Big Game
By Saia Kferr
10/31/16
Smoke rose and swirled about the dirty oil lamps like a noxious fog, dimming the light cast on the patrons of The Arc Royal Gentlemen's Club of Léopoldville. In one corner an inebriated guest was singing at the top of his lungs while torturing an out of tune upright piano, adding to the atmosphere or miasma as the case may be. It was also a rather abnormally cool night for this part of Africa, and from the dampness in the air it would be raining by morning.
Sam sat at a battered table contemplating his pint of bitters; along with the threadbare sleeve and the age-withered hand holding it while the nightly revelry swirled around him. It wasn't his first drink of the evening, and wouldn't be the last. He preferred whisky, but it cost more than his depleted purse could stand, as did most of the imported drink stocked behind the bar.
Sam was finding it harder and harder to find lucrative safari jobs these days, or any work for that matter. Everyone wanted the younger men to guide them, and his reputation had suffered somewhat after a rather spoiled young French man had been badly mauled on one of his runs up to the falls. No one cared that it hadn't been Sam's fault, that the young man had left the camp while Sam slept without a gun and ran afoul of some chimps.
When he was younger Sam had supplemented his income in the rainy season by bounty hunting, but he had finally been forced to give that up. Though he loved the challenge and was very good at it, at sixty he had finally admitted to himself that he was too old and slow to hunt human game.
Now three years later his hair and beard were more silver than blond, his face and hands lined and leathery from the relentless sun, hard living, and age. He walked these days with a pronounced limp from a boar attack. His age, reputation, and infirmity left him with only the most desperate or cheap clients in the good times, and without a means of support in the bad.
Sam glanced up at the thumping of the swinging doors, more from habit than hope of finding a client, and found a surprise had entered the club. He was a young to middle age man dressed in a spotless white suit complete with a pith helmet that all but screamed 'I'm looking for adventure in the heart of darkest Africa, and can pay well!'
The man scanned the room with sharp eyes, and Sam was sure that he would go to a table with a younger man, but the man's bright blue eyes under their unruly red brows locked with Sam's and he came straight to the table and inquired in lightly accented English, "May I sit?"
Sam nodded and pointed to the chair to his right as he tried to place the accent. Scandinavian seemed likely, but there was something about it that didn't quite fit, and that bothered Sam. He prided himself on making judgments about people and not knowing where someone was from annoyed him, as most things did now days.
Allowing just a bit of his annoyance to color his voice as the gentleman sat he said "Good evening, Sir. What may I do for you?"
The young man gave a grin and replied in a jaunty voice "Perhaps there is something I can do for you."
Nodding at the pint he inquired "Isn't that drink a little tame for a gentleman such as yourself?"
Now greatly annoyed and a bit angry, Sam replied with a snap "It's what I am drinking tonight, Sir. I would ask you to join me, but it seems I haven't been offered your name for an invitation."
The man grinned disarmingly, but Sam didn't like that the grin never touched the ice blue eyes. He considered asking the rude young man leave the table, but there seemed to be money to be had, so he decided it was best to hold his temper and try to be polite.
With a bit of a chuckle the man replied, seemingly not noticing the quarrelsome tone "Call me Eric the Red, if you will, Sir. Now do I have the pleasure of speaking to Samuel Van Pelt?"
Sam nodded and stuck out his gnarled hand as his mind raced trying to place how this man knew him. "Yes Sir. Have you been looking for me?" he asked more politely. Hunting for answers could be as entertaining as hunting game in Sam's book, and it had been a slow night.
Eric took Sam's hand and shook it firmly saying, "I have indeed. You come very well recommended, but first a drink, eh?" and this time humor did touch those ice-cold eyes.
Sam nodded, but felt more concerned rather than relieved. It had been years since he last had a safari that he could consider successful enough to have him 'very well recommended'.
Eric grinned his disarming grin again and seeing the concern said, "Right. To business in a moment, but first that drink."
Sam was going to call for another pint, but blinked as he noticed a set of large spotless glasses now sat on the battered table in front of his guest. He was sure they hadn't been there before, and couldn't recall the man setting the glasses down. Squinting at them he noticed they were far cleaner than any stemware in the club, so he was at a loss as to how they had gotten there.
He was about to mention this when the man unbuttoned his vest and from inside pulled a stoneware bottle and set it on the table.
Sam felt his jaw drop as he looked first at the large bottle sitting there, then back to the slender mans vest. There was no way that the bottle could have been under the man's vest, but there it sat as if the man were hollow and had a cellar in his stomach.
The man chuckled asking "Join me in some rock gut? Get it? Rock gut?"
Sam looked up at the man's smiling face feeing as if there were butterflies buffeting his old heart as just how wrong this was going finally got past the bitters, rendering Sam totally sober in seconds.
"Come on, it's funny. You got to laugh at that" chuckled Eric as he uncorked the bottle, pored out two generous portions of amber fluid into the glasses, and pushed one over to Sam.
Not quite sure what he was doing, Sam picked up the glass as though his hand had developed a will of its own, and sipped. The contents were cool and refreshing, tasting a bit of apples and honey under the bitter bite of alcohol, and the room about them fuzzed pleasantly taking much of his anxiety of a moment before with it.
