough material to work with. He finally managed to cut away 2 cubes of bone roughly the correct size. As he polished and carved the pips, the sliver he never managed to get out of his thumb in the dice began to burn. The closer he got to finishing the dice, the more the sliver seemed to work its way out. He watched in awe as the sliver slid out of his thumb and into the dice, splitting into two equal parts.

He knew what to do next as he looked at the new bone dice he made. He could almost hear sucking noises as he slit another gash into his palm.