prompt_id,prompt,story_id,story_title,story_author,story_url,link,genre,is_sensitive,categories,likes,story_text,posted_date,comments
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,7y6nus,Under a Dying Sun,Aeris Walker,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/7y6nus/,/short-story/7y6nus/,Dark,0,"['Western', 'Historical Fiction', 'Drama']",24 likes,"
	Smoke rose from the crackling fire and dissipated into the night sky. Stars dotted the black expanse, innumerable as the grains of sand in the Mojave desert where Connor McClain lay on his back, head cradled in his arms, thinking of Saralee. 
 I’m finally coming home, he willed his words across the dusty earth, through the mountain pass, and down the stretch of trail that would carry him back to the little wooden cabin by the creek—back to his brown-eyed, long-legged girl. 
	Beside him, Thunder stamped his hooves and huffed softly, as if he too was impatient to be rid of the desert. The mournful, hungry cry of a coyote echoed across the valley and settled in the pit of Connor’s stomach. He slid his shotgun closer and let his eyes drift shut. Just a few more days, Saralee. 
	And he meant it this time. 
 Three months tops, he had told her, said that’s all it would take for him to go West, strike rich, and make his fortune–their fortune. Gleaming Mines! Rivers of Gold! the newspapers had claimed. He ignored them at first—kept his head down and worked the ranch as his Pa and Grandfather had done before him. Treasure hunting was for fools–dreamers. 
	Then he and Saralee had begun to see neighbors pack up and head West. The Kilners had even written back, saying the rumors were true, that John Kilner had found a gold nugget the size of his thumb the first week in the mines. Connor must have read that letter a dozen times, leaning against the fence post, standing in the fields, alone at the kitchen table. The words consumed his thoughts; he began to dream of gold.
	Then that Spring, the cattle plague swept through wiping out most of his herd. It was a sign, Connor had decided; what’d he have to lose then? Saralee had cried as he packed, wouldn’t hardly let go of his shirt. “You see those saplings there?” He’d pointed at the garden beside the house. “I’ll be back before the beans are ready, you’ll see. And when I do, we’ll be rich, darlin’.” She kissed him and wished him luck.
	But it seemed luck got lost on its way to Connor; the mining towns were overcrowded with eager diggers, and everything was overpriced. He borrowed what money he needed for supplies–pans, pick axes, a tent, and boots. And what little gold he found in the creeks and rivers went to pay back his debts. There was never anything leftover—nothing for Saralee.  
	Then, somehow, three months turned into six, then a year. Then two. A nagging voice greeted him with every sunrise and every sunset, telling him to call it quits, admit defeat, and go home. He shut it out with the same thoughts: Just a little bit longer. I’m so close. I can feel it.
	And he wasn’t wrong. 
	Connor smiled in the dark, thinking of the bulging pouches of gold weighing down the saddlebags–gold from his own secret mine, that unassuming slit in the mountainside he’d found by accident. He worked it alone, with limited tools, and told no one, not even Saralee where it was. Just wrote, “Finally struck luck. When I come home, we’ll live like kings and queens.” 
	His heartbeat pulsed at the thought of seeing her, holding her again. It was a drumbeat across aching muscles, reverberating in his thighs, his groin. He felt phantom gyrations tug and pull at his body, as if he was still in the saddle, galloping across the rugged California terrain. 
	Sleep claimed him as images of Saralee floated at the edges of his dreams: she was wading into the creek, hair loose and wild, stripping away her calico dress. She turned to him with a teasing smile. Come. Play. Then she slipped beneath the current. Her voice was far away, mournful and hungry like the coyote’s cry. And when he looked into the water, he saw only gold, sparking in noon-day sun.
	Connor gasped awake; sunrise had peaked above the mountain ridges, casting long, uneven shadows across the rocky desert valley. Near his feet, a spiked lizard darted out from under a shrub in pursuit of a cricket. It skittered over the long metal barrel of Connor’s gun and caught the insect, gumming it down with a twitch of its spiny head.  
