“What say we make this game a little more interesting,” Jack said. To his credit, the gang’s traditional poker game had gone a bit stale over the course of the evening.

What had started out as a way to relive younger days had turned into a sad reminder: gone were the days when they could truck over to David’s cabin, far away from a world that could be disturbed by their mischief. The perfect place for a weekend of marathon poker games with ridiculous wagers.

Wagers which none of them could manufacture with Jack’s creativity and potential for wicked repercussion. Jack’s return from a trip overseas to more primitive, mystic lands made for the perfect excuse to get the band back together.

“I’m betting my sense of taste on this hand,” said Jack. David folded. Everyone chuckled, knowing David still had to explain to people that his violent reaction to peppers came from once gambling away all his food for a weekend, other than a jar of pickled jalapenos.

“I’ll see that,” said Matty, “and raise you my sense of touch.” Each of them was happy to remind Matty of the time he had to jump into the pond naked in middle January, only to find when he ran back that they’d locked all the cabin’s first floor doors.

Caleb folded reluctantly. If he hadn’t lost Jack’s bet to send Amanda Marks that naked picture, he might never have married her. He owed Jack for a lot of good times. They all did.

Jack raised his sense of sight. Matty called. Jack had two pair: aces and nines. Matty laughed as he showed his pair of Jacks.

The next morning, Matty groggily found he was being slapped awake by Jack. Trying to swat Jack’s hands away, he further found all his limbs were bound in his sleeping bag with rope. Jack smiled morosely. “Sorry, mate. I’m in a bad way with the wrong type. It’s nothing personal.” With that, Jack pulled out a utensil which seemed to have the sickeningly specific design of separating eyes from their sockets. Matty screamed, but they were far away from a world that could be disturbed by their mischief.