The Gambler's Ruin - Part One

The only thing more surprising than John and Mary Everidge’s decision to move from the city to the countryside, was the speed with which they returned. They had always been an impulsive pair, and while the news they were suddenly relocating to Sussex didn’t surprise anyone, even their closest friends found it hard to understand the sudden change of heart which brought them back again so soon. Spontaneous, they might have been, but rarely would they give up on anything without good reason.

Some said their return was just “one of those things” born out of making one too many rash decisions that eventually got the better of them. Others believed the stress of taking on a pub, something neither had shown any interest in, or understanding of, before, had been too much to bear and forced them to reconsider. A few though, suggested there was more to it, something worse than financial difficulty or lack of knowledge, something... else. Money alone did not explain the couple’s curious change of personality, they said.

And it was true. No-one could deny that after their return, they both seemed different. Mary was no longer her cheerful and bright self, but had become pale, introverted and frightened. She jumped nervously at the smallest thing and would rarely speak unless spoken to directly. John had become grim and stony faced. He barely cracked a smile, and the words he uttered came through thinned lips without an inch of the good humour he’d been known for. They had become shadows of their former selves, uneasy and visibly tense, and when pressed for details about what had happened, they would give only vague answers and look nervously around the room, as if frightened of bringing unwanted attention to themselves.

The source of their mysterious change, it was later revealed, was a pub which had once been the property of Mary’s uncle, a man she hadn't seen or spoken to in nearly 20 years. The news that he'd left her such a generous gift was surprising, but they were assured there had been no mistake. In his Last Will and Testament, the old man had insisted the pub be passed to his youngest niece. While he had no children of his own, the decision would have struck many as being rather odd, if they had known about it at all. There were others he had been much closer to in his life, despite his later solitude, but he had been quite clear that the pub should be left to Mary, and the couple themselves barely gave it a second thought. To them it was an opportunity too exciting to turn down, and within a matter of minutes the decision was made, the paperwork signed and the deal done. They couldn’t possibly have imagined what awaited them at The Gambler’s Ruin.

***

“It really is gorgeous,” said Mary as they stood before the pub for the first time, and John squeezed her hand in agreement. The photographs they’d seen had been enticing, but they did not come close to conveying the true beauty of the place on that hot, summer’s day.

Though the building had fallen into a certain amount of disrepair, even with its over-grown bushes and faded paint, it was still thoroughly charming and picturesque. The design was basic, yet traditional, having been built in the 1800’s with a thick thatched roof, solid oak beams and many small, dark, wooden window frames that dotted the white-washed walls. It sat on the central point of four cross-roads which led to the nearby villages, and was a suitable distance from each to offer peace to patrons who wished to avoid disturbing, or being disturbed by others.

Inside there was room to spare with a bar and kitchen on the ground floor, two guest rooms and bathrooms on the first, lodgings on the second and a cellar below. Surrounded by open fields which offered an uninterrupted view of the countryside, the pub also had two gardens with high hedge walls and a large, stone patio which allowed visitors to enjoy the summer sun in all its glory. It was, quite simply, the perfect remedy to the cramped and crowded habitat of London.

John, beaming at the sight which lay before him, stepped forward and unlocked the door with a ceremonial flourish. “Welcome to your new home,” he said with a bow, and Mary, unable to wait a minute longer, dashed inside. They were incredibly lucky, he knew, to be given such a beautiful property and such a promising future together. It would be a long time before he’d be able to stop smiling he thought cheerfully as he collected their bags and followed his wife inside.

The first thing to strike him about the bar was that it was considerably cooler and dimmer than he had expected it to be. The wooden shutters and thick curtains were all closed, and, as a result, blocked nearly all light and sound from the room. The stifling sun, which had been beating down heavily all morning, could not reach inside the four walls of the building, and the effect was pleasant, soothing, but also slightly unnatural.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the low light while Mary, completely oblivious to the change, hurried around the bar. She danced between the tables with excited cries, then began to draw the curtains, pull open the windows and push back the shutters, breaking the spell of darkness as blades of light cut through the gloom. A fresh breeze rippled across the room and blew away the sleepy atmosphere, taking with it the stale smells of old smoke and spilt alcohol.