	Connor rose, stretched the kinks from his spine, and pissed in the dirt, the yellow stream turn the dry earth to mud. He uncapped his canteen and tipped a precious sip in his mouth, swishing it around, savoring it. Then he sifted oats from a pouch and offered them to Thunder, stroking his mane as the horse's teeth softly grazed his open palm. The horse nudged him, greedy, searching. 
	“There’ll be more of that later. Let’s get moving.”
 
***
 
	The sun burned hot and relentless, even as it dipped toward the horizon. Thunder’s movements had grown slow and stiff after a full day of travel, but Connor pushed him, urged him on through the suffocating desert heat, closer to the mountains’ edge where green was becoming more abundant. Connor followed the growth until they came to a towering cluster of rocks that jutted out over the land, creating a strip of shade. Beneath it, a trickle of a stream ran between the rocks and pooled in the basin of a large, smooth stone. Thunder drank.
	Connor dismounted and sank down in the cool dirt, pulling off his sweat-soaked hat and kerchief. A faint breeze teased his damp hair, urging him to rest and relax. If he kept this pace, he’d be home in two days. Home to Saralee. Thunder lifted his head from the stream and walked toward Connor, his gait already steadier. He snorted and tossed his mane. 
	Connor reached up and stroked the horse's soft cheeks. “You done good, boy. We’ll be home soon.” Then the horse reared back suddenly, his hooves stamping the dirt. The animal’s eyes grew wide, the whites stark against his dark coat, and he neighed a shrill, nervous whinny. Connor scuttered back, dodging the hooves sporadically beating the ground. “Thunder! Woah, boy.”
	Then he heard the rattle. 
	Cold fear sluiced through his bowels; his vision blurred and sound grew muffled as if any threat was far-off in another world and not just a hand’s width away. The snake hovered above its coiled body, its wide mouth open, black tongue spilling out like oil. Connor held its stare, his own face frozen in a mask of terror. Its slitted eyes glowed, the color deep and warm–amber, like Tennessee whisky. He couldn’t look away.
	Connor scraped against the dirt in a slow escape, eyes locked on the snake. Its sharp hiss was like the sound of water dousing a fire. He’d had run-ins with snakes before–knew to back away and give them a wide birth, show them respect; this was their desert, after all. 
	But this bastard looked as if he wanted a fight.
	Connor’s gun lay just a foot away beside his discarded hat. Not daring to blink, he reached for it, watching in his peripherals as his own trembling hand crossed the distance between his body and his weapon. He felt disconnected from it—as if it was someone else’s hand shaking at the edges of his vision. When his fingers finally bumped the cool metal barrel, an imperceptible jolt cracked through Connor’s body, internal and invisible; but not to the snake. 
	It lunged, fangs sinking into Connor’s wrist, piercing skin and striking veins.
	White-hot pain ripped through his arm; his scream echoed off the rocks. Connor turned his back on the snake and half-crawled, half-ran away from the stream and the shade, collapsing in a heap in the sandy dirt. Two holes leaked blood from his wrist, which was already beginning to swell. 
	“Thunder!” he wheezed out, trying to whistle. He stood and ran deeper into the valley, calling for his horse. “Thunder!” He opened his mouth again, but little sound escaped. The air in his lungs felt trapped and strained. Pain tore through his body in waves, burning and twisting. “Thunder, there you are.” He stumbled forward, hobbling toward the creature. But it was only a cactus, distorted and strange in his poison-laced vision. 
	The desert was spinning, shrinking and expanding, going black and then blinding white, hot and then cold. Connor fell to his knees and held his bloated arm to the sky; it was blue against the orange sunset. He slumped to the ground, no longer able to hold himself up. His cheeks scraped sand and stone. 
 Saralee. I’m coming. 
 
***
 
	Somewhere across the valley, a coyote howled at the dying sun. Beside Connor’s body, black boots crunched against the gritty soil.
	“Howdy there, partner. Seems you’ve got yourself in a bit of a bind.” The voice sounded tinny and warbled in Connor’s head, like it was coming from the inside of a canteen. From the slit of one swollen eye, Connor made out a figure in a white hat.
