Joe Zecchino Vs the Forces of Darkness

Joe Zecchino Vs the Forces of Darkness

Joe Zecchino stumbled out from the bar. He knew he had been celebrating something but heavens knows what. His head was spinning and he felt like the world was dissolving around him. The alcohol had never made him this way before; looking at him it was a wonder he could put one foot in front of the other and walk. What he didn't know was that someone had spiked his drink with LSD, just for badness. They had done it to three other drinkers, two of which were currently trying to out-stare the wall and one whom the barman would shortly find in his toilet, singing to himself. Joe, though, was out in the world and found he did not like it one bit. Cars zoomed past in blurs of light and noise; people walked past him with disgust at his “drunkenness”, the drug in him amplifying their faces into mocking sneers. Joe wanted to curl up in a ball but something kept him moving on. He left the main road and its terrors and trudged on down side streets, his feet turning to lead and every movement he forced from them feeling like it would be his last.

Through his stupor he saw lights ahead, soft and welcoming; he stumbled up a gravel path and peered in a window. He could hear the noise of people talking but what captured his interest and held it was a chessboard set up by the window. Enthralled now, he clambered in through the half-open window, seemingly unnoticed by anyone there. He sat himself at the chessboard and gazed at it, his drug-addled mind fixed. He was a chessplayer normally, with the usual obsession those creatures have, but now it was ten clear steps beyond obsession. In his mind's eye he caressed each piece. Someone spoke to him but the noise was a faint buzzing and he ignored it at first. It came again: “I said, do you play?” He nodded absently and the person sat down; at this point he realised that this was no ordinary person but a beast walking upright, some sort of wolfman. He felt strangely unafraid but his mind was past caring why this was. The werewolf played its first move and Joe felt the board (augmented by the drug) re-absorb his attention. They played quickly, the wolfman's nature no doubt driving him to play blitz, but Joe was wired right in and defeated the beast quickly. With a short, forlorn howl the wolfman bowed and left the table.

This noise, however drew another mysterious figure, in victorian evening cloak and tails, to glide over to the board. He announced “I am...the Count”, staring intently at Joe Zecchino and exposing two long fangs. “Ve vill haff der game, yes?” asked the Count, arching his eyebrows theatrically. Joe nodded solemnly; at this point he could not have told you if he was experiencing these sights or watching them on a movie reel at the cinema, such was the power of the drug, which he was unaccustomed to the like of. The Count was a much slower player than the werewolf, more rhythmic in his movements and he kept fixing Joe with his semi-hypnotic stare and smiling to expose his fangs. Joe was aware of this abstractly but under the acid's influence was consumed only by the board. When the Count finally toppled his king, he span on his heel with a final flourish of his cloak and drifted away. Joe was vaguely aware of other eyes on him, a variety of shapes of forms but he could not make them out properly till they drew closer.

And drew closer one did: a demon and no mistake, horns erect on his head, red skin and forked tail behind him. Joe gaped now, was he to play for his very soul? He trembled slightly as the creature sat and put both pawns behind his back with a pawn in each but recovered himself enough to point a trembling finger at one taloned hand, which opened to reveal a white pawn. He busied himself straightening the other bits rather than go near that hideous palm to retrieve his pawn. His composure regained a little as the demon cast out not hellfire but fairly mundane chess moves. Joe was a fairly good chessplayer and made short work of the fiend from hell who seemed to grasp little of strategy. When the demon finally conceded it grinned, said “Poker's more my game” and winked at him. As it rose, another terrifying figure made its way to the table.

This was some appalling construct of a man, Frankenstein's monster brought to life. It lumbered ponderously over and made a great show of sitting clumsily at the table. It seized a white pawn in one gnarled, misshapen fist and deposited it on the e4 square. Its seeming brutality belied a subtle mind which became evident after a few moves – no swinging the queen out early for this creature, the brain implanted in it must be of the highest order, Joe thought to himself. Everything he tried was smoothly parried by the monster – all Joe had after forty moves each was a slight edge in an endgame. Here the drug helped though: he started to see patterns swirling across the board and saw with some twisted insight how to set up his pieces to grind out the win. Frankenstein's creation finally extended a huge hand which he shook timidly, fearing that his own fingers would be crushed; he need not have worried, the grip was gentle and the giant left him to set the pieces back up in a trance.

What was going through Joe's mind now? He was being challenged by the myriad forms that evil bore and emerging triumphant – he was a noble paragon, a champion of the light! He scowled belligerently at the shapes watching in the blur and shadow he could not pierce. They parted and a crone ambled over, a witch without question, her black hat and robes her badge of office, her twisted long nose evident of her alliance to the forces of darkness. She shuffled over to the seat and took the black pieces. “Now, sonny,” she cackled “Don't make me use the evil eye on you...” Joe stared her down and cried “Nay hag – I fear you not!” With that he launched a pawn forward and the battle was joined. The witch seemed to be playing with his mind as much as the board, for he found himself under threat after threat in the middlegame – she had arrived there with some advantage from the opening and never yielded any ground. Despair entered his head as he desperately parried each attack, his kingside getting more and more loose as he struggled just to stay alive. “What dark magic is this?” he entreated of her. She hissed back at him and produced a Tarot card from her pocket, revealing The Fool card, which she laid down by the board. Her next attack was blistering, starting with a rook sacrifice which he could not refuse but which left his remaining defences in tatters.

Joe's head swam. He was not used to being so utterly crushed at this game, let alone with so much at stake to his addled perceptions. He tried a few desperate moves but seemed to be drowning in lines of analysis – all the pretty patterns he had been seeing over the board were now comprised of ways in which he could be checkmated. He toppled his king and a round of applause came from the bizarre minions of the dark watching.

Pushing back his chair, he staggered to the door. By that portal stood the Wolfman and the Count, his first two opponents. They saw he was not in a good way and offered him an arm for support which he shook off fearfully. He lurched out into the night but their last conversation drifted out to him as he propped himself up against a wall, feeling sick.

The wolfman said “that dude may be wasted but he can play chess alright. It's just a shame he takes himself so seriously.”

“Yeah,” the Count replied, “And he could at least have brought a halloween costume like everyone else did.”

great

Great entertainment - thanks!