A midday nap, as any man of middle age or older will tell you, is best had in a recliner. Even better, I blearily noted, with the warm vibrato of a fluffy orange cat purring on your chest. Hovering in that warm floating space between awake and asleep, I fought the urge to scratch the persistent itch on my right side which had pulled me from the dark. Azathoth, chaos god incarnate, was a terribly skittish companion, and would surely leave if I moved.
As the urge passed, and as the dark began to envelop me once again, a strange clatter sounded on the front door. This, unfortunately, did cause the cat to bolt—claws digging into my tender flesh as he haphazardly fled to the safety of the laundry room. Groggy and blustering, I made no notice of the hairs rising on my arms, nor the shadow crossing the window on my door. As I put down the footrest, the door opened and the blinding Texas sun streamed in.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Geer,” said the man as he entered, unbidden. I gripped the armrests, surprise lurching me forward until his hand shot up. “Please, don’t get up. I know you’re recovering from your surgery.”
All but blinded by the noon sun, I squinted in vain to see the man’s features. His ancient, ragged voice was somewhat familiar, but aside from his substantial height—taller, even, than me—I couldn’t make out more than a vague shape. “Could you shut the door?”
The man stepped inside and closed the door behind him, and finally I could see plainly: I did not know him. My pulse sped up, sweat beading on the top of my head. He wore a dingy lab coat, stringy ends of pale blond hair tickling the collar. Upon extending his hand to me, I recoiled at the gaunt, tight skin, open wounds, and long, yellowed fingernails. Something reeked, like infection. Rot.
I covered my nose. He looked sick, or homeless, or both.
But he knew about my surgery. Only two weeks past, I’d had robotic assisted surgery to remove cancer—along with a chunk of my right lung. I was pleased to cheat death yet again, this time a minimally invasive major surgery with a quick and relatively easy recovery. But only those who knew me, even tangentially, knew about the surgery.
“Do I know you?” Maybe he was a friend of my wife. I am not an unfriendly man, but she often made me look like a misanthrope the way she collected friends.
The man smiled, faintly, his hand remaining outstretched. “Oh, yes,” he hummed. “Quite well, I’d say.”
What remaining hair I had stood up again, but I pushed through. “Where from?”
“I have something to give you.” He jiggled his hand a little.
Eyeing the sickly hand, I shook my head. “Sorry, I’m… trying to avoid unnecessary germs.”
“To keep the incision scars from festering,” he said, nodding. “Allow me.” Raising his hand to his mouth, he exhaled a long and ragged breath which ended in a series of wet, rattling chest coughs. He rubbed his hand along the breast of his dingy coat, as if polishing an apple, and extended it again.
“Just…” I sighed, rubbing my nose and mouth instinctively. My hand trembled slightly as I gestured to the small walnut side table. “Put it there.”
At first my eyes followed the path of his outstretched hand, until he was haloed by the ceiling light. The smell grew oppressive, and I leaned back, inspecting him. His eyes were milky, yellowed with jaundice. Though he stood straight as a young man, everything about him from his stained teeth to his thin, pale hair indicated he was elderly.
The soft clatter of the object he placed on the table drew a hiss from the laundry room. He moved back as I leaned forward, inspecting it. A small cube of ivory, tinged brown with age, and carved with painted dots.
A die.
“What’s this?” Despite my best efforts, my voice wobbled like a child’s.
“You’ve played dice games all your life. I would expect you to know a six-sided die when you see one.”
“I know what it is,” I snapped. “Why are you giving it to me?”
The man’s cheeks made a faint moist sound as he grinned, his skin stretched so tight it looked painful. “As a token of remembrance for the game we’re playing.”
“I don’t think I know you.” I tried to stand, but my knees were weak, my heart galloping like a poorly tuned Harley. I pushed all the air I had in my injured lungs into my voice, but it came out small, weak and unsure. “You need to leave.”
The man looked down his nose, condescending, before perching on the small gray armchair across the room. Crossing his long legs at the knee, he looked like a wire hanger bent out of shape. “You want to hear this, Mr. Geer. Trust me.”
My gaze flickered around the room like a hummingbird, perching on the door—too far—the phone—dead—my holster—empty. Throat tight, I forced a swallow. I was in no shape to fight this man, and had no way to get help.
“You need not fear. I only want to play a little game. You still have choices, of course. Moves you can make, so to speak.” His voice oozed through my skull, a sticky fog.
Maybe if I humored him, he would go away. At least if he was calm, it would give me more time to think of a plan. I sighed, rubbing my hand across my face again. “What game?”