The burst of light revealed a room filled with over a dozen tables and chairs and a row of stools facing the bar on the opposite wall. Various plates, jugs, tankards hung from the dark pillars and roof beams in what appeared to be an attempt at decoration. Each one was painted with a four-leaf clover or words of luck and wisdom, but were so mis-matched and oddly arranged in clusters by the doors and windows that the effect looked rather clumsy and unappealing. Along the bar hung bunches of dried out heather, long since void of all colour and life, and around the fireplace at the far end of the room, a vast array of old, brass horse-shoes had been nailed to the frame in a long arch. There were so many which over-lapped one another it was impossible to make one out from another and made what would have been an impressive feature of the room look incredibly cluttered.

John walked slowly between the tables and wiped his hand across nearest one. It was covered in dust so thick that it stained his finger, and as he glanced around the room, he saw it was not the only one. The same ashy-grey dirt clung to the curtains and smothered the wrought iron grille at the bottom of the fireplace. It wasn’t luck, the pub needed, but a good clean, he thought, something it probably hadn’t received for years.

“I’ll go and open the rest of the windows,” said Mary, and she ran off through the door at the back of the room.

John listened to her feet as they pounded heavily up the stairs, and turned towards the bar. He was beginning to suspect the lawyer had been less than honest about the state of the pub; The photos they’d seen certainly hadn’t shown the numerous broken bottles hanging from the wall-mounts, nor the dirty glasses which had been piled high in the small sink. The kitchen was in an even worse state. Plates and bowls were stacked around the room, all covered in a scaly brown crust. Tiles had fallen from the walls to reveal the mouldy, grey plaster beneath, and a collection of grimy, foul-smelling cloths and rags hung from various open cupboard doors.

Having been disappointed, and a little disgusted, by the state of the rooms, John started to look for other things the lawyer might have neglected to mention. Luckily there was still running water, although it had taken several seconds before it had cleared itself of the muddy stain which coursed out with it into the sink, and the old gas stove still worked which meant they could cook and wash easily enough, but the lights did not.

Bent double, John followed a thick bundle of wires as they wormed their way from the kitchen light switch to the hall and disappeared beneath a door under the stairs. He grabbed the handle and pulled it back with a heavy tug, revealing the dark, dank entrance to the cellar below and a set of wooden steps which dropped sharply downwards. The bundle of white cords ran along the skirting in a thick knot, and with baited breath, John gripped the hand-rail tightly and slowly descended, following them into the darkness.

He was half-way down before he realised that the cellar wasn’t completely without light. After staggering down the narrow stair way a dim, blue light began to glow from somewhere up ahead, guiding his feet to the cellar floor. Dark shapes loomed out of the dimness and he tried to shuffle forwards, aiming for the source of the light, but a sudden loud crash and a sharp pain in his shins told him that such a search would be far from easy. Numerous obstacles blocked his path and as he turned, reaching out with his hands, he collided with another pile of boxes and sent them hurtling to the floor.

Cursing and groaning as unseen things collapsed around him, he stumbled towards the little square of light, fearing he’d never reach its source, when his fingers suddenly felt the cold, damp bricks of the wall and he reached up. His fingers touched something thick and dry which crumbled as he scratched it with his nails. Large flakes of dirt began to fall away from what appeared to be a window, and, as he continued to dislodge more of it, the patch of light grew and began to fill the cellar.

The difference it made was not much for the room was so full of junk that the light barely made it past the first few metres. There were barrels, crates, step-ladders, bottles and many other things either piled high or strewn about the floor. For every item he’d knocked over, there were three times as many stacked against the walls, and nearly all appeared to be broken, damaged or torn. It was a complete mess and would take weeks to sort out, another job to add to the list.

The bundle of wires led down to the furthest corner of the cellar and John followed their path to the fuse-box which was hidden behind an old, broken table. He saw, with a sinking heart, that it would require more than a change of fuse to get the power working again. The case was cracked, black and smelt of burning. An impossible knot of wires rose from the top, many of which were cut in two, and the fuses that weren’t missing had either melted or burst, leaving a noxious smelling and a vicious looking liquid to dribble down the wall.

He pushed the burnt out cartridges back into their slots, and swung the lid shut. His enthusiasm was rapidly being replaced by exasperation, and he kicked out in frustration at a nearby crate. It toppled over with a heavy thud and from somewhere up above he heard a sudden cry of shock. He twisted around as a heavy burst of footsteps came thundering down the stairs, and before he knew what was happening, Mary flew into the room, red-faced and wide eyed.

“What on earth’s the matter?” he asked as she fell into his arms. He felt her chest heaving against his own as she took deep, ragged breaths, then suddenly stopped.

