Chadpocalypse - 3:11 Play the Game

3:11 Play the Game

Waves of unreality washed over Chad as he watched James dragging a cornhole set into The Devil’s study from a concealed closet. It had been stashed among what appeared to be jousting implements and a stack of moldering board games. Was this really happening? Was any of it really happening? “So, this is how the fate of the apocalypse is decided, over a game of cornhole.” Saying it aloud did nothing to alleviate the absurdity of the situation.

           The Devil chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe what was played for the fate of the Titanic.” He watched James setting up the boards. “Make sure you measure that, nitwit. Regulation is twenty-seven feet. No more, no less.”

            “Who would have thought The Devil was a stickler for rules,” grumbled James.

            “Only when breaking them throws me off my game.”

            “Well, this has undoubtedly been a weird week.” Eight months, Chad reminded himself. Time had been so screwy in the void. “But it started weird, and it might as well end that way.”

            “I’ll play to that.”

            James ran the measuring tape between the boards, ensuring exact distance between them. When he was satisfied, he returned to the closet and grabbed a set of eight sandbags, four red and four blue. He tossed them down at The Devil’s feet and gave a mock bow. “Will there be anything else?”

            The Devil’s forked tongue flicked at the air. “For someone who’s been tortured by the best, you don’t seem broken.”

            “After a while, dying is just the same thing. It gets old.” James’s voice was cold and set.

            “We’ll have to see about that.”

            James winked at Chad. “Kick his ass.”

The Devil growled and picked up one of the blue bags tossing it up and down, feeling the weight. “It’s a nice set, I really should play the game more often.” With a practiced carelessness, he stepped up to one of the boards and lobbed the bag with an underhand toss. It sailed through the air, hitting the board with a dusty smack and sliding into the hole bored in the center.

“Ah shit,” muttered Chad. “So, you do play?”

“As I said, I vacation in Florida. Now,” he cracked his knuckles, “a quick refresher of the rules. Through the hole, three points, elsewhere, one point. Opponents bags count against your bags—”

            “You do realize I picked the game, right?” Chad walked over to where The Devil was standing and picked up a bag of his own. He tossed it backward over his shoulder without looking. It took all his effort not to turn around and watch it sail through the air, but he maintained eye contact. After a second or two of silence, there was a swish as the bag passed through the center of the hole, barely touching the sides.

            The Devil growled again.

            “The kid’s a natural!” exclaimed James, moving to clap Death on the shoulder, but thinking better of it at the last second.

            Chad didn’t break eye contact, but felt elation rise in his chest. Can’t believe I made that shot. He had attempted similar maneuvers to intimidate overconfident, bar-bound bros, but they only worked about half the time. “I might not have enough money to vacation in Florida, but the cheapest housing in Midway is behind Fraternity Row.”

            The Devil nodded, smoke rising from his nostrils. “James, be a dear and round up those bags. Let’s keep this quick, shall we? Best to fifteen wins.”

            “Traditionally it’s twenty-one.”

            “I’m a busy man.”

            Chad thought it over. In the end, it wouldn’t make a difference. “Fine, but only an exact fifteen wins. Go over and your score is reverted.”

            “Naturally.” The Devil snapped his fingers and two tall chairs appeared on the sidelines. “To ensure impartiality among our judges, we will each select one.”

            “James.”

            “Death.”

            “Really?” asked Death, but immediately quieted down upon seeing the malice brewing in The Devil’s eyes. “Let the games begin,” he amended, walking over to his chair. As he sat down, there was an audible creak.

            “Was that you, or the chair?” James walked to his seat, keeping his distance.

            “So skittish. It’s not like I’m going to kill you again.”

            “I’ve been down here long enough to know that’s exactly what you might do.”

            “Please, I don’t stoop to the level of demons.”

            “Not sure you could stoop with those bones. Sounds like you could use a chiropractor or something…”

            “Will you two quit your bickering and keep an eye on the game? A gentleman always lets his opponent throw second,” The Devil asserted. Without time for argument, he picked up his first bag and threw. It hit the board again, but stuck and didn’t slide through the hole.

            Chad smirked and stepped up to throw his first bag. No pressure, he reassured himself. Only a game for the end of the world. Trying not to overthink it, Chad lobbed the bag with ease. It tumbled through the air and went straight through the hole.

            “Nothing but net,” called James.

            “You are there to officiate, not commentate!” screeched The Devil, his voice growing an octave higher for a second. “Do not make me come up there and sew your lips shut. It wouldn’t be the first time.” The Devil threw a second bag. It hit his first with such velocity that both fell into the hole. The confident smirk returned to his face. “Your move Chad.”

            Chad ignored The Devil’s stare as he wound up for his throw, but something was off, and the bag went wide. It hit the board, but bounced, skidding to the other edge of the study. Chad cursed and tried to regain his focus.

            The Devil stepped up and threw his third bag with ease. Again, the smack as it hit the board and slid into the hole.

            Chad’s third bag stuck, sliding dangerously close to the hole, but not going in. Pull it together, man, you’ve played this game a hundred times. Minutes earlier, all the backyard barbecues and college tournaments had felt like training, now they looked like a waste. What good is being undefeated if you can’t beat the devil?

            “Don’t get too discouraged, Chad,” simpered The Devil as he threw his fourth and final bag. “After a few years of torture, I might even let you become a demon.” The sandbag crashed into Chad’s, knocking it off the board and then ricocheting in the hole.