	“Saralee?” The word clawed itself from Connor’s throat.
	The stranger knelt and lifted Connor’s swollen wrist, inspecting the bite. “Rattler got you good, didn’t he.” He clicked his tongue. “I’ve seen this before. Might be able to help you out.”
	Connor commanded his eyes to open and focus on the man; he gritted his teeth against the pain coursing with each beat of his heart. Images slowly fizzled in and settled at the edges of his mind: White hat. Dark hair. Arms tattooed green–green bees. No, not bees. Birds–headless, bodiless birds. No. Not birds. Just wings. Green, tattooed wings. 
	Connor’s head slumped back. “Please,” he wheezed. “Help. Me.” His tongue clung to the dry ridges of his gums.
	“Oh, I’ll help you.” The man cupped Connor’s neck and brought a canteen to his lips. “But it’ll cost you.”
	Water trickled down Connor’s chin, pooling in the hollow of his neck. More. He needed more. He was on fire–burning. “Anything,” he managed. “It’s. With. My horse. Take. It. All.” The man could take everything; Connor could always go back for more; he still had the mine and no one was going to take that away.  
	The man leaned in and said, “What horse?”
	Connor turned, squinting into the dusk-cloaked desert. Thunder was gone. His gold was gone. 
	The man leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “You’ll find a way to pay me, won’t you, partner?”
	Connor nodded, his stubble grazing the man’s cheek. 
	“Alright then. We got a deal.”
 
	*** 
 
 Saralee played the fiddle, fingers arched like little bridges across the strings. Her feet stamped with the rhythm and she laughed. Connor danced in circles around her, arms loose and free. He felt alive. Whole. Then, the music turned sharp, notes sliding together in a shrill screech. He turned and saw Saralee melting into a puddle on the cabin floor, her eyes pleading. He lunged for her, gripping her arms as they transformed into snakes, her hands into fanged heads. Failure, she hissed. Then all went dark. 
	Connor jolted awake, sweat-drenched and stiff. He lay at the mouth of a cave, his hat and kerchief in a heap at his feet. Images wavered in his mind, mirages of what he discerned were memories rather than hallucinations. The snake. The bite. The pain. The stranger—a savior. He raced his hands along his arm, reveling in the ease with which he moved and breathed: there was only skin, smooth and unbroken in the place where he’d once felt fire. “I’m alive,” he cried into the sky. “I’m alive!”
	At his voice, something rustled beyond the cave. Connor reached instinctually for his gun, but it was gone. Scanning the ground, he gripped a large rock and crouched closer to the sound, knowing he’d be no match against a pack of coyotes. But he’d go down fighting anyway; he’d come too far to die here.
	Caught between the spiky branches of a Yucca tree, the creature huffed and tugged, stomping its hooves against the dry ground. 
	Thunder. 
	The horse startled when Connor came up beside him, then threw his head back and neighed. “I thought I lost you, boy.” Connor slung an arm around the animal’s thick neck, nuzzling his face against the soft, musky flesh. He untangled the reins from the tree and led Thunder back to the mouth of the cave. Connor pulled out the bag of oats and emptied it into his cupped hands, letting the animal have his fill. He returned the empty pouch and paused; there at the bottom of the saddlebags were bulging bags of gold. Untouched.
 It’s all here. Everything.
	Connor released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Let’s go home, boy.”
	They rode hard, eating up the miles that stretched between the Mojave and home. Thunder seemed to feel a sense of being at the end, his desires somehow linked with those of his rider. They pushed on through heat and high elevation until the terrain began to flatten again and familiar sights greeted them. Just a few miles from town, they passed the cluster of cactuses that looked like praying nuns, then the Pritchards’ ranch, then the Haymakers’. Then Connor could see the church steeple rising above the center of the town, its whitewashed beams a beacon guiding wanderers home. 
