CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "At the Holy Grail Casino, you gamble with a lot more than money" Creepypasta

Episode Date: August 23, 2020

Who wants to go on a trip?CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Clarkinator69: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm... Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►JarrodOwen: https://www.deviantart.com/jarrodowen...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

King High Diamond Flush, I said boldly as I laid my cards out on the table. Despite my strong hand, my heart still thumbed to my chest as I waited for the only other play on the hand to reveal his cards. Although my odds of winning were good, I was nervous. If my opponent had the ace. Ace High, Diamond Flush My train of thought was disrupted and my heart sank. My opponent had the goddamn ace. Unlike any other time I'd played Texas Holden at the casino, I had no idea what to expect.

See, I wasn't at a normal casino. I was at the Holy Grail casino, where one does not gamble with money. My opponent had wagered a finger, and I thought that that had been some colloquial way of making a small bet. Just as we say frequently, an arm and a leg figuratively for an exorbitant cost, I thought that finger was being used in the same context. I was proven brutally wrong when the dealer, without a hint of emotion, put a large knife out of some concealed location and chopped my pinky finger off. I screamed, both in pain and disbelief. I had been expecting the most intense gambling experience of a lifetime, but I hadn't imagined anything of this magnitude.

I had finally found a form of gambling, even I balked at. I'll come clean and say it. I'm a compulsive gambler. I've had an ensuring fixation on Lady Luck as early as I can remember. As a child, I loved making bets, even small and petty ones with my peers. When I was 18 and had my first job, I squandered a bigger portion of my very first paycheck than I cared to admit on scratch-off lottery tickets. With my addictive pricklyivities, I ignore the glaring net financial loss that this incurred,

Instead, gravitating to the mere $20 I did win from those tickets. Now you can tell me that my gambling winnings are heavily outweighed by my losses over the years, and you'd be right. It's a stubborn fact that cannot be truthfully denied, but it did not matter to me. I was addicted to gambling. I was always convinced that the big, life-changing win I needed was right around the corner. It is this lifelong habit that is not only brought about a life of financials, a life of financial strain, but which, I fear, has brought about my imminent appointment with my own mortality.

You see, my gambling problem reached this zenith last year after I cajoled one of my poker friends, Dallas, into taking me to a secretive and high-stakes casino that he frequently spoke of, and this is as good a place as any to begin telling what happened. So, is this the night you'll finally go to a seed and tell me about the mythical high-stakes venue you claim to frequent Mr. Big Shot? I asked my friend Dallas. Dallas was a pro at gambling. At least, he swept the floor with a competition nine times out of ten,

and the backroom car games frequented. Dallas groan loudly, in the passenger seat. Come on, bro, I said, doggedly. You can't just set something up on a pedestal like this and not expect someone to persist. I don't know, man. This isn't kitty stuff. This is the big leagues, Dallas answered. I'm not a lightweight.

I objected. No, but this is way more than anything we'd ever bet back there, he said, referring to our backroom games, one of which we had just left. This is the real deal, hardcore, this is the most hardcore gambling around. Dallas continued. Like what, Russian roulette? I joked. No, man, Dallas said cryptically.

Look, man, I give you rides to these games every week. You own me. I was getting seriously annoyed at his reticence. Fine, Dallas groaned, exasperated. I couldn't believe it. I had actually worn him down. But I'm warning you, this is serious, Dallas said sternly. I want to go, I said firmly.

Dallas reached into his wallet and handed me a medallion. Upon inspection, I saw one side was affixed with the design of an ornate, butjewed chalice, with the words, holy grail casino written above it. On the other side, written in elegant cleography, was the phrase, Omnen Memora, All the Marbles in Latin. This certainly bore the look of a Ritzie, an exclusive place. I had a feeling I'd either win the jackpot of jackpots, or end up homeless on the streets.

The reality would prove much worse than the latter. Dallas was looking at me oddly, almost as if he was worried. But I could tell he wasn't going to be able to talk me out of it. I still hate him for his acquiescence to my pestering. When can we go? I asked excitedly. I was planning to go tomorrow. Dallas started. When should I pick you up? I interrupted.

That's not how we get there. Dallas answered. What? I started. But it was Dallas's turn to interrupt. When you go to bed tomorrow night, write your full name on a piece of paper, then put it. and the medallion in your pocket when you go to sleep. I looked at him incredulously.