His smile was ugly, not reaching his eyes. Though it was over 100 degrees outside, my blood ran cold as ice. A shiver tickled down my spine, and I coughed a bit, holding my scars to lessen their ache. This only seemed to stretch the man’s smile wider.
“When I arrived at your door, Mr. Geer, I cast the die. Its roll determined your fate. If I rolled a one, two, or three, you win. If I rolled a four, five, or six, I win. Simple as that.”
“And what do we win?”
“If you win,” he croaked, “you will live to a ripe old age to enjoy your family, your fortune, your life. If I win…” He steepled his long fingers together, the bones crackling softly just under his skin. “You won’t.”
“You’re threatening me in my own home.” It wasn’t a question, the answer was plain. But though I meant it to sound strong and assured, it echoed back to me in mockery, a whimper.
His voice was flat, without remorse. “I threaten everyone, everywhere. I simply do not often make a game of it. I have threatened you before, in fact, several times. Yet you always seem to be one step ahead of me.”
My mind wheeled for potential enemies but came up woefully short. I couldn’t think of where I’d ever seen this man before in my life. One thing was certain: he’d never come to my home.
“I was…curious about you,” he continued. “No matter what I threw at you, you shrugged it off without much trouble. Five cancers, my friend! Five spontaneous cancers, and so much more, and yet here you sit. Comfortable. Content. Healthy.” His smile twisted into a snarl. “So now, we will play my game in the open, and you will live or die by my rules.”
My heart skipped a beat. Sweat pooled against my brow. I realized, with aching clarity, the true nature of the man sat before me. I’ve read stories about him, seen him in paintings, television shows, and movies. I knew his name. “You’re Pestilence.”
His sick smile returned, and he bowed his head, exposing the raw sores visible through his thin hair. “At your service, Mr. Geer.”
Dizzy, hot rage boiled over, constricting my chest. I gripped it, the ache in my heart. “You killed my family,” I gritted. “My father, both of my brothers, my sister, and now you’re here for me.” I exhaled a bitter, ragged laugh. “And you want to make a game out of it?”
“Indeed, and it has already begun.”
“Fuck you!”
“Now, now,” he said, rising. “Let’s not forget our manners, Mr. Geer.” His shadow grew long, eclipsing the table, my chair, and me in a chill as cold as…
Death.
Fear stabbed my stomach where anger had been. Pestilence, War, Famine…and Death. If Pestilence was here, in my living room, if he could change the rules of life and how it’s lived, what was to stop Death from doing the same? I swallowed hard, looking down at the floor. “Why would I play a game with you? I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
This seemed to satisfy the specter, his shadow receding and small smile returning to his gaunt face. “Your desire has no consequence, sir. You are playing—I have already rolled the die. The only option left to you now is what your next move will be. Only I know the outcome of the roll, and there is no changing where it has landed. Now is your choice. A way to end our…rivalry, let’s call it.”
“Okay,” I sighed, resigned.
“As I said, if I rolled a one, two, or three, you will live. If I rolled a four, five, or six, you will die within the next few years. However, I will allow you to increase your odds. If I rolled a four, you may still live, if…”
Hope cracked in my chest, just enough to let a sliver of light in. “If?”
Pestilence dipped a hand into the deep pocket of his lab coat and retrieved a small vial of clear liquid, stoppered with a rubber cork. He thrust it close to my face. “Poison yourself with this and suffer its effects for a trifling three months.”
I pushed it away. “What? No! Why would I poison myself?”
Pestilence sighed wistfully, leaning one hip out and resting his hand on his chin. His long fingernail scratched at a weeping pustule. “There is an astonishing lack of suffering in this modern world, Mr. Geer. Once upon a time, I could follow Famine and War to a town and there would be such delicious agony. We reveled in it—bathed in it—and left them for Death. I would infect entire cities with plague. Black death, leprosy, cholera…the list is endless.”
Snapping from his reverie, Pestilence stalked to the kitchen and pulled a bottle from the cabinet. I stifled the small noise of alarm when he held my pain medicine in his crusted hand and shook it.
“Modern medicine. Technological advancements. You had lung cancer, and an entire lobe removed from your chest! And do you suffer?” He shrugged, donning a disgusted frown as he surveyed the label.
“I was in a lot of pain—”
He slammed the bottle down, cutting me off. “You hardly know pain,” he growled. “You suffer so little and think it grave. This? These little incisions, clean and wrapped, this non-invasive robotic surgery, these opioids, the nerve blocker? Suffering is nothing like it once was.”