“A mouse!” she spluttered, grinning wildly. “I think I just saw... a mouse... Scared me half to death.”

John looked at her and laughed. “Is that all? I thought you’d seen a ghost.”

“Not quite, though it gave me quite a fright.”

She laughed and pulled away from John’s arms, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “They don’t normally bother me,” she blushed. “But I wasn’t really paying attention, I was too busy trying to fix the door, so when I saw it, it caught me by surprise.”

John saw her face flush and leant forward to kiss her forehead. “What do you mean?” he asked gently. “What door?”

She waited until her heartbeat slowed and the glow departed from her cheeks then went on.  “I was sorting out the guest room at the back, giving it an airing and checking out the linen, when I thought I heard something fall over in the room beside it. Naturally, I went to see what it was, but when I went to the door, I couldn’t open it.”

“Was it locked?” asked John.

“I thought it must have been, so I went to the banister to call you for the keys, but while my back was turned I heard a click, like the sound of a latch being dropped, and when I looked back, the door was open.”

“Maybe it had just got stuck. The cold can make the wood swell.”

“Maybe,” she considered, but didn’t sound convinced. “It sounds silly now, but it wasn’t just stuck, it was jammed solid. The handle wouldn’t turn and it wouldn’t budge an inch, no matter how hard I pushed, but when I looked at it, it all seemed perfectly fine. I was so busy thinking about it that I forgot about the sound completely, and then, just as I turned, I saw something move in the corner and it made me jump.”

She laughed again and buried her head in her hands. “I think my excitement got the better of me, that’s all.”

“Maybe just a little,” smiled John.

“The funny thing was, before the mouse or whatever it was moved, I felt...” She paused, trying to think of the right word. “Unwelcome, like I wasn’t supposed to be there. It was so cold.”

“Well, the whole place feels a bit like that,” agreed John. “It’s what happens when buildings are left empty for a while. Come on,” he said, and reached out to take her hand. “Let’s go back to where it’s warm.”

And with a smile he led her up the stairs and out of the gloomy cellar.

***

Once all the doors and windows had been opened, the pub felt fresher, and together, John and Mary, began the slow chore of cleaning the rooms. They soaked the best rags they could find in rusty buckets of warm water and worked from top to bottom, scrubbing and washing away the years of grime. At times it felt like they were only smearing the dirt around further, there was so much of it, but they carried on regardless until the sun began to set and they felt satisfied enough with their progress to stop before it got too dark.

The night was surprisingly cool, despite being mid-summer, and while Mary shuffled to
the kitchen to begin preparing dinner, John lit the fire in the bar. The light and heat were the perfect remedy to the hours of labour they had put in, but before he could sit down and relax, he desperately needed to wash and change his clothes. The dust and dirt had turned patches of his skin black, and his joints ached dully. A nice hot bath was what he needed, but since he did not intend on carrying heavy buckets of water up two flights of stairs, a cold wash would have to suffice.

Half an hour later, he returned feeling slightly more refreshed and was just in time to help Mary serve up dinner. “I thought we’d eat next to the fire,” she told him as they carried their plates through to the bar. In her hunt through various cupboards and draws to find utensils, she’d found half a box of candles, enough to last them a short while, and had set them up around the room in various pots and candlesticks from which they glowed brightly.

“You know that room you saw the mouse in?” John asked after finishing his meal. “The second guest room.”

Mary looked up from her plate and swallowed. “Yes?”

“Have you been up to it since?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I’ve been down here the whole time.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “ It’s just that, when I went upstairs, both the guest room doors were open, as we left them, but on my way back, the first one was closed.”

“The wind, perhaps?” she offered, and this time it was John’s turn to sound unconvinced.

“There weren’t any windows open up there, I checked.” he said, then turned in his chair, and stared thoughtfully at the fire as the last of the logs burnt through.

“Are you teasing me?” Mary asked suspiciously, but John quickly shook his head in defence.

“No, not all,” he said. “I went and had a look to make sure, but everything was closed. I did find this though.”

He reached inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a small, rectangular box.

“Where was that?” Mary asked.

“Just on the bedside table. We must have missed it while we were cleaning.”

“There wasn’t even a cobweb left in that room,” she exclaimed and, sensing her offended tone, John reached across the table to stroke her hand soothingly.

“I’m sure there wasn’t, but it got there somehow,” he said, and tipped the contents onto his palm.

