A Little Tradition, Part Three

Every year after, she returned to the dark parts of the woods to play cards with the beast. Every year he would lose every game and bid reluctant farewell to the girl. For her part the girl did not stay a girl very long.

And so now, many years later, the girl has become an old woman with her own little house and a tidy garden around the back. She busies herself about the house, a pot of that same putrid gruel bubbling away on the range top. She lines up a plate of crackers, opens the shades to let some more light in, and straightens her table cloth. She sighs, stands back and looks over her kitchen. That was it, then. Everything done. She glances at the clock. He's running a bit late. That is quite unusual.

Just as she begins to worry, the doorbell rings. He stands in the doorway, still in his red work smock, sheepishly pulling a wooly hat from the tousled fur of his head. She opens the door and he smiles. She waves him in. He dips his head under the frame and enters.

They both sit for a little while before anything is said. She has a little, white, wire-frame chair for herself. He sits on a heavy, wooden stump dragged in from the garden.

She offers him a bowl of gruel, but he says he's not very hungry. She nibbles on a few crackers and begins to shuffle. He rubs his great claws together and waits patiently. His eyes keep rolling over the cupboards and lineoleum flooring. He's still not used to such modern household fixtures. He's been living in a small apartment downtown and isn't quite sure how to feel comfortable there. The landlord keeps yelling at him about the piles of mousebones.

She deals out a few hands. When he touches the card, his shoulders seem to dip, as if he can finally relax. A pleased expression floats over his face like a serene mist. He deftly flips the cards around his long claws. Even though he always loses, at least he's gotten better at holding the cards.

Which, by the way, showed a very respectable design of blue paisley. They tried playing with another deck of nudie cards years ago, for the sake of tradition. Both the girl and the monster felt uncomfortable, and it was never mentioned again.

"I'm hunting for an eight of spades," says the old woman.

"I have none," the monster grins and adds an enthusiastic, "Hunt the Jungle!"

The woman smiles and draws a card from the deck. She knew life hadn't been easy for him since the eviction. He called her up, all teary one morning. The city had rezoned the forest, tore the whole thing down. She helped him move and find a job downtown. He's been stocking groceries, third shift, at a supermarket. He's quite good at it, and the managers are fond of him, as they mostly just pay him in spoiled food and moldy bread.

He takes his turn, licking his fangs and flipping eagerly through his hand. She stands and starts a pot of tea. Over by the stove, the bubbling gruel smells just as terrible as the beast prefers, but if he's not going to have any... She plops a lid on top, blocking the heady fumes.

He lays down a pair, flashing his big, gleaming teeth. She nods and sits back down to check her own hand.

"I think I'm going to get you this time," he gloats.

"We'll see, won't we?"

"I've already scored many points. I think I will win,"

"I might have a great hand right here," she taps the cards with her fingers, "I might just be fooling you,"

The beast smirks at that. She had done that to him before, letting him crawl ahead just a bit before crushing him. Not this time, though, he was sure of it.

She returns to the stove to pour the tea. He draws another card from the pile and sorts it through his hand. She carries a tray to the table. She has little sugarcubes in a little saucer and everything. The monster doesn't like tea, but he loves sugarcubes.

She takes her turn, stumped again. He calls for a card, which she relents. He cheers and lays down a set of four.

"Oh look at you," she's quite impressed.

He chuckles, draws another card, and barks in triumph. Another set laid upon the table.

"Ok, your last turn," he bears his smirk again. He watches her cards, imagining what she might play.

She winks and lays her entire hand down. He gasps at the sight. She has nothing. Not a single pair.

After all these years, he's finally beaten her.