Had he been messing with me this whole time? Look, just trust me. Either do it or don't. But that's how you get there. Dallas said, matter-of-factly. I looked silently at the road as we near the place where Dallas lived. Dallas seemed to be pensively looking out the window,

as if he was debating whether or not he should have given me the medallion. I dropped Dallas off without a word and raced home. I don't know why I was in such a hurry. I guess I wanted to start waiting for tomorrow night as soon as possible. After a torturous day of waiting, the next night finally came. Remembering Dallas's instructions,

I wrote my full name on a slip of paper and placed it, along with the medallion in the pockets of my sweatpants that I was wearing to bed for that purpose. I could have sworn that I had heard my name being chanted as I drifted off to sleep. But the authenticity of those. sounds is still ambiguous. What is not ambiguous is the fact that, shortly after falling asleep, I found myself in an opulent, red-carpeted casino. I was in a lobby of sorts,

at least I think that's what it was. I was in a large marble room with Greco-Roman-style columns flanking a plush red carpet that led to two magnificent ebony doors, which boasted intimately carved ivory handles. As I was soaking in the amazing, luxurious sight, A man in a suit briskly approached me. You can't go to the floor dress like that, he admonished me, pointing to my sweatpants and white t-shirt. I'm sorry, I began sluggishly, a bit confused by everything. Was I honestly expected to go to bed in a suit in order to gamble here? No worries, sir.

The man had a rather upper-class accent. We will get you outfitted here, free of charge. A short while later, I was sporting a five. Fine burgundy suit, a white-dress shirt and black loafers, and being led by the casino worker back to those grandiose doors. He stopped in front of them, held one of the doors open and ushered me in. Enjoy your stay, sir, he said as he closed the door behind me. I looked in the even more impressive sight that was the gambling floor. I stood at the top of a red carpeted staircase with gilded railings, looking down at a large room.

On the far end, the words, holy growl casino were displayed prominently on the wall, illuminated by spotlight. Like the lobby, a red carpet ran through the center, bisecting the impressive layout of games and tables. Interestingly, they didn't appear to be any slot machines. There seemed to be exclusively traditional games. Poker tables, blackjack tables, roulette wheels, and craps tables, I all recognized. Finally, I descended the stairs. The patrons and staff paid me little attention as I set foot on the floor. I briefly scanned the floor for Dallas, but saw no sign of him. I shrugged and decided to jump into the games.

All around me, finely dressed patrons were engrossed in their games, and others stood to the side, nursing cocktail glasses and puffing on cigars. I'd never had much of an affinity for roulette or craps, and I avoided blackjack like the plague. It's definitely rigged for the house. Accordingly, I quickly settled on poker. After rying several tables, I settled on a table occupied by just one patron, an uninterested old man in a black suit. Can I join here? I asked. The dealer replied affirmatively. I sat down and noticed there were no chips in sight.

I thought it had been odd that I hadn't received any, but I had just figured they would be given at the table. Curious, I asked. First time? The dealer raised an eyebrow. Yes. The old man sighed, annoyed. What the hell? Shouldn't a patron at such a purportedly high-stakes venue be eager to have fresh meat?

Well, the rules state that one's first game is one round of betting only, the dealer said in a monotone voice. No wonder the old man was annoyed. I nodded and sat down. But the chips, I began to inquire. We don't use them here, the old man spoke for the first time. Before I asked what we did use, the old man placed what would apparently be the sole bet of his hand. A finger.

Had I heard him right? He couldn't actually mean. Bet is one finger, the dealer said, interrupting my thoughts. As I stated in the beginning, I assumed that a finger was being used in the same figurative context that one often uses the term, an arm and a leg. I called the bet. The cards were dealt, and I felt confident as I laid out the king high flush I spoke of in the beginning.

But then came the all man's ace high flush, and then came the chop. I screamed. To my shock, none of the other patrons even looked up from the games at the sound of my screams and the chop. Was this an ordinary occurrence? Before I could get up from the table, table, the dealer also procured some sort of ointment and quickly dabbed some of the nub where my finger had been.

The bleeding instantly stopped, and the pain eased, but I was having none of it. I got it from the table and began to run back to the doors. This was too much. I had to get out of here. I heard a despaired how coming from the direction of the roulette wheels as I made it back to the centre of the floor, but didn't dare look back at the source. I stepped onto the carpet and set for the stairs when I nearly collided with Dallas. Hey, you made it, he said.

Oof, tough break on the finger, he indicated at my hand. How have you never lost anything? I asked, pointedly, barely resisting the urge to shake his shoulders. Well, I have, Dallas smoked. You have all your digits, I sputtered. Well, that's because I won them back, he said. You can win them back. I was in disbelief.