A full deck of playing cards fell out in a heavy wedge. They were old and well played with; the card’s white faces had turned yellow with age, the images, while still easy to identify, had faded to shades of grey and red, and the corners had curled and peeled.

John rifled through the deck and admired the pictures. They were unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Delicately drawn in ink, the numbered cards were depicted as ornate shields with the suit emblazoned upon the centre. The Kings, Queens and Jacks were intricately detailed and sat upon thrones of varying height in decorative gowns and resplendent jewellery. They would have almost been considered beautiful were it not for the haughty, unforgiving glare they wore as they stared out at the player.

By far the most fascinating and grotesque cards in the pack, though, were the final two - the Jokers. Identical in every way, the figure on each was no gleeful jester, but was instead a tall, skeletal-thin man dressed in an elegant black suit with top hat and tails. He faced outwards, dancing across a bed of what looked at first like flames, but on closer inspection appeared to be hundreds of people, all knotted and writhing together with their arms extended. The Joker seemed oblivious to their pain, perhaps was even excited by it judging by the expression he wore, and both his arms were raised high in mock delight, waving a silver cane in one hand and a human skull in the other.

“It’s hideous,” Mary shuddered as she peered over John’s shoulder, and he nodded in agreement.

The man’s thin, sallow, face was indeed quite repulsive, even though it was half-covered by a crescent-moon shaped mask which leered out from beneath the hat’s brim. The broad, toothy grin he wore looked hungry, and the two sunken eyes above showed no sign of good humour, only malice.

Mary tugged impatiently at John’s sleeve and asked him to put the cards away. There was something about the glee on the Joker’s face which made her feel nervous and, if he was honest, he felt it too. There was such a sense of malevolence in the figure’s eyes that he didn’t know whether to be impressed or repulsed by the artist’s efforts at creating such a grotesque character, and when Mary requested he put them away for a second time, he reluctantly slipped the cards back inside the pack and dropped the box onto the table.

“Is it time for bed?” she asked wearily.

It had only just gone 9, but both felt exhausted and were more than ready to sleep. The combination of food, heat and hard work had made their eyes feel heavy, and John knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer.

With a reluctant groan, he forced himself from his chair, and waited for Mary to leave the room before checking the fire would be safe to leave. There was very little left in the grille, despite the heat it continued to produce; most of the wood had been reduced to blackened ash with a handful of glowing embers scattered throughout.

He leaned over the table, blew out all but one of the candles, and was surprised at how dark the room suddenly became. The shadows poured in from the corners, reclaiming the space they had earlier been banished from, and his lone flame fought weakly against them. It was so ineffective against the dark as to be pointless. Its weak glow shone just a few inches and only made the surrounding darkness seem deeper.

He slowly shuffled forwards, using one hand to steady and guide himself around the tables and chairs which littered his path, then felt the edge of the rug beneath his feet. The doorway was close, perhaps only a foot or two ahead. He stretched out with the candle, trying to use its dim glow to locate the door, and then felt, too late, a draft run down the corridor and past his body. It ruffled his hair, made his skin feel cold, and the flame flickered, spluttered and died before his eyes, dropping further darkness upon him like a veil.

He cursed.

A few feet ahead, a small line of light leaked out from beneath the kitchen door. It was almost impossible to tell how far away he was from it, and with careful steps, he moved forward, feeling his way along the corridor with one hand. His fingertips searched for the thin gap of the door’s hinge. If he could find it, he could open it and hopefully see his way to the stairs.

The floorboards creaked beneath him and the rough wood scratched his palm. It felt like sandpaper, full of splinters and nails. He had to be getting closer, but the little slither of light still felt an impossible distance from him. His hip knocked against something heavy and he remembered the small table which sat between the kitchen and bar. An unseen item rattled upon it then came to rest as he stepped around it and pushed his hand further forwards until the crack appeared, then slid his fingers down to the cold handle and turned it sharply.

The door swung open to reveal the kitchen, bathed in moonlight. It shone through
the curtain-less window in thick streams of silver and reflected off the stained surfaces. The line on the corridor grew into a pool, revealing the base of the stairs which he swiftly moved towards and then paused. From up above, Mary’s voice gently echoed through the corridors. She was singing to herself, and he noted how strong and clear she sounded against the silence of the pub. It was a beautiful and yet eerie contrast which suddenly reminded him of just how alone they were out here in the countryside.

Still clasping the extinguished candle, he took his first step on the stairs. It creaked loudly, making his heart jump and a nervous laugh escaped his lips. He was clearly tired and desperately in need of rest.