	“We’re almost there, boy.” Connor patted Thunder’s thick shoulder, sending puffs of dust wafting off his dark coat. Soon, Connor could hear the gentle trickling of a creek–the one that would wind around the next bend and lead him to a sun-bleached cabin and a beautiful girl–home. Connor dismounted and walked beside Thunder as the house came into view, a curl of smoke rising from the chimney. 
	“Saralee!” He couldn’t wait another second. “Saralee, I’m home!”
	The door opened, and a woman poked her head out. Connor began to run, leaving Thunder to graze along the creek. The woman ducked back into the house, shutting the door. 
	“It’s me Saralee! Connor!”
	The door opened again, and this time Saralee was standing beside a man, his palm resting on her shoulder. Connor stepped up to the house and stopped, confusion turning him momentarily mute. Saralee squinted into the space between them, then turned to the man beside her. “He must have the wrong house.” She took in Connor’s ragged, worn clothes and his sunburned skin and smiled. “But wait here, and I’ll give you something for your travels.” She slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. 
	Connor stuttered, “Wait! What’s happening here?” Then anger boiled up within him. “And who are you?”
	The man stepped into the light, “Howdy there, partner.” He flashed a wide grin. “Oh, you know me; I’m an old friend.” He extended a tanned hand to Connor, waiting. Connor’s eyes traveled from the man’s face to his outstretched hand where, peeking out from under his sleeve, was the tip of a green, tattooed wing. The wind shifted and Connor felt a coldness seep into him, creeping into his bones. 
	The man lowered his hand and glanced at Thunder. “I see you found your horse.”
	“Please,” Connor stuttered, his head spinning. “I can pay you now. What do you want from me?”
	“From you? Why, nothing at all.” He narrowed his eyes, their color deep and warm–amber, like Tennessee whisky. 
	“Your debt is already paid.”
 
","September 16, 2023 01:55","[[{'Kevin Logue': ""That was brilliant! So immersive in setting, emotion, and galloping plot. Connors longing to be with Saralee is so strong and driving, yet there is something deeper there, his unwillingness to go home empty handed - literally acknowledged when he says Thunder is greedy for wanting more oats, it's like he's telling himself that.\n\nAlthough it could have just been a normal snake encounter, in my head I think the Devil was the snake, as well as saviour, and Connors undoing.\n\nGreat Story, fantastic writing! Best of luck this week 🤞"", 'time': '09:19 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Another winner no doubt.🌵', 'time': '02:05 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Helen A Smith': 'Hi Aeris\nYou had me with you all the way on this perilous journey. I felt I was out there searching for gold too.  I was rooting for the Connor and his beautiful horse, even though I knew he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. At least, not fully. I must admit I wanted a happy ending, even though it wasn’t possible. Masterfully written.', 'time': '13:43 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Rebecca Miles': 'Right from the get go you create context so well that this very different time and place comes to life. It\'s a broad sweep of time to pull off, the initial attraction of the West with the letters received, Connor\'s own journey and return, but you manage it well. I\'m a horse lover, so Thunder steals my heart, although of course the devilish snake- man steals the writer\'s reward I think. You really do craft the links with your trademark eye on subtlety: the amber eyes, and how man and snake can read the victim\'s "" jolts"" the passion in his blo...', 'time': '06:13 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Aeris Walker': 'How lucky I am--a comment from each of the Reedsy Miles :) \nI love your analysis here: ""the passion in his blood for SaraLee which the victor taps in more ways than one."" That\'s perfect. I wanted the character\'s passions for wealth and love to be constantly at war in this story, and though Connor isn\'t *put to the test* until he\'s on his journey home, I think he ultimately made his choice before the story began. And the devil, well he just doesn\'t play by the rules. \nThanks for reading!', 'time': '21:05 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Aeris Walker': 'How lucky I am--a comment from each of the Reedsy Miles :) \nI love your analysis here: ""the passion in his blood for SaraLee which the victor taps in more ways than