This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/ReasonableUnit2170 on 2026-05-29 04:05:40+00:00.

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No one knew where it’d come from or how it got there. One moment, there was a gap between two of the machines, and the next, it was full. The casino was so large it went undetected for a time. That was, until we found a patron sitting on the stool in front of it - slumped over dead. I wasn’t the one to find the body, but my coworker who did said they thought it was just another slot zombie. One of those people who had odd superstitions and spammed the buttons over and over.

Amidst the chaos of flashing lights, boisterous chatting, and customers drunk off cheap liquor it fit right in. The machine was small and old - a screen with a few buttons and an arm that could be pulled down. The only reason it was viewed as strange, were the words that were printed on the front. ‘Life or Death’ glowed in red lights, above a spot that said ‘slot 333’. There was no manufacturer label, or a spot for a key in the back. I even remember seeing that it had no cord, yet it still functioned without the use of electricity.

I remember chuckling to myself when I read the numbers on the machine. Usually, they were viewed as something positive - angel numbers, if I remembered correctly. What I think it truly meant, was you were half way to the devil. Half way to 666.

“Mike, they need you in the private room…” my manager radioed through the plastic piece in my ear.

“Do I need the mop this time?” I sighed.

“Uh, gimme a second,” the manager paused. “Yeah, you’re gonna wanna put on the boots, too.”

“Shit. Give me two shakes and I’ll be there.”

I had done this so many times that instead of being grossed out, I was annoyed. I would rather have cleaned the nasty men’s bathroom a hundred times than clean the private room once. Especially if the mop and boots were needed. It was a harrowing experience, opening the door to the room where the cursed slot machine resided. You’d never know what you’d find once you pulled back the curtain.

Tiny, dark red balls littered the floor. Some of them were still rolling around on the ground, the act only occurring moments ago. The patron’s body was knelt down on the ground, head cocked back in an eternal scream. Although I could only see the body from the back, I knew what I would find. Three cherries filled the screen of the machine, ‘jackpot’ flashing brightly. I always hated this one.

“You could have warned me that it was a cherry jackpot,” I complained over the radio.

“I told you that you'd need the boots. Figured that was enough of a warning,” my manager responded.

“Boots can mean a lot of things!” I yelled.

“Means you’ve got a mess on your hands either way. Just be thankful you’re getting hazard pay for this.”

I was grateful for the hazard pay. My debts felt like cinderblocks on my feet while swimming, trying desperately to drag me down to the bottom of the lake. The wheels of the mop bucket clacked loudly against the tile floor as I rolled it into the room. Making sure I closed the door behind me, I got to work.

The cherries were difficult to clean up, rolling away from the broom as I chased after them. It took me a full hour just to deal with the damned fruit. The body, on the other hand, was easy enough. Laying the trash can on its side, I shoved the patron head-first into the receptacle, doing my best to avoid touching their torso. The blood that pooled on the ground below made sucking noises as I walked across with the rubber boots.

When the slot machine landed on one cherry, nothing. Two cherries? That got you a free meal voucher to the casino’s restaurants. Three cherries…well…that was a doozy. Thousands of red-pitted fruits appear within your stomach all at once. The patron who drew such an unlucky fate, had exploded from the inside out. Ribs poked out in weird angles, a gaping hole formed within their torso, cherries pouring out from their distended stomach.

I had seen this two other times in my career working at the casino. By the third time, I wasn’t even phased, just angry I had to be the one to clean it up. Once I had the mess taken care of and the body in the trash can, I took the equipment out a door on the back side of the room. Whatever happened to the deceased patron wasn’t my problem. Armed security guards in black masks would usually handle it from there.

“Room’s good to go,” I said, holding my finger to the earpiece.

“Nice job, Mike. I’ll make sure to add this event to the payroll,” my manager answered back.

Just as I was walking out of the private room where the cursed slot machine was kept, another person walked in. Rolling my eyes, I turned my head to study them. A lengthy red wool coat, bleached and curled blond hair. Ah, yes, a high roller. I’d seen this woman before. She usually stuck to high stakes black-jack and poker. Either she was feeling extremely lucky, or hit a really big loss. Either way, she would pull the crank and press the buttons and see what happened.