He lifted his foot, ready to take a second step, when he heard something that made him stop suddenly. Not a creak, or a rattle, or even the soft thump of a foot against a wooden floor-board, but a scraping. It hadn’t come from upstairs, that much he was sure of, it had come from somewhere closer.

He twisted his head to the side and peered down the hallway. It was impossible to see much of anything, the light from the moon quickly vanished as the corridor stretched out.

Had the sound come from the bar, or the kitchen?

He turned to look into the moonlit room, his eyes flicking from corner to corner. There was nothing obviously out of place. All the cupboards and drawers remained closed, the floor was bare, but he could have sworn there were suddenly more shadows hiding in the corners than when he’d last looked.

He shivered and turned away as Mary called out - “John? Are you coming?”

“On my way,” he said, trying to keep the quiver from his voice.

Maybe it had just been the old building settling for the night, he thought as he quickly climbed the stairs; places like this were bound to be full of unusual sounds. He couldn’t be sure what had caused it, or even if it had been there at all. It was highly possible he’d simply imagined it for there had been no other sound since, but something in the back of his mind prickled uncomfortably. It might have been any number of things, but something deep inside told him that the sound it had most resembled was a chair being dragged an inch or two across a wooden floor, and that, he knew, was impossible.

***

The sun rose early the next morning, forcing John and Mary from them from their bed far earlier than they would have liked, but with another busy day ahead of them both, they could not afford to waste time. John planned to clear as much of the garden as he could before the delivery arrived at noon, no small task considering the state it had gotten into, and Mary would need to walk to each of the four villages to buy food, arrange an electrician to visit in the hope of restoring power before the weekend, hang posters and hand out fliers advertising their re-opening on Saturday.

They washed and dressed quickly, then hurried downstairs to begin preparing breakfast while the world outside slowly came to life. Through the open window they could hear tractors rumbling and the voices of farm-hands as they worked in the fields beyond; a bright chorus of birdsong rose from the thicket and the rosy dawn lifted their spirits. Even the grimy kitchen didn’t look as bad as it once had in the morning light.

A good night’s sleep had been exactly what John had needed; he felt rejuvenated and ready for work, with all thoughts of last night’s strange noise driven from his head. He had noticed the second guest room’s door was open once again, but pulled it shut without a second thought and headed down to the bar to collect their plates from the night before as Mary finished cooking up the last of their supplies

He entered the room and stopped to sniff the air. There was a strange odour about the
room which was so powerful that it forced him to wrinkle his nose and cough harshly several times. It smelt of charred wood, cigar smoke, petrol and other noxious fumes which clawed at the back of his throat and made his eyes water. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he strode across to the windows and pushed them open, flapping the curtains to encourage a rush of clean air into the room.

The foul stench quickly dissipated and, as he dropped the latch on the last window, John paused to consider what had caused it. Had the logs he’d burnt been rotten? It was possible, but neither he nor Mary had noticed it the night before and they had all but burnt out when they went to bed. Perhaps something had died and blocked the chimney.

He straightened as the gusts of morning air rushed through the open windows, making the curtains billow like sails, then felt something light strike the back of his neck. He jumped and turned to look for the source, half expecting to see Mary stood at the door, smiling at him, but there was no-one there. Looking down, he noticed four pieces of card scattered across the floor, they were the playing cards he’d found.

Almost equally spaced apart, they lead directly from the table where they had eaten dinner the night before to the spot where he now stood now and a fifth card rested against his shoe. The box from which they’d escaped was still half-buried amongst the debris of their meal. Its lid had popped open or he’d been careless and forgotten to close it properly in the first place. Either way, the gap had allowed these few to escape. It was difficult to remember much of last night, he’d been so tired.

Must have been the wind, he thought as he bent to pick them up and return them to the box.

Flipping the contents out, he was surprised to see the top card was the Three of Diamonds. Odd, he thought. He could have sworn the deck started with Spades, then Hearts, then Clubs, and then Diamonds.

He flicked through the rest of the pack, feeling confused. A well shuffled deck was important to any game, of course, but these had been neatly arranged when he’d found them and now they were completely random. Even the cards he’d collected from the floor were mixed up, but before he could spend any longer thinking about them, Mary’s voice called for him and he pushed the remaining cards back into the deck.

Two tens, a six, a queen and a four. A Pair, he thought curiously, then pocketed the pack and followed the delicious smells of coffee and toast back to the kitchen.

Continued in Part Two