He moved with alarming speed, rounding the counter and looming over me. I turned away, squeezing my eyes closed as his face drew close to mine. The putrid stench was unbearable, my eyes watering, as he whispered, “Suffering is what I crave, Mr. Geer. I want you to suffer.”
It wasn’t until he’d settled again on the chair that I was able to open my eyes, inhaling a choked sob. “I don’t want to die.”
“Fret not,” Pestilence chirped happily. “You probably won’t die from this poison, and I will allow all modern medicine you have at your disposal to aid you.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“Pain,” he snapped. “You will suffer from this, no matter what you employ to treat it. Oh yes, there will be pain. Nausea, dizziness, weakness, months of it. You may lose your hearing, or your balance. You may lose your hair, such the pathetic amount that remains clinging to your skin.” He laughed, a hacking in his throat that sounded more like choking. “You may even lose your remaining kidney, and I can add it to my collection.”
Composing himself, he folded his hands gently in his lap, wheezing breaths so loud in the room they might have been gunfire. “But rest assured, Mr. Geer. You will suffer greatly.”
For a few minutes, all was silent. I contemplated the rules of this game. A fifty percent chance of life, fifty percent chance of death. But for three months of suffering, I could increase my odds by one-sixth. A sixty-six percent chance of life, a thirty-three percent chance of death.
“Why me?” The question was soft, but not small. Resigned, but not defeated. “Why make me play this game with you?”
Pestilence thought a moment, uncrossing and crossing his legs again. “I am no stranger to your family. No stranger to you. You and your family have seen all of us, in their time, in their way. Though it was I who ultimately took your family, I who offered them up to Death, I was denied the suffering due to me by modern medicine. So, I offer this opportunity to you, Mr. Geer. Last of your old clan.” He leaned forward, eyes dark and wicked beneath patchy brows. “Suffer for me. Break from the pain I provide. Satisfy me where none other of your family has.” He smiled again, lifting one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I may have rolled a four.”
“If you rolled a five or six, I could take this poison and suffer, and you would still have Death take me. My suffering would have done nothing for me, only enhanced your sick satisfaction.”
“Correct,” he hummed.
“And if you rolled a one, two, or three, I could take this poison, suffer, live, and wonder all the while if you’d rolled a four or if my suffering was for nothing.”
“It’s your move, Mr. Geer.” He stood, tucking his hands into his pockets. “You understand the game, the odds, and the consequences. I hope you enjoy our little game.” His milky eyes glittered, razor sharp. “I know I am.”
He crossed to the door and pulled it open, the sun streaming in again. Light struck an object on the small side table and stabbed my eyes. I picked it up, and just as soon nearly dropped it.
The poison.
Just before the door shut, I called, “Wait!”
The figure paused, but so enshadowed I couldn’t tell whether he’d turned back to look at me or not.
“I haven’t made my decision,” I said. “You’re going to leave?”
A grisly chuckle choked my ears, quickening my pulse once more. “Take your time,” he rasped. “I’ll find out soon enough.”
The door closed behind him. Silence settled over the house once more. And still the game played on.
I wrote this three weeks ago and now I have made my decision. I am to be at the hospital tomorrow morning at 6:30 am to get a port-a-cath inserted, and will begin chemotherapy Thursday next week.
I also want to note that in no way do I discount the pain and suffering my siblings or dad endured with their treatments and ultimate demise from cancer. I saw the pain and hardship they endured and it broke my heart every time. This is a fictional story that allowed me to deal with the emotional stress of being put in a difficult situation. Thanks for reading.
I haven’t faced such a decision like that in my life thus far, but I think fighting on is the best example to show to those around you. Family, especially children.
Thanks, Bro. The odds are not good, and only slightly better with chemo. But I will continue to give it a go, I do like this place (Earth.) My wife and kids have my back, so at least when I freaked out, I had a good support system in place.
Thanks, Necron,
My family has mostly been spared those types of problems, though my next older brother took a couple years. I’m the last in the generation. You have my best wishes, you can only do what you think is best.
I’m sorry you are dealing with this N99. I hope your treatment is successful.
I’ll be praying for you.
Jeebus. This hits hard.
Not as hard as…THIS FIRST!
Thanks, it did. I’ve played a lot of AD&D as a teen, and the roll of the dice was a perfect an illustration for my current predicament. I was laying in bed thinking about all this crap and the story materialized in my mind, finally went to sleep and just started writing it down the next day. My daughter helped with editing, she is an excellent writer and editor.
