night made her think for the first time of getting out of the business. Slowly, her whirling thoughts subsided, and as the hazy blanket of slumber closed in around her, she swore she saw a vision of someone in the room with her before she lost consciousness.
When she awoke it was with a start; something cold and solid was in her mouth. She sat up and spit the object into her hand, then gasped in alarm. The brooches and rings stolen previously from Constance sat gleaming in her palm. She dropped them as if they were vile insects, and she immediately began making arrangements to hock them to her connections and be rid of them forever. That evening three big men in b1ack suits rang the bell. They talked her down to a fraction of the jewels’ worth, but the Queen of Spades was in no mood for bartering that evening.
As she watched them walk away, she sighed with relief, closed the heavy curtains, and made arrangements to meet her latest beau so she could go on a fancy-type date somewhere and take her mind off the hideous time she had been having lately. He arrived at 11:00, looking as dapper as ever, greeting her with “Hello, Angel,” and handing her a yellow tulip he’d obviously pinched from someone’s garden on the way over.
That night she arrived home drunk and was laughing so hard she was in stitches as she pushed the door shut and locked him out. She threw herself onto the unmade bed and fell deeply asleep fully dressed. She was awakened by the sound of someone ominously calling her name. Slowly she opened her eyes and the sight she beheld stopped her heart. There stood the ghost of Constance Byrne, blood glistening from the fresh gash on her head and running down her neck, matching the glisten from the stolen jewelry she now seemingly repossessed.
She looked at the terrified Queen of Spades and pointed accusingly in her direction, a stolen ring sparkling on the threateningly thrust finger. “You stole not only my inheritance but also my second chance at life. I despise you, you wicked wretch.” And with this, she came suddenly toward the Queen of Spades. Seeing this, she spoke some magic words she knew to protect herself from ghosts and the spirit instantly disappeared, the rings and brooches falling to the floor with a clatter.
The Queen of Spades looked at them lying still on the floor for a moment, but then the doorbell rang. She arose and stepped carefully around the jewels as she made her way to the thick velvet curtain to cautiously peek out. The three big men in black suits she had hocked the jewelry to earlier now pounded on her door with increased force. She immediately slipped on her coat. leaving the jewelry where it was, hoping they would see it when they broke in and spare the rest of her home. Then she slipped out the back door.
When she returned the next evening, she found she had no such luck, her home had been devastated. She lay on the floor with her face in her hands and wept bitterly.
After locking her doors, she began to clean up her house and fell asleep exhausted. When she woke up, she was choking. The ghost of Constance was straddling her and pushing the jewelry down her throat. She tried to push her off but her hands went through the ghost feeling nothing more than coldness. Blackness started forming around the circle of her vision, slowly leaching out everything but the grimacing smile of the ghost, and even this, too, slowly faded from view as she ceased her struggle and fell downward, ever down.
She awoke and couldn’t move her arms. The wooden lid of her coffin was mere inches from her face, and as her mind cleared the Queen of Spades realized ironically that she had been buried alive. A couple strolling near the cemetery heard her screams but dismissed them as the wind and continued on, never pausing to glance back. Meanwhile in a nearby grave the eyes of Constance shut forever, finally at rest.
THE GAMBLER’S
When she awoke it was with a start; something cold and solid was in her mouth. She sat up and spit the object into her hand, then gasped in alarm. The brooches and rings stolen previously from Constance sat gleaming in her palm. She dropped them as if they were vile insects, and she immediately began making arrangements to hock them to her connections and be rid of them forever. That evening three big men in b1ack suits rang the bell. They talked her down to a fraction of the jewels’ worth, but the Queen of Spades was in no mood for bartering that evening.
As she watched them walk away, she sighed with relief, closed the heavy curtains, and made arrangements to meet her latest beau so she could go on a fancy-type date somewhere and take her mind off the hideous time she had been having lately. He arrived at 11:00, looking as dapper as ever, greeting her with “Hello, Angel,” and handing her a yellow tulip he’d obviously pinched from someone’s garden on the way over.
That night she arrived home drunk and was laughing so hard she was in stitches as she pushed the door shut and locked him out. She threw herself onto the unmade bed and fell deeply asleep fully dressed. She was awakened by the sound of someone ominously calling her name. Slowly she opened her eyes and the sight she beheld stopped her heart. There stood the ghost of Constance Byrne, blood glistening from the fresh gash on her head and running down her neck, matching the glisten from the stolen jewelry she now seemingly repossessed.
She looked at the terrified Queen of Spades and pointed accusingly in her direction, a stolen ring sparkling on the threateningly thrust finger. “You stole not only my inheritance but also my second chance at life. I despise you, you wicked wretch.” And with this, she came suddenly toward the Queen of Spades. Seeing this, she spoke some magic words she knew to protect herself from ghosts and the spirit instantly disappeared, the rings and brooches falling to the floor with a clatter.
The Queen of Spades looked at them lying still on the floor for a moment, but then the doorbell rang. She arose and stepped carefully around the jewels as she made her way to the thick velvet curtain to cautiously peek out. The three big men in black suits she had hocked the jewelry to earlier now pounded on her door with increased force. She immediately slipped on her coat. leaving the jewelry where it was, hoping they would see it when they broke in and spare the rest of her home. Then she slipped out the back door.
When she returned the next evening, she found she had no such luck, her home had been devastated. She lay on the floor with her face in her hands and wept bitterly.
After locking her doors, she began to clean up her house and fell asleep exhausted. When she woke up, she was choking. The ghost of Constance was straddling her and pushing the jewelry down her throat. She tried to push her off but her hands went through the ghost feeling nothing more than coldness. Blackness started forming around the circle of her vision, slowly leaching out everything but the grimacing smile of the ghost, and even this, too, slowly faded from view as she ceased her struggle and fell downward, ever down.
She awoke and couldn’t move her arms. The wooden lid of her coffin was mere inches from her face, and as her mind cleared the Queen of Spades realized ironically that she had been buried alive. A couple strolling near the cemetery heard her screams but dismissed them as the wind and continued on, never pausing to glance back. Meanwhile in a nearby grave the eyes of Constance shut forever, finally at rest.
THE GAMBLER’S
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