Instead of going and cleaning the bathrooms like I was supposed to before the radio from the manager, I decided to take a break. Sneaking into the back of the kitchen, I slipped the cook a few dollars and waited for my favorite meal. A burger and fries smothered in ketchup. My eyes widened and narrowed in quick succession. Maybe I should hold off on the ketchup for tonight.

Wiping the grease from my hands and mouth, I got another call over the radio. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, I thought.

“Private room again, no boots this time.”

“Oh thank god. I don’t know if I could handle doing that twice in one night,” I replied.

“Just a disposal. Seems we’ve got another unlucky.”

Sighing with more emphasis than a disgruntled teenager, I pushed myself up and out of the seat. I thanked the cooks for their hard work and made my way out of the kitchen, wishing I could hide there for the rest of my shift. Aside from the manager, myself, and two others, no one else knew of the room. Nor did they know of the cursed slot machine. You either accidentally made your way there, or you were one of the high rollers.

The lights and noise on the floor were oddly comforting. Hearing the joy from winning, or the cry from losing was much better than the silence of the private room. Unless you were actively playing Slot 333, it made no noise, unlike the other machines out in the main room. They all hummed and buzzed constantly, inviting you in to steal your hard earned money.

When I brushed past the curtain, I saw something that truly made me stand and gawk. This was a new one, a combination I had never seen before. Three rubber ducks lit up the screen, looking cute and deceiving. I chuckled as I looked down at the floor. Sitting below the machine was a three foot-tall rubber duck wearing a red coat and adorned with curly blond hair.

“No way,” I whispered to myself.

Bending my knees, I leaned down to pick it up. The duck was surprisingly quite heavy, causing me to strain as I straightened my legs. As I carried it towards the back door, I heard liquid sloshing inside. A single red tear dripped down from its black plastic eye. Throwing it into the dumpster out back was easy, it landed with a loud thunk.

“Alright, Donovan. The room is cleared, again.”

“Good work. Pretty easy this time? That was fast,” the manager's voice rang into my ear.

“Yeah, they turned into a rubber duck. How strange is that?” I said.

“Strange, but not enough for me to care. The money is worth it.”

“Can I go home now?” I asked.

“Sure, just make sure you clock out. Don’t want your time sheet to get screwed up.” The manager's voice was apathetic.

Now I’m sure you’re all wondering, what are the possible outcomes for the slot machine? Well, I’m sad to inform you that there are an infinite amount - way too many to keep track of. Now, if you asked me what the most dangerous ones were, or the most interesting, that I could answer. I’ll start with the most interesting.

House, dollar sign, house: your mortgage would suddenly be paid off if you still owed on it. Three houses would get you an instantaneous ‘home of your dreams’ that would appear in lew of where you slept the night before. Sock, watch, magnifying glass: you’d find every object you’ve ever lost and would prevent you from losing anything ever again. You’d just suddenly remember where each item could be found, like the memories were transplanted into your brain from some omnipresent force. I now think I could add the three rubber ducks to this list.

Now, the most dangerous combinations? Three skulls was always a bad place to start, resulting in instant death. As soon as the last skull rolls to a stop, so would your heart. Three candles? Self-emulation, without the need for gasoline or sparks. Three boulders? That one was even messier than the cherries. I had only witnessed this one once, the unlucky patron was as flat as a pancake. Obliterated skin and bones, organs relieved of their fluids, all under a fist sized rock.

“Hard day at work?” My girlfriend, Jane, was waiting at the table for me when I got home.

“You have no idea,” I replied, running a hand through my hair.

“Want me to heat up dinner?” She asked.

“Nah, I need a shower first.” I kissed her on the forehead and pushed further into the house.

“Still good to watch the Bachelor tonight?” Jane called from the kitchen.

“Yes, please. I am so ready for some trash t.v.,” I shouted back before getting in the shower.

Trash television was my only escape from the horrors of m...

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