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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Character Based
- Published: 11/18/2015
His body jerked, "Jack . . . wake up!"
Jack swayed his head up and opened his eyes. "What is it . . . is it closing time?"
He slumped his hand on the bar table and sloped for the glass in front of him.
The man from behind the bar put the bottle of whiskey under the bar. "No, it's just that you have been laying there with half a glass for an hour now."
Jack sat up and took a gulp from the glass. He smacked his lips and slammed the glass down, "This is warm whiskey."
The bar tender swiped the glass from Jack's hand. "My sister, your mother, is going to kill me for letting you drink again . . . after what happened."
Jack peeked over his right shoulder, there were men dancing in rows and a lit fireplace waving flames from the pub's door opening. The door was only twenty feet away from him. If he could, if he only had some time to do this right. "Yes, after a husband not a father dies, it's hard to keep track of her men."
"You need to go home, it's late, okay . . . tabs on me."
Jack tightened his mouth and lightly tapped the bar with his knuckles. "Yes . . . o-okay, t-thank you . . . will do."
The bartender nodded to him.
Jack stood up and brushed himself off of the dust that must of fell on him from a fight or fights earlier that night while he was asleep.
Jack walked to the door and smiled. He fell for it . . . no pay.
All Jack could hear was the sound for the beginning of a free night.
Jack walked outside the pub and the cool Irish air blew the scent of this winter's burning wood. He rubbed both arms and looked around. What next? Houses and open streets were all to choose from from here. His next pub will be about a thirty minute walk and the owner of that one doesn't know his mother.
A man walked toward the pub.
Jack smiled and his heart raced. He walked up to the man and with a silver tongue he told him what he just did to his uncle and...
The bush nearest to them gave itself one big shake.
Jack stared at the bush and the hair on the back of Jack's neck sprang upward and the dry skin on his throat pulsed. "Just kidding." He padded the man on the chest and walked off.
Later that night, Jack swerved on the green-cobblestone path in front of his house.
A pounding head and squinted eyes, he stopped. Three feet away was the dead body of a man laying there.
No blood. He itched his chin with his hand and smiled. There was no harm in checking.
He hobbled over on the silent clear night with only the rise of chimney smoke as far as the mountains laid.
The body had a grim smile on it's face. Must have died happily. Jack lifted the man's coat . . .
The body swiftly grasped Jack's neck and held him up and snarled, "Stingy Jack."
Jack punched the stone hard hand while gasping.
The body smiled and his skin turned red and grew goat horns.
Satan! It was the end of Jack.
Satan's teeth were as black as wet ink reflecting the shine of the moon.
Staring into his soulless eyes, like holes to the ends of the Earth.
Satan growled, "Your soul is mine . . . for your sinful ways."
A sharp pain in the back of Jack's neck was no better than the stench of rotten death from Satan's mouth.
"Er . . . can I ask for — just — one last glass of whiskey?"
Satan dropped Jack and changed his skin back to pale and retracted the goat horns. "Fine!"
Jack gasped and stood up quickly. He rubbed his neck with his right hand and pointed with his left, "The pub's this way."
They walked in and Jack eyed every customer there. Nobody noticed them, or at least that Satan had entered. So not everyone can see Satan. He must be lucky. He smiled. What to do? He took a seat at the bar. How was he going to get past this? "One cup of whiskey please"
Satan stood near him arms crossed and staring.
Jack took a gulp from the glass and he rubbed his throat again. Wasn't just the alcohol that stung.
He placed the cup down gently and looked to Satan. He turned sharply, "Can you turn yourself into a silver coin so I can pay for the drink?"
Satan nodded and his body turned into a dark blue mist that reflected the rays of the fireplace and gathered onto Jack's hand into a silver coin.
Jack placed the warm Satan coin into his right pocket, his heart raced, then he reached into his left pocket and slammed a silver coin on the table. "Thanks."
Jack walked out of the pub and poked his right pocket. "You threaten me, I threaten you."
His right pocket got warmer, "You will release me from this pocket and the crucifix that lays within . . . and I will grant you ten years of freedom."
"Okay," Jack held tight to the Satan coin and flipped it into the air with his thumb. He took a step back and the coin turned into a dark blue mist that flickered the stars from behind. The mist re-formed into Satan.
Satan pointed his finger at Jack. "I warn you — any more tricks and not even my father will save you." He vanished into the darkness.
Only ten years of freedom — he better make it count.