Taking his helmet from a wild head of red hair and placing it on the table, Eric said "I have a proposition for you I think you will like. All it will cost you is your soul!" he said dramatically, then chuckled seemingly at his own theatrics.
Sam blanched and somewhere his mind dredged up an image of a horned devil and tried to overlay it on the man's pleasant face, but it just wouldn't fit.
Chucking again Eric said as he sat back sipping his drink, "That was a joke too, if you haven't guessed. I really can't take your soul without killing you, and I don't have any desire to do that."
Sam blinked and sat the drink down, anger rising through the fuzz he growled, "Are you some sort of nutter trying take advantage of me Sir?"
"Not at all" Eric replied flashing his grin again, but this time it seemed a bit crooked as he continued in a conspiratorial whisper, "Actually I'm building something, something wonderful!
"Have you noticed how board games are becoming all the rage now days? People sitting in parlors playing the days and nights away?" he asked as though sharing something of great importance.
Thrown by this change of subject Sam felt his anger waning and, without thinking, took another sip of the pleasant drink before answering "It's been many years since I was out of Africa, Sir. I must admit that I haven't a clue what the fashionable people are up to these days and don't see how that would interest me."
The redhead leaned forward, and with an intense look in his eyes, he said "Why my friend, it had much to do with you, if you are agreeable to the terms of my contract. You see, what I have in mind is to build the ultimate game. One that, if you will pardon me for saying so, will drag you in and not let go till you finish it."
Smiling broadly he said, "I've decided I want you to be the hunter in my game. Would you find this appealing?"
Sam, mind more than a bit befuddled by the wonderful drink and thinking this some sort of playacting job asked, "So what do I have to do, and how much will it pay?"
Eric sat back, the grin of a fisherman that's hooked a big one playing about his features as he said "As to what you will do, you can do anything you please till you are called on by the game, then you will hunt the one that calls you. When they are more than twelve squares from the end of the game you can only terrorize them, but when they are close enough for a single roll of the dice to end the game, you may kill them if you wish.
"As far as what it pays, how would eternal youth and good health strike you?"
Sam blinked and asked in a befuddled manner "Kill them? That would be murder wouldn't it?"
Eric laughed and there was an evil twinkle in his eye as he chuckled "No no my dear fellow! That's the beauty of the game. You can die, destroy everything around you, even kill other players, and no matter what you do it doesn't permanently affect the real world. When someone wins, everything resets and they are alive again.
"But the best part of all is that the players all remember everything, both good and ill. It may even give them a chance at redeeming poor decisions, or perhaps right wrongs if they wish."
Sam sipped at the drink again and asked "And how does all this make me young again, and what do I live on. I need money to be able to keep myself fed no matter what the game is."
Eric grinned again and with the flick of a finger to Sam's jacket said, "Check your pocket."
Sam put his hand in his pocket and found coins he didn't remember putting there filling it. Pulling a handful out, he dropped them on the table and saw to his surprise perhaps twenty gold sovereigns, but even more shocking was the hand that had dropped them. It was young! The wrinkles, arthritic knuckles, and liver spots, gone. It was again a strong hand, the hand of a man in his prime!
Looking up, Sam asked "How?"
Eric chuckled "Just a taste of what you could have. Do you want it?"
Sam swallowed hard, then nodded once.
Reaching under the table, Eric pulled out a wooden box that he sat on the table. Flipping the top open and turning the game to him, Sam saw a red gemstone in the middle of a playing field. Reaching into a small compartment at the bottom of the game, Eric pulled out a set of wooden dice and handed them to Sam saying, "If you want this, simply roll the dice and say Jumanji."
Sam looked at the dice in his young healthy hand where it protruded from a new and freshly starched sleeve. Swallowing hard, Sam looked up and asked "Is there any way out of this for me?" as he picked up the coins and dropped them back into his pocket.
Eric thought for a moment frowning, then finally said "Perhaps, if someone can figure out how to destroy the game, but that's unlikely."
Sam looked down at the dice again, then swallowing hard, dropped them onto the game board saying softly "Jumanji".
The dice bounced four or five times, then came to a stop on snake eyes. For a moment the room filled with the roaring sound of drums, shaking bottles off the shelves, blowing out some of the lamps, and shattering the grimy mirror behind the bar, then slowly faded away.
As the sound faded, everyone looked about, trying to figure out where it had come from, and a drunk in the back woke up long enough to yell "THERE COMING!" then dropped back to the table.
Eric sighed and mumbled under his breath "A bit too loud. Need to fix that", then put the dice back into the little container and closed the game just as a the barmaid stepped up asking in a voice that would etch glass, "See here now, where did old mister Van Pelt get to. He still owes six shillings for his drinks."
Eric laughed, "I can't believe it. He stiffed me for the bill!"
Getting to his feet, he tucked the game under his arm, but before he could leave the barmaid put a hand on his shoulder saying "See here you, if he aint paying, you got ta pay for him!"
Dropping his helmet back on his head Eric snarled at her in suddenly thickly accented English as his eyes flashed "Loki doesn't pay for drinks he didn't order! Now unhand me woman, I have a pack of monkeys to catch!" and vanished into thin air.
End