Once upon a time, I was gambling at this small underground casino just outside town. It was past midnight — the kind of hour when even luck feels asleep. Smoke hung thick in the air, and every face around me looked half there, half gone.
I was down bad, staring at my last few chips, when the dealer — this pale guy with an old-fashioned suit — leaned in and whispered, “Care for a higher stake?”
I laughed, thought it was a joke, but he just stared. His eyes didn’t blink. The lights around the table started flickering, and suddenly all the other players were frozen — not moving, not breathing.
He pulled out a deck, black as coal, and said, “Win, and your fortune returns. Lose… and your soul stays in the deck.”
I don’t know why, but I played. The cards felt cold — like touching ice. My hand shook as I flipped the last card — the Ace of Spades. I won. Or so I thought.
The dealer smiled. “Congratulations,” he said, voice echoing like it came from a tunnel. “Your fortune’s restored… for now.”
When I looked down, the chips in front of me had turned into old silver coins — and when I blinked, the casino was empty. No people. No sound. Just the faint hum of that neon sign outside that spelled one word — STAKE.
Sometimes, late at night, I still hear the shuffling of those cards. And every time I touch a deck… I swear one of the aces has my reflection smiling back.
Stake id wildsnoz