Stingy Jack(Jonathan)
His body jerked, "Jack . . . wake up!"
Jack swayed his head up and opened his eyes. "What is it . . . is it closing time?"
He slumped his hand on the bar table and sloped for the glass in front of him.
The man from behind the bar put the bottle of whiskey under the bar. "No, it's just that you have been laying there with half a glass for an hour now."
Jack sat up and took a gulp from the glass. He smacked his lips and slammed the glass down, "This is warm whiskey."
The bar tender swiped the glass from Jack's hand. "My sister, your mother, is going to kill me for letting you drink again . . . after what happened."
Jack peeked over his right shoulder, there were men dancing in rows and a lit fireplace waving flames from the pub's door opening. The door was only twenty feet away from him. If he could, if he only had some time to do this right. "Yes, after a husband not a father dies, it's hard to keep track of her men."
"You need to go home, it's late, okay . . . tabs on me."
Jack tightened his mouth and lightly tapped the bar with his knuckles. "Yes . . . o-okay, t-thank you . . . will do."
The bartender nodded to him.
Jack stood up and brushed himself off of the dust that must of fell on him from a fight or fights earlier that night while he was asleep.
Jack walked to the door and smiled. He fell for it . . . no pay.
All Jack could hear was the sound for the beginning of a free night.
Jack walked outside the pub and the cool Irish air blew the scent of this winter's burning wood. He rubbed both arms and looked around. What next? Houses and open streets were all to choose from from here. His next pub will be about a thirty minute walk and the owner of that one doesn't know his mother.
A man walked toward the pub.
Jack smiled and his heart raced. He walked up to the man and with a silver tongue he told him what he just did to his uncle and...
The bush nearest to them gave itself one big shake.
Jack stared at the bush and the hair on the back of Jack's neck sprang upward and the dry skin on his throat pulsed. "Just kidding." He padded the man on the chest and walked off.
Later that night, Jack swerved on the green-cobblestone path in front of his house.
A pounding head and squinted eyes, he stopped. Three feet away was the dead body of a man laying there.
No blood. He itched his chin with his hand and smiled. There was no harm in checking.
He hobbled over on the silent clear night with only the rise of chimney smoke as far as the mountains laid.
The body had a grim smile on it's face. Must have died happily. Jack lifted the man's coat . . .
The body swiftly grasped Jack's neck and held him up and snarled, "Stingy Jack."
Jack punched the stone hard hand while gasping.
The body smiled and his skin turned red and grew goat horns.
Satan! It was the end of Jack.
Satan's teeth were as black as wet ink reflecting the shine of the moon.
Staring into his soulless eyes, like holes to the ends of the Earth.
Satan growled, "Your soul is mine . . . for your sinful ways."
A sharp pain in the back of Jack's neck was no better than the stench of rotten death from Satan's mouth.
"Er . . . can I ask for — just — one last glass of whiskey?"
Satan dropped Jack and changed his skin back to pale and retracted the goat horns. "Fine!"
Jack gasped and stood up quickly. He rubbed his neck with his right hand and pointed with his left, "The pub's this way."
They walked in and Jack eyed every customer there. Nobody noticed them, or at least that Satan had entered. So not everyone can see Satan. He must be lucky. He smiled. What to do? He took a seat at the bar. How was he going to get past this? "One cup of whiskey please"
Satan stood near him arms crossed and staring.
Jack took a gulp from the glass and he rubbed his throat again. Wasn't just the alcohol that stung.
He placed the cup down gently and looked to Satan. He turned sharply, "Can you turn yourself into a silver coin so I can pay for the drink?"
Satan nodded and his body turned into a dark blue mist that reflected the rays of the fireplace and gathered onto Jack's hand into a silver coin.
Jack placed the warm Satan coin into his right pocket, his heart raced, then he reached into his left pocket and slammed a silver coin on the table. "Thanks."
Jack walked out of the pub and poked his right pocket. "You threaten me, I threaten you."
His right pocket got warmer, "You will release me from this pocket and the crucifix that lays within . . . and I will grant you ten years of freedom."
"Okay," Jack held tight to the Satan coin and flipped it into the air with his thumb. He took a step back and the coin turned into a dark blue mist that flickered the stars from behind. The mist re-formed into Satan.
Satan pointed his finger at Jack. "I warn you — any more tricks and not even my father will save you." He vanished into the darkness.
Only ten years of freedom — he better make it count.
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