Of course, they'll attach it if you win one. I should have just cut my losses. I shouldn't have been swayed by temptation. But if you know the rabbit hole that is gambling, you'll know how much people put themselves in the hole, vainly trying to win back a negligible loss, all the while turning that negligible loss into something substantial. I was still weighing my options.

Stay or quit while still ahead, when a booming voice disrupted my death. interrupted my deliberation. Attention, floor. We have a class 10 loser. Death. He couldn't actually mean. Before I could make any kind of move,

the patrons became a mob, and the wave of people pushed Dallas and I to the center with them. A man, who I noticed that was already missing an arm, was on his knees sobbing. An emotionless casino dealer stood before him, holding a sword.

Everyone got your... Losses, the man sputtered through sobs. Before he could say anything else, the sobs were cut off by the slice of the sword, and the poor man's head hit the floor and tumbled, landing at my feet. My jaw dropped open, and I took several short-circuited breaths as the head stopped just shy of my feet. Honestly, I'm surprised I didn't scream or vomit.

Next to me, Dallas was completely unfazed. I had to get out of here. To hell with my finger, this was too much. I turned to leave, pushing my way through the crowd of people. Nobody tried to stop me. Dallas didn't seem to react to my attempted departure either. As I made it through the crowd and began sprinting towards the exit, I heard a loud, deafening sound.

The sound of a clock striking the next hour. A cacophony of excited murmurs ensued behind me as I made it to the unyielding doors. Let me out, I need to get out of here. I banged desperately on the doors. You can't, not right now, I heard Dalla say behind me. Why not? I asked frantically, turning to face him. The masters of the casino are here. Gambling is compulsory until they leave.

No, I weakly sobbed. You may as well try win your finger back, Dalla said gently. I'm going to play some poker. Care to join my table? I didn't want to play poker. I really didn't. While it was typically my game of choice, the present circumstances were far from typical.

I was no longer protected by the one-rule bet now that I had played my first hand, and I knew that. With all the success of betting, my predicament could only get out of control if I played poker. No, thanks, I think I'll find a different game. Dallas nodded. I sighed, and, regaining my composure, descended the stairs. All around me, patrons are engaged in the now mandatory games. No longer was anyone

leisurely sipping a cocktail or enjoying a cigar The only one's not gambling With the four entities in the middle of the floor As I walked along the carpet I got a better look at them They were utterly terrifying Devoid of any discernible trace of humanity At least what little of them I could see was

They were clad in identical elegant robes With their faces concealed by cowls inside those cows, yellow eyes stared back at me, and while their lower extremities were completely concealed by the robes, inhuman, twisted hands protruded from their sleeves. They were grey and looked to be of an organic material, but in shape they resembled tree branches more than hands. Play, one of them hissed icily at me.

I quickly nodded, terrified, and settled on roulette. Even though I had shunted earlier, I now felt it to be my safest option. For one thing, I could control the betting. I wouldn't have to contend with any extreme bets from the other patrons, and I could buy my time until this involuntary gambling ended. I approached the wheel, nodding at the gaunt casino worker there. Your bet, sir? He asked calmly.

A finger, I said hesitantly. As the man nodded, I realised. what luck this was. This roulette wheel had no numbers. I literally had a 50-50 shot of winning my digits back and being whole again. I'd never heard of such a wheel,

but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Black, please, I said to the man. One finger on black, the man said, as he set the game in motion. I watched tensely as the ball rounded and slowed. Red. My heart sank. More pain ensued as the man, much like the first dealer, removed my ring finger.

I cried out and fell to my knees. I struggled to get up in between pain sobs. Gambling was still mandatory, and I did not want to anger those foul beings. I would just keep betting on black at the roulette wheel. Eventually I'll be whole again. It only took one win after all. Two fingers on black, I placed my bet. very good sir

the casino man said red again god damn it more blinding pain a pitiful weak voice of mine bet four fingers through clenched teeth black it landed on black

sweet merciful Jesus I was whole again fascinated I watched as the man procured four fingers from his coat pocket and somehow reattached them I gratefully wrote to my regenerative flesh as I left the wheel. If I could just blend in with the crowd

until the master's left, I would be in the clear. I could leave with my body hole and never return to this godforsaken place. But I wouldn't get so lucky. After about ten minutes of attempting to be the wallflower, I was spotted

by a poker dealer. I was clearly guilty of idling, and he knew it. I had two choices, he said. Play at his table, or answer the masters. I chose the former and as I sat down at the table realized Dallas was there. He had a hand missing. It was just Dallas and one other when I joined and this three-player game quickly escalated. It was clear that this hand was all or nothing. Horrible as it was to be pitted

against my friend, it was him or me and down straight I was choosing myself. Soon the better had led us all having literally our necks on the line. Somehow I had ended up having my head on the line. Losing was not an option, and was no option for any of the three of us, but I was determined to win. But so was Dallas, and in his steadfast desire to live, he showed depths of depravity I would have never deemed him capable of. I'm up in the stakes, death by immolation.