I played a lot of roll playing games from about 13-20 with my buddies.
We largely went our separate ways and some of the group was pretty crappy to me over politics but I’ll always cherish those memories.
But when you’re all sitting together you can’t fake the rolls.
Some are awesome and some hit hard.
Oooh, this is ‘fun.’ Both sorry to hear of your recent operation and hopeful for a recovery swifter than this story suggests. Some parts of this certainly hit me personally in a good way.
“I threaten everyone, everywhere. I simply do not often make a game of it. I have threatened you before, in fact, several times. Yet you always seem to be one step ahead of me… I was…curious about you,” he continued. “No matter what I threw at you, you shrugged it off without much trouble.”
I rather enjoy my so-far conquests of Death. I know he’ll eventually win, we all do, but I don’t want to make it easy for ‘im. A rather many odd curve ball injuries and maladies have been thrown at me, to no avail. *happy wink*
Also a good read with a nice voice. “Suffering is nothing like it once was.” Damn straight. It tends to last longer now, if that’s any relief to Pestilence. I’m sure chemo give him a sense of satisfaction, though not as great as the (legit) pandemics before.
*fist bump* Much appreciated. It’s fun thinking about where your mind goes in times like this. Interesting overlap with some of my own.
Happy I can help. I’ve read your stories and they are quite harrowing. Glad you can look at it and be satisfied with how everything is turning out.
Thank you on all counts.
Spiraling into nastiness is a bad, often natural, habit people slip and plummet into. I’m not ‘satisfied’ in that I know what’s up w me, but I fucking lived. And, like when UCS comes in a couple days, he wouldn’t guess anything were amiss with me, but the cat’s outta that bag.
There are always little victories and they’re important to remember, often, to focus upon, regardless of importance. ‘Today is better than yesterday’ is a crucial one for people to learn to lean on, IMO. (It’s not always true, but when it IS., Big Things.)
Big Times, you are currently in. I wish you the best.
Evan. You and UCS are getting together? That’s pretty cool.
I like hearing the stories of actual interactions of this group in meatspace.
It really makes this small group of radicals feel like a community.
Yeah, he’s supposed to be coming in Thursday, as of now snacking at a local brewery pub with outdoor seating. I’ll get in touch with him tomorrow and confirm everything.
I’m not sure I would take the painful route. I likely would, but it would be a conversation. Meh. I assuredly would, I just would be really bitchy about it inside.
*In reference to the bet with Pestilence on the die. With chemo, I’d accept it.
Funny you say that, today had been a very bitchy day for me. I’ve vented to my boss, and snapped at my reports. I know it is the right thing to do, but damn it, I’d really rather not.
Well folks, I have an early day tomorrow so the comments are all yours.
I do appreciate any feedback, I don’t write often and this was merely an exercise in stress management. Thanks for listening.
We’re here, if I was a religious man I’d try to help. Wishing you all the best, Necron.
Good luck, Necron.
Outstanding writing Necron! I wish you all the best as you undergo chemo. It is pretty amazing what the medicos can achieve with modern chemo.
Sydney Sweeney Tries To Gain Support Of Liberal Women By Murdering Multiple Children
https://x.com/TheBabylonBee/status/2100004234431463723
She should get double points because they’re Nazi children.
dark LOL
Mine is just a nightly capsule.
I can’t have children, though.
Have you tried with women?
Have you tried asexual cellular division, like Wally from Dilbert?
lol No
Someone put it well the other day, about medical progress with my brain surgery. It’s absolutely astounding docs were able to go in my head, with my skull and brain, and clean and sort all of that out… and just to keep me alive through that is remarkable. But to do it without any pain (put into a coma) and even through recovery, not a single bit of pain from my head that I recall. (Broken ribs, yes, I remember those bitches.)
I attribute much of this to my internally-famous Wolverine healing ability, but damn. Credit where it’s due. They did a helluva job. Would recommend. (Well. Not the surgery, I doubt you’re interested, but for the docs who did it. +Much.)
Youth helps. But yeah the technology and skill is amazing.
My most recent surgery went well but the pain sucks, mostly from a nerve block that I fear has done permanent nerve damage. Still hanging on after five weeks.
Getting older stinks. A guy dosent bounce as well.
Youth, indeed. And I’m still fit. Lucky genes, Colin and I got. I still properly wear my Young Man status, but c’mon. I feel halfway-honorary old. (I ain’t, and I still fight that thinking.)