one."" That\'s perfect. I wanted the character\'s passions for wealth and love to be constantly at war in this story, and though Connor isn\'t *put to the test* until he\'s on his journey home, I think he ultimately made his choice before the story began. And the devil, well he just doesn\'t play by the rules. \nThanks for reading!', 'time': '21:05 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'Wow, Aeris. Historical fiction is one of the most challenging genres for me, and you make it look easy. With elegance and grace. How effortlessly you weaved in the devil, as both snake and man. Perfection.', 'time': '18:26 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Aeris Walker': ""Hi AnneMarie! I've always been intrigued by this era/region, though in real life, the desert actually holds little appeal for me! \nI so appreciate your comment and am glad you picked up on those details of the devil's potential duality. Thanks for being a great reader!"", 'time': '20:59 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Aeris Walker': ""Hi AnneMarie! I've always been intrigued by this era/region, though in real life, the desert actually holds little appeal for me! \nI so appreciate your comment and am glad you picked up on those details of the devil's potential duality. Thanks for being a great reader!"", 'time': '20:59 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Danie Nikole': 'Your descriptions are so good! This was so well done! \n\nLoved the sinking feeling you get in the end when you spent all this time searching for gold only to realize something so much more valuable was stolen from you in the end.', 'time': '10:29 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': ""Aeris, Great story. This line has a clear but perfect image. Cold fear sluiced through his bowels;\nConnor, caught between a rock and a hard space, gains his life but loses Saralee.\nSo many play on the word snake. \nSnake charmer = Sweet talks Saralee. Snake himself = comes to see the snakebite and heals Connor of his bite. But it's the devil so of course, Connor's everything included Saralee in the devil's eyes. \nYour diction dictates same.\nPassion and wealth become greed. He stays to find that big hall. \nIt causes him to be in the predicamen..."", 'time': '21:40 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,ddjpoq,BEHOLD LOST POETRY – Part Four,Joe Malgeri,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ddjpoq/,/short-story/ddjpoq/,Dark,0,"['Adventure', 'Inspirational']",22 likes,"
As previously mentioned: Consistently for over two decades my Aunt Sophie annually attended “The Lily-Dale, Upstate NY, Psychic Medium Community.” To celebrate my twenty-first birthday, my Aunt Sophie invited me, her Nephew Patrick, along as her travel companion.   During our first two days there we observed the parapsychologist, Doctor Tarz, being an avatar for Kahlil Gibran and Frank Zappa. During our third day, our psychic instructor became an avatar for Rudyard Kipling, followed by attempting to guide every participant through an out-of-body experience.   On our fourth day, upon entering the auditorium at 5:00 a.m., a pulsating sound pattern that invokes a frequency following response in the activity of the brain resonated through the air. This sound pattern, known as the Hemi-sync, which is short for Hemispheric Synchronization, was founded by the genius Robert Monroe:   “Aunt Sophie,” I asked, “why were we told to arrive here at 5:00 a.m. today, instead of at 9:00 a.m. like the previous three days?”   “Because, Patrick, Doctor Tarz expects each participant to have slept for only three to four hours before arriving. We’ll then be more likely to fall back to sleep, but hopefully in just a light sleep.”   As we walked inside another few steps, again we saw twin sets of cots lined up lengthwise from front to back and touching, starting from the front left side of the room and extending diagonally toward the rear right side of the room. Placed on parallel sides of the cots were at least two dozen low-level tables. The tables were also placed lengthwise from front to back, but unlike the cots the tables did not touch, there were gaps approximately two feet wide between them. Upon each table a stereo speaker emitted sound. Each speaker faced its counterpart speaker with a cot positioned in between. Aunt Sophie and I each laid upon a cot. Shortly, all twenty-six participants were positioned from head to toe, with the tops of our heads aimed north, toward the rear of the room.   Within several minutes the lights dimmed and the volume of this pulsating sound was reduced to a mere background level.   