Poker game from hell

The ship lurched. He heard screams of terror. Cries of pain. People yelling. He could hear everything. Prayers, curses, dying breaths and … sickening wet sounds. His heightened sense of hearing was a curse in that moment. Some of those noises were coming from the Cash’s cabin where the poker game was being held. Some of those voices didn't sound right. Not in the least.

Al opened the door and stared. The first thing he saw was a saint bernard, a dog, dressed in a suit, sitting at the table holding a hand of cards, wearing Cash’s glasses and smoking one of his cigars. Al almost laughed at the almost Kitsch situation… except… the smell… oh gods… the reak of **** in this claustrophobic cabin!

“Cash?” Al asked, the exclamation mark floating above his head turning into a question mark.

The dog looked at Al. “Yeah… oh my god. Al? Is that you.” His voice was deeper and he struggled to enunciate his words.

“Yeah…” Al looked at the others at the gaming table. Horror crawling up his spine as he put the peices of the puzzle together. A human sized bug in torn clothes, legs twitching in its final **** throws. He knew that hat it wore… Lenny? A skeleton with purple flesh oozing off its bones. Judging by the short stature and the bright gore stained shirt that was Reg. A lizard thing with two heads was dead in the corner. Bill… maybe? The game was over…

Al stumbled, his paws slipping on the floor as the question mark above his head turned into dancing skulls. He had to get out of this floating hellhole. He turned, running away, his new rabbit legs wobbly and unfamiliar.

The air was thick with the smell of diesel - his sense of smell was much more acute. The corridor walls narrowed and bulged like the throat of a serpent trying to swallow something too large. He was still tripping.