Fuck, so sorry about continuing pain. Fuck. That’s nuts. Best of luck, however you can get help.
My daughter in law had postpartum breast cancer. She was sick as a dog for months, with an under 1yo at home. But she has been cancer free for a decade now.
Wishing her all the best in the future and thanks for sharing!
There are happy stories.
Indeed. We exist. I think it is important to remember that, through all the bad.
The Horsemen will always win, but we can fucking go down swinging.
Fantastic news. Update! A decade? Wowza.
I don’t think I was ever that terrified of death. Obviously wanted to be around for my family. Now… the concept doesn’t disturb me at all.
Thanks for sharing, Necron. Best wishes. I certainly don’t envy you.
Nice little story.
I like the picture you painted of that asshole Pestilence. He’s a right bastard, and needs a kick in the jimmies.
Also, that die doesn’t resemble mine at all. Those frickin things only show ones.
The more I become aware of Victor Davis Hansen, the more I realize his facts are pretty fuzzy. Not directionally wrong, but very sloppy.
Yes. Though I’d say it’s his commentary. I have no idea about his academic work.
You are very Stoic, Necron.
*ron doesn’t scowl*
Does anybody know if Pie is involved in the rapidly growing Romanian sport of ass-slapping?
https://x.com/EsTendenciaEnX/status/2099624904836493338?s=20
I don’t know about that but I was wondering if he or any of his are involved in the latest farmer protest.
Was talking to MN Munch the other day about a remote possibility of meeting up for Honey Fest. I said if work started a week or two later, we might have a shot. Well, seems now I do have that shot, though an outside one. So outside, in fact, it won’t be possible, but it was a fun idea to have.
Really wish I could go up and meet y’all in person, especially important to have her with me, for her sake.
On that, I’ll contact him later, but UCS is due in Carmel on Thurs. I won’t be working so I won’t be so rushed. ‘Twill be interesting. We’re planning on having a snack/drink off the Monon Trail, in IMO Peak Carmel Territory off Main Street. They were able to pull off their idea, and being the wealthiest county in IN certainly helped.
I’m sure folk will share my desire to have a photo of the two of us, somehow. (Neither of us are good at getting strangers to take our pic, me thinky.) Interesting intersection in the world of people meeting up. To be fair! I edited one of his works, back in the day, Fall of the Mountain King (as I knew it).
Would like to hear any suggestions or ideas that’ve been floated ’round when I wasn’t here.
I hopped on the zoom
For HH last year. That was fun. Being there had to have been a hoot.
Heading out in the morning. Probably won’t be online until next week when I get home.
Looking forward to seeing the glibs that show up this weekend.
Tell MikeS he ought to come around more often.
And that he’s gay. I bet no one has rubbed his nose in the taint on that one for a while.
NoDak MikeS won’t make it this year, he will be on vacation with family.
He will be missed.
Larry the cable guy addresses the Sydney Sweeny ad controversy
https://x.com/GitRDoneLarry/status/2099957484358107185
Did people talk about Massie trying to impeach Hegseth on the way out?
Yes, someone mentioned it in one of the ded threds.
Thanks for sharing your story. I like the choice of Pestilence rather than Death as it reflects both the disease and the potential cure and also echos the history of your family.
There’s a band I like whose guitarist/lyricist faced a similar situation and choice:
Asking just to start anew
Contemplating irony
A body fed with venom
Seeking life from death
I hope you find what you seek.
“I don’t know who that guy is, but his
driveradmin assistant is the pope”Thx. With the description of the poison I knew this was about chemo. Don’t know if my game was 1-3 or 4, but things seem good now. Damn that shit was awful though.
Hey Glibs! Whatchya all up to?
🤨⛅️☕️
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=XuLT8nLy-xY
🎶🎶
I woke up in the vicinity of Cleveland.
I’ve stayed at this hotel before, it was rennovated during those earlier visits because the rooms were worn out. The updated rooms are nice.
Good morning, Sean, U, and Ted’S.!
Coffee in mug, cat on lap.
Better than cat in mug and coffee on lap.
That would be awful.
😝
+1 Bonsai Kitten
He’s more inclined to “Banzai!!!” than Bonsai.
Now I’m trying to envision a Bonsai charge – thousands of tiny Ents?
🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳
https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/bonsai-kittens/
🙀🙀
Morning!
Time to go to bed.
Damn, and I just got up.
Morning everyone! 45 degrees (outside)
Coffee in hand, no cat.
Well, they got the emergency they wanted