At Least He's Not On Fire: A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head
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Authors: Chris Philbrook
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
Book One of The Kinless Trilogy
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.