            Chad could see James wince. His mind swam. Losing had never been an option. He stepped up to throw his bag, but couldn’t focus. Clear your mind. He took a deep breath and threw. It went wide, missing the board by a foot and landing with a thump on the floor.

            “That’s 12 in for Lucifer and 3 in for Chad, making the score 9-0, Devil’s favor,” called James. “Second round, Devil throws first.” If he was down, his voice didn’t show it.

            Chad and The Devil crossed over to the other board, collecting their bags. Well, Chad stooped to collect his, the Devil snapped his fingers and the bags floated to him. “As I’m sure it will be your first instinct when we finish this round, let me assure you, the bags are identical.” The Devil picked one of his up and threw it to Chad. “In fact, as a show of good faith, let’s swap.” The confidence was clear in his voice.

            Chad took the bags reluctantly, dropping his own at The Devil’s feet.

            “No need to be a sore loser,” chided The Devil.

            Chad tried to muster some semblance of confidence. “Shut up and play.”

            A jet of fire erupted from the center hole of the opposite board. “Thought we could use a little pizzazz,” commented The Devil.

            “Quit being flashy and throw.” Chad tried to focus, pushing thoughts of the end of the world from his mind.

            The second round went better for him, but not as well as it needed to. The Devil’s first two shots went in the hole, while Chad’s stuck on the board, leaving The Devil with thirteen points. He threw his third bag and it landed on the board, inches from the hole, keeping The Devil one point away from finishing the game.

            Chad took a deep breath and felt the weight of his third bag. He pulled back and tossed, trying to keep calm. The bag flew over the board, landing behind it. “Damnit!” he shouted, pacing back and forth. You can do this, Chad, it’s now or never.

            The Devil laughed. “I suspect you’ll be getting more creative with your expletives in the near future. My personal assistants can introduce you to a brand-new level of pain and suffering. That is before you’re conscripted into the demon army for our charge on Earth.” The Devil tossed his bag, landing it on the board. “Just as a reminder, that’s fifteen points.”

            Chad didn’t respond. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Death leaning out of his chair in anticipation.

            James followed Chad’s gaze and stood up. “In case you forgot, this is the sad sack of bones who killed Joe.”

            “He was attacking me,” scoffed Death.

            “I don’t think it counts as self-defense if you invaded the building first. What you were doing was straight up home invasion.”

            Tears came to Chad’s eyes as he thought of Joe and the sacrifice he had made. This was it, his one moment, his one opportunity. He needed to capture it or let everything slip away. Chad tasted bile as a queasy feeling took over his stomach.

            “Just remember, Chad: He believed in you.”

            “That’s all very sweet, but can you stop delaying the inevitable, and throw the damned bag? I’ve got a torture in an hour and I’d hate to miss it.”

            Chad saw Joe’s face swim before his eyes. Believe, Chad thought to himself. If ever there was a time for the divine to take an interest in me, it would be now. Chad looked at the smug horseman sitting feet away from James. “Three down, one to go,” he muttered and threw the bag. It tumbled end over end through the air in slow motion, arching high and then falling true. It struck the board knocking The Devil’s bag into the hole and then skittering off the back edge.

            Elation spread through Chad’s chest. He looked at The Devil who was doing mental math in his head. Chad might have failed every math class he took, but when it came to calculating the result of a cornhole game, he might as well have been in Mensa. “What did we say about going over fifteen again?” he asked, grinning.

            This time, Death called out the score. “That’s ten points for Lucifer, three in the hole, one on the board, and two for Chad. Lucifer scores eight.”

            “Now, correct me if I’m wrong friend, but that puts you at seventeen,” chided Chad.

            James hopped out of his chair and let out a whoop. “The Devil is reset to nine points for going over!”

            “That still leaves me nine ahead of you,” growled The Devil. “Pick up your bags and let’s finish this.”

            “Now who’s acting like the sore loser?”

            The Devil glared at him. “You know, we’ve got a new attraction opening on the outer rungs later this year, maybe I’ll take you there for a sneak preview when we’re finished. Or perhaps you’d prefer to go back to your little fantasy hotel room.” His eyes glittered, knowing that he had struck a chord. “That can be arranged.”

            Chad thought back on the memory he had re-lived. “Tempting offer, but I think I’ll have to pass.” Chad picked up his bags.

            “The Devil throws first in the third round,” called Death through a hardly stifled yawn. “Couldn’t you have picked something more interesting to play?”

            “The apocalypse is on the line. Is that not interesting enough for you?” asked James.

            “I’ve watched gladiatorial matches for less, that captivated me for hours.”

            James rolled his eyes. “So, if there’s no bloodshed, you can’t enjoy it. No wonder you’re so damn dour all the time.”

            The third round saw The Devil fall of his balance. With each throw, he landed a bag on the board, and every time, Chad answered by knocking it off. Two of Chad’s bags went in the hole and two stuck to the board, leaving him with a final score of eight, only one point behind.

            In the fifth, things were a little closer with both The Devil and Chad sinking two shots. In the end, Chad managed to keep one bag on the board with The Devil knocking his other off, bringing the score to a tied nine.

            “This is taking far too long,” moaned The Devil impatiently.

            “You agreed to the rules about resetting same as I did. So, as you would say, quit your whining and play.” Chad stooped to pick up his bags for what he suspected would be the final time. He couldn’t understand it, but there was an electric charge to the room, like something was about to happen. He couldn’t be sure of how the game would fall either way, but he knew it was close to its end.

            The Devil looked around the room, feeling something as well. “It would appear that