The curtain upon the stage now fully opened.   And there she was. Identical to yesterday, Doctor Tarz stood dead center in front of the room behind a podium. While looking up at the ceiling, this petite, elderly woman spoke into the podium’s microphone.   Her voice was soft and tranquil, with a Russian accent that ascended just above the volume level of the wavering vibrato background sound. Each participant became mesmerized by her hypnotic voice resonating through the sound, coming out of each set of stereo speakers, placed on opposite sides of every subject’s head:   “Relax……… Completely relax……… Relax your feet and legs……… Relax your arms……… Relax your torso……... Relax your neck..…….. Relax your head……… Relax your entire body……… All tension is gone……... A bright white light surrounds you….….. Listen to the sound……… You are the sound……… The sound is rising……… You are rising……..… Floating upward toward the ceiling……..….. Rise…..….… You are the sound…….… The sound continues rising…..….. You are floating up……..…..... Up…………..... Upward toward the ceiling………….. Let go….….… You are free……..…… Fly away…….…..”   And then she was gone.   The next thing I knew, my Aunt Sophie and I found ourselves lying next to one another on a hard, flat surface. I first assumed we were located somewhere in the middle of the floor, but upon directing my vision upward, I came to realize that I was actually directing my vision downward. My revelation affirmed that we were in reality lounging upon the auditorium ceiling.   Ordinarily, two astral projectors lying on a ceiling wouldn’t seem so outlandish. But, due to a lifetime of third-dimensional conditioning with our law of gravity, the idea of falling had automatically entered my thoughts. Initially, I alone began slowly descending, thus, I reached up and grabbed hold of my Aunt Sophie’s hand, causing us both to slowly descend. Once my feet touched the ground, I adverted my attention upward and focused on my Aunt Sophie.   One telltale glance was all it took for my soul to shudder in horror. So devastating was the intensity of my shock that it felt as if all Hell had broken loose. This woman now holding my hand was not my Aunt Sophie:   “Hello, Patrick, surprised to see me?” asked Lilith, the demon succubus. “What was it that you said? Wasn’t it, ‘No more nocturnal emissions, ever again’? Ah-ha-ha… I think not!”   My immediate reaction was to quickly release my hand from Lilith’s grip, but when I attempted to pull away, she resisted:   “Where are you going, Patrick? We have a deal.”   “ ‘Deal’? What deal? And let go of my hand.”   “You swore in your dream that you would sell your soul to make love to such a beautiful woman as I am, remember?”   “No, no I didn’t. I did nothing of the sort. I never sold my soul.”   “Oh, but you did, Patrick. You sold me your soul, and in return, I granted you the most seductively powerful nocturnal emission a young man could possibly have. Ah-ha-ha…”   “That’s insane! It was all just a dream!”   “Oh, so now you’re coming with me, Patrick. Ah-ha-ha…”   Instantly, the door to the little backroom behind the stage flew wide open. Out stepped Doctor Tarz, peering in our direction. She walked only a few feet before stopping dead in her tracks. As if lethargically entering a trance, she slowly drifted off, sluggishly closing her eyes.   With both her astral feet planted firmly upon the ground, Lilith, seemingly entranced by Doctor Tarz’s presence, apparently unaware of herself, unknowingly released her grip, freeing my hand. Following this, I witnessed one of the most spectacular sights I had yet to see. Doctor Tarz slowly began to levitate. Her physical body ascended some two feet off the ground.   She remained suspended in midair as her astral body began to slowly reveal itself. Bit by bit, in minute increments, I watched as her inner body, at first, just seemed to barely peek out. Although, eventually her astral self began to show more and more, until suddenly, wham! Within the blinking of an eye, Doctor Tarz’s astral body had instantaneously shot straight out, becoming totally detached from her physical body. Her etheric double now began to descend, gliding slowly downward on an ever-so-slight slope, willfully headed directly toward Lilith.   Soon, Doctor Tarz and Lilith were standing toe to toe as an inner telepathic battle ignited, raging on between them. Throughout their stance, I watched in awe. To me, it felt as if the whole world stopped spinning and time itself had completely halted. Perhaps my livelihood depended on the outcome. However, God willing, while still totally captivated, I observed Lilith’s astral body gradually deteriorating. She progressively grew fainter and fainter, until eventually vanishing completely.   