Sentry Strip Poker

Sonny

I put the radio on, mostly to drown out the screaming—my screaming—while I drove the truck as fast as I was brave enough to. I was in such a panic to lose Jasper, I’d accidentally lost myself. As in, gotten lost. I had no clue where I was or how far away Stinkhorn Manor was.

I thought about stopping somewhere to find a payphone, or borrow someone’s phone, but there were multiple problems with that idea. One, there was probably no signal at Stinkhorn Manor. Two, I didn’t know Claude’s number. And three, even if I could reach him by telephone, I wouldn’t be able to tell him about the ritual because of the ancient shroom laws. I would need to get there in person, and hope that I could show him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. And now the truck’s fuel gauge was edging into the red zone. It was five p.m. Eleven hours until the ritual.

I still didn’t know how to drive, but I had several PHDs, and I wouldn’t let it best me. I figured the easiest thing was simply to yell, that way the doubts in my head were replaced by sheer terror. I also figured out how to stop safely-ish, so I pulled over into a layby and took the compass out of my pocket.

“Please take me back to Claude,” I whispered to it and clicked the dial.

Search too narrow

I flipped the device over and inspected the three-kilometre-limit marker. There was a teeny key hole which I presumed reset the distance radius. I looked around for something to pick it with. Opened the glove box. A rope and roll of duct tape fell into the footwell. I rummaged in the compartment. A spare key with a MONSTER RENTALS fob, some paperwork, some individually wrapped MONSTER RENTALS promotional candies, a tree-shaped air freshener, and a lanyard.

Yes! A MONSTER RENTALS lanyard with ID card and a name tag attached to the ribbon. Frankie.

“Thank you so much, Frankie,” I whispered. “Even though you’ll probably be in so much trouble with your boss for being so careless with company property.

I unpinned the tag and wiggled the pin into the compass hole until the radius marker increased.

How far was Stinkhorn Manor? We’d driven south for four hours. I’d been driving what I assumed was north—going by the position of the sun—for a couple of hours. Claude couldn’t be farther than a hundred miles away. What was that, one hundred and sixty-ish kilometres?

I twisted the pin until the number grew from three to two hundred. I turned the compass over and clicked the dial.

Save the day

“Fucking, yes!” I laughed out loud, as manically as Jasper would have—though less eggy—then I wedged the compass on the dashboard and drove, following the arrow. I would stop at a garage if I saw one, and if I didn’t see one and ran out of diesel, I would simply run the rest of the way back to Claude.

A couple of times, I was certain I caught a flash of scarlet wings on the horizon. But Mr Dupont was nowhere to be seen.

After another hour and a half of driving and not passing a single petrol station, the truck sputtered and rolled to a stop in the middle of a narrow lane. The trees had grown over on each side, creating a tunnel and blocking out the light.

But it was okay.

Because through the tiny gaps in the leaves, I could see the distant tips of thirty giant penises.

Home. Claude.

I slid the compass into my pocket, jumped out of the truck, and began running in the general direction of the dicks.

I was so close.

So close to being back in Claude’s arms.

I ran as fast as I could. I ran as though I was being chased. As though I was a child playing a game and Claude was base.

I wouldn’t stop until I was with him.

My lungs burned, each breath raw and dragging, a serrated blade slicing my windpipe. But I’d made it. My trainers slammed into the gravel drive of Stinkhorn Manor. I’d made it.

By the time I fell through The Night Cap doors, my face was streaming with sweat and tears.

“Sonny!” yelled Willow as I crossed from the reception area to the dining room.

I clutched a table in order to catch my breath, but decided standing was no longer an option, and I crumpled to my knees.

Willow evidently failed to notice my near-death state and instead lifted a beaker, half-full of amber liquid, and tilted it towards me. Ice clinked against the sides.

There was no sign of Claude.

“You came back!” Oggy said, toasting me with her drink. A fluted glass with a creamy white concoction, decorated with a slice of pineapple and a paper umbrella. Her eyes would not settle on me.

Where was Claude?

“Mate, good to see you again.” That was John. He had a pint of lager. Dozens of empty glasses littered the surrounding tables.

“Wait, are you guys... getting pissed?” I asked, wincing against the stitch developing in my side. “And smoking cigars?” I seized a jug of iced water from the breakfast counter and began chugging it straight from the rim.

“We’re playing strip poker!” Oggy declared gleefully.

“It might be our last night ever on this plane of existence,” said Willow.

“Shhhhh.” Oggy’s eyes slid out of focus. “We’re not ssspeaking about it.”

I swallowed . . . heaved my breath out . . . wiped my mouth. “Where’s Claude?”

Willow shrugged. Oggy hiccupped.

“Ley lines, probably,” John said, apparently the only one still sober enough to think.

“I know what the ritual is,” I said, and all three of them gasped.

John got to his feet. “Well?”

Time to put the theory to the test, I guessed. “It’s fffuuuuuuuhhhnnn.” I laughed. “It’s niiiiiinnnnn. It’s heeuuuufffffff.”

I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t get the words out.

John punched the air, then pulled me into a bone-crunching bear hug. Willow fell to their knees and began sobbing and cheering at the same time.

“Go. Go find him,” John said.

I nodded, but I needed to make sure of one thing first. “If Mr Dupont turns up.” I said this to John because out of the three, he seemed the least inebriated, and also stood the greatest chance of defending himself. “Keep him away from Claude and me.”

John opened his mouth, but another voice spoke before he could.

Mrs Ziegler, who I had not spotted until that second, lay on her back on a chaise longue, a salad-sized bowl of Peanut Goobers balanced on her belly. “Don’t worry, Jasper won’t interfere.”

“Holy fuck!” My heart was in my throat. I clutched a hand to it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Not that I don’t trust Claude to figure out the ritual, but I was beginning to pre-grieve these candies.”

“I’m just gonna... I’ll be off then,” I said, and I ran from the building.

Of all of them, Mrs Ziegler could definitely hold her own against Jasper. I just needed to get to Claude.

But when I reached the ley lines, he was nowhere to be seen.