Dallas proclaimed as the turn, for those who don't know, as the fourth card in Texas Holden was revealed. I couldn't believe it, but the dealer blandly restated the bet as if nothing of note had happened. What the hell, Dallas, I screamed, completely shaken. Death is already on the line. I don't want to die, buddy, Dallas said, and I don't want you to die either. But, barring the unlikely event of a tie, two of us, and therefore you and I will die have to this hand. But there are many ways to die, and decapitation is much better than burning to death.

If your cards are bad, you need to seriously consider it. I feel pretty confident about my hand. How about you? I was terrified, both at Dallas's villainous monologue and the terrifying prospects that I faced. My nerves nearly failed. I very nearly folded and took the easy death. If you fold, you forfeit what you have previously bet, in this case my head. But I called the bet with a quivering voice. My nerves were apparently stronger than the third player. He sobbed at his dilemma, before folding. Poor bugger.

He was taken away from the table to be beheaded as the dealer prepared to reveal the river, the final card. I brace myself. There were a couple of things of note out of the four cards. Three spades. Possible for Shadales if he had two spades, and a ten. The ten was of note, because

I had two tens. Three of a kind would lose to the flush, but four of a kind would prevail and save my life. After great, inner suspense, the last card was reeled. I couldn't believe it. It was the ten.

I was saved. My luck had saved me when it mattered the most. There's not much more to wager, Dallas. I check, I said. Up to the gods then. Fine. Dallas said, show me a flush. Sorry, Dallas. Four tens. I revealed my hand. Dallas was shaking, hyperventilating even. I was too. I took no joy in my own survival. I was sorry then, and I still am. I was sorry as I, along with many other spectators, watched Dallas get bound and set on fire.

It should have been me there. I had hounded him incessantly into inviting me to the damn place. His agonized screams and the smell of his burning flesh will stay with me until the day I die, which probably won't be long. As Dallas entered his death rose, the clock-like sound struck again, apparently signifying the end of the mandatory gambling period. We were free to leave. I was free to leave.

Dejected at the end of the time. the horrors I witnessed and profoundly guilty at the hand I had in my friend's death, I began to mosey towards the exit, only to be stopped by some unseen force. As many of the patrons filed out, the telekinetic force that had me in its grasp spun me around. I gasped. I was staring right at the masters, and even though their faces were hidden, it was clear that they were angry with me. You didn't play, one said. accusingly. My heart thumped rapidly as I said that I had played

and asked that I please be allowed to leave. You didn't play for a few minutes. Another one responded. Damn, I was screwed. The master die, the first one said. I watched in horror as one of them produced a large die and rolled it. By the looks of it, nothing nice was in store for me.

I suppose the best description of the die I can offer is to say that it's similar to the one Bowser rolls if you land on a space in Mario Party 6. But I digress. The die landed and my knees went weak. Fifty years of your life is forfeit as punishment. The master's chimed. Of course, feel free to try to win them back later. I was sobbing.

I was begging. But they were unmoved as they freed me from their supernova. natural grip. The next thing I remember is passing out on the red carpet and waking up in my own bed. I wanted to write it off as a bad dream so desperately, but I couldn't. First of all, I was dressed in the suit I'd worn or gambling. My sweatpants and shirt were gone. Bad as that was, there was something much worse, something that absolutely confirmed the worse. Dallas had died under perplexing and seemingly downright impossible circumstances. There was no fire in his apartment, and nothing else was burned.

Yet, his mysteriously charred corpse was discovered in his bed. Of course, I know why his corpse was charred, but I'm probably the only one. But worst of all, I know my time is very limited. I don't know just how long I have, but it can't be long. I lost 50 years of life to those creatures. I'm 35 and still alive, so I would have lived to be at least 85. But how long after 85 had I lived? Maybe I'll die tomorrow, or the day after, or next year.

Or if I'm lucky, maybe I'll have another 10 plus years. I'm living life, knowing that every day could likely be my last. Loathe as I'm about to do so, I know my only hope is to go back to that awful casino and win back my 50 years. I still have the medallion, and time is of the essence. But I'm afraid of going back there. I'd better make a decision, lest I die without making peace.