Without so much as a pause, Doctor Tarz’s astral body slowly began to float backward, gently gliding in reverse on a slightly upward slope. The further she retreated, the higher she elevated, until becoming flush with her awaiting, yet still levitating, physical body. It then appeared as if her physical body had instantaneously, in just one gluttonously quick gulp, thoroughly inhaled her perfectly aligned astral body. Following this, her physical body descended gently back to the ground, rendering a flawless landing. Now fully revived and energized, our instructor calmly walked over to her podium:   “Return……….. Return to your physical body………… When I count to five you will be awake and alert, back inside your physical body……… One…..…. Return…..…. Two……..… Returning……….. Three….……. You are back inside your physical body…..….…. Four………… Awake………... Five………... Awake and open your eyes……..……”   Doctor Tarz proceeded to converse with her awakened subjects:   “Please raise your hand if you achieved an out-of-body experience. I see one, two, three, four… Out of a class of twenty-six, four had projected. I’m very impressive.” “Violet, where did you go?”   “I think I went to the Sun.”   “ ‘To the Sun’? Would you be so kind, Violet, as to elaborate?”   “Well, it was all so amazing. Everything was just so infinitely bright, so warm, and so endless. The entire, the entire everything, everything in sight seemed as if it extended forever. It was like being in the middle of an endless ocean, filled with this spectacular, immensely bright, warm light, and I felt so, so, um, so…”   “So loved?”   “Yes, exactly. I felt so loved,” Violet giggled. “I did, and I felt so filled with love, and as if I was made out of nothing but love, and everything that existed radiated love. I didn’t want to ever return to the physical world.”   “Most impressive.” “Johnny, where did you go?”   “Doctor Tarz, I just rolled out of my physical body, hit the floor, and then bounced right back in again.”   “Nevertheless, you were successful.” “Sophie?”   “All I can remember is I was lying on the ceiling directly next to Patrick.”   “Unfortunately, one doesn’t always remember. Although, Sophie, your success was remarkable.” “Patrick?”   “No comment.”   “That’s perfectly fine, Patrick, I completely understand.” “Now, are there any questions?”   “Doctor Tarz,” Dennis inquired, “what was the purpose of us getting only a few hours of sleep last night?”   “When entering a deep sleep, Dennis, we pass through the theta wave area, and slip into the delta, but during a light sleep, one is more likely to remain within the theta wave region. This area is the corridor between worlds, where the physical world, and the hereafter, may both make impressions upon one’s thoughts. If a spirit from the next world, or an entity of this world, should attempt to communicate with you while you’re in this state, you may incorporate the impact from either of these entities into your dreams, although it may not always be a dream. Now, to increase one’s chances of remaining inside the theta wave area, one should not be overly tired. One way to achieve this is to awaken after three to four hours, experience some stay-awake time, and then return to sleep. You’ll then be more inclined to sleep lightly.”   “Doctor Tarz, what media reports the most accurate news?” asked a handsome, young black man.   “As far as mainstream media goes, you have two choices. One, don’t listen to it and remain uninformed. Two, listen to it and become misinformed. The truth reveals itself only to those who diligently seek news elsewhere.”   “Doctor Tarz, why did you choose the field you’re in?” I asked.   “I didn’t choose it, Patrick, it chose me. I’m grateful though, because there’s nothing more beautiful than the mysterious. Okay, now’s my time to be an avatar. I couldn’t contact Oscar Wilde, but I did contact a deceased brooding poet, lyricist, and rock musician. Through me, he will recite some of his unknown poetry. Remember, you’re prohibited from responding to his work – not during, nor after his recited literature. If you speak throughout my trance you’ll risk waking me. If you do so, I will ask you to leave. Those who brought along recording devices, feel free to continue utilizing them. However, from this moment on, please stay quiet.”    