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                 Cellars

                    By
                
Jack L. Bryson


I saw a ghost. It was in the wine cellar. The wine cellar belongs to a friend of mine. He bought this house in an old part of town. The house was built over a speakeasy. There were brick walls and empty wine vats. There was a bullet hole in a wine vat. I stuck my finger in it.

    I found an old table in a corner. It was dusty. I turned over the table. I sat down at the table. The table was wobbly. It was a little short on one leg. I rested an elbow on it. I saw an old cigarette carton on the floor. It was from prohibition. I picked up the carton. There was a classy look to it.

    I heard a clicking sound. I saw a man in wearing a tux. He dropped chips in his hand. There was dust covering him. His face was pale and wrinkled. He approached my table.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I have deck of cards,” The man said. He pulled up a chair and sat down. Then he took a deck of card from his coat. He shuffled the cards. When he shuffled the cards, dust came from it. He dealt me five cards and five for himself. Then, he threw in a chip. I threw in a few nickels.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m from Maine,” I said. He nodded. He kept his eyes on me.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“My boys are outside,” he said. “They’re keeping an eye out.” He put a card down and took two from the deck. Then he took out a metal cigarette case. He took out a cigarette and offered me one. I accepted. It was unfiltered. He took out a matchbook and lit my cigarette, then his.

     “I raise you a dollar,” I said. He threw in two chips. Then he put his cards down.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I fold.” I took the pot and he reshuffled the cards. He leaned back and took a drag on his cigarette. He dealt out five cards to me and then to himself. He threw in a chip. I threw in a nickel. “The bartender is out.”

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I knew the bartender was out.” I threw in a dime. He lit another cigarette. He checked his watch. Then he shook it. He took a drag on his cigarette and called. He had three aces. He won that hand. We played another hand.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“Arnold went out for a case of moonshine.” He said. “I handpicked him to tend bar.” He took another card. I threw in twenty cents. He threw in two chips. “Do you think Arnold is late?” He asked.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“I think he’s running a little late.” He opened his metal cigarette case again. He offered me another one. He won the next hand.

    Ã¢â‚¬Å“There was some whiskey in the office. The real stuff.” I nodded. He looked around the room. “The waitress is on her break.” He checked his watch again. “Arnold should’ve met with Harry the Runt.”

    

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> http://web.mac.com/jackbryson1/iWeb/Site/Welcome.html > > >                  Cellars > >                     By >                  > Jack L. Bryson > > > I saw a ghost. It was in the wine cellar. The wine cellar belongs to a friend of mine. He bought this house in an old part of town. The house was built over a speakeasy. There were brick walls and empty wine vats. There was a bullet hole in a wine vat. I stuck my finger in it. > >     I found an old table in a corner. It was dusty. I turned over the table. I sat down at the table. The table was wobbly. It was a little short on one leg. I rested an elbow on it. I saw an old cigarette carton on the floor. It was from prohibition. I picked up the carton. There was a classy look to it. > >     I heard a clicking sound. I saw a man in wearing a tux. He dropped chips in his hand. There was dust covering him. His face was pale and wrinkled. He approached my table. > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I have deck of cards,” The man said. He pulled up a chair and sat down. Then he took a deck of card from his coat. He shuffled the cards. When he shuffled the cards, dust came from it. He dealt me five cards and five for himself. Then, he threw in a chip. I threw in a few nickels. > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m from Maine,” I said. He nodded. He kept his eyes on me. > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“My boys are outside,” he said. “They’re keeping an eye out.” He put a card down and took two from the deck. Then he took out a metal cigarette case. He took out a cigarette and offered me one. I accepted. It was unfiltered. He took out a matchbook and lit my cigarette, then his. > >      “I raise you a dollar,” I said. He threw in two chips. Then he put his cards down. > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I fold.” I took the pot and he reshuffled the cards. He leaned back and took a drag on his cigarette. He dealt out five cards to me and then to himself. He threw in a chip. I threw in a nickel. “The bartender is out.” > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I knew the bartender was out.” I threw in a dime. He lit another cigarette. He checked his watch. Then he shook it. He took a drag on his cigarette and called. He had three aces. He won that hand. We played another hand. > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Arnold went out for a case of moonshine.” He said. “I handpicked him to tend bar.” He took another card. I threw in twenty cents. He threw in two chips. “Do you think Arnold is late?” He asked. > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I think he’s running a little late.” He opened his metal cigarette case again. He offered me another one. He won the next hand. > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There was some whiskey in the office. The real stuff.” I nodded. He looked around the room. “The waitress is on her break.” He checked his watch again. “Arnold should’ve met with Harry the Runt.” > >      >