After closing her eyes, Doctor Tarz sat motionless. Within several minutes, the channeled spirit spoke through her:   “Born in Brooklyn, NY, I graduated from third-density in 2013. Many of my poems were not recorded. So, like Mr. Gibran, Mr. Zappa, and Mr. Kipling, I’ll take a walk on the wild side. Behold lost poetry – ‘THIS DEMON SUCCUBUS:’“Lilith is the Angel in his mindShe answers not if and when he callsShe sails across his phantom skyWatching her glide, he stares in awe‘Honor me with a song and a prayer,A blessing, not a cross to bear’Does she heed and hear his longing call?Will she open doors or put up walls?Can he cross her bridge and hop her fence?Will she steal his pride and drain his strength?Does her vanity feed on shedding tears?Has his fantasy festered for countless years?Her bewitching spells have lured and ledWith Angel wings that flop then spreadHe feels her love is Heaven’s giftStrong yearnings from his bottomless pitHe craves and lusts her incarnationHer seductive shape, her curved sensationNocturnal dreams, deep aspirationsThis demon succubus has ramificationsHe awakens now in perspirationThe passion of their copulationDark curses, spells, and incantationsShe haunts such men’s imagination“Behold – ‘IT’S NOT YOUR CONCERN’“It’s not your concern that you were all he ever wanted, seen, and heardIt’s not your concern that he lived each and every day for youIt’s not your concern that he loved you infinitely beyond wordsIt’s not your concern that whenever he was without you he was blue“What is your concern is how your fashion statements light up the floorWhat is your concern is how an untraditional woman can trap a traditional manWhat is your concern is how no one could ever win you while being poorWhat is your concern is how to successfully weasel, plot, and scam“It’s not your concern that you absolutely meant the universe to himIt’s not your concern that he took you wherever and whenever you wanted to goIt’s not your concern that he catered to your each and every whimIt’s not your concern how he looked like he was just a fool who you controlled“What is your concern is that you’ll never have to worry about paying billsWhat is your concern is the freedom you now have to play the fieldWhat is your concern is the amount of money that he left you in his willWhat is your concern is the interest in your account, how much it yields“It’s not your concern how he always chose to look the other wayIt’s not your concern about the many hurtful truths you spoke in jestIt’s not your concern how transparently he saw your act each and every dayIt’s not your concern how he continues to see you, yet still wishes you the best“What is your concern is how to fake you miss his sweet romanceWhat is your concern is how to fool the world you’re the widow who now mournsWhat is your concern is how to profit, drink, have fun, and danceWhat is your concern is once you plot to land another, it won’t be long“It’s not your concern how you smiled when you placed that reef upon his doorIt’s not your concern that your bikinis now look like dental flossIt’s not your concern that your body counts are beyond keeping scoreIt’s not your concern that you’re going to have to face him when you cross“What should be your concern is how all points in space and time are connectedWhat should be your concern is how everything you reap someday you’ll sowWhat should be your concern is how all karmic goods and bads get reflectedWhat should be your concern is how you can’t take it with you when you goIncidentally, have you ever seen a U-Haul behind a Hearse?“Behold – ‘ANIMALS CAN’T SIN, THEY SURVIVE’“We’ve tailor-created the concept of sinThen imposed our creation and judged everyoneWe sentence, label, decide who’s offendersWe create our own judgment to judge our own standardsWhile bloodthirsty D.A.s are selling your sonThe God-Playing Judges are drinking your bloodTheir halo’s so tight that it cuts circulationBut man is an animal, and animals can’t sin, they survive“Our primitive Christian construct of sinHas sustained organ grinder’s control once againWith guilt as a tool for the kings of the hillWhen our emotions turn on us against our own willIt isn’t your law, but it’s expected to beYou can’t break a contract when you didn’t agreeYet white-collar criminals still laugh to the bankBut man is an animal, and animals can’t sin, they survive“We’ve tailor-created our churches for cashSelling hope to squeeze faithful donators at massZookeepers who’d lie for a good seat in HellLeave the wealthiest graves when the cemetery’s filledIs sin a diversion for power and greed?Have we even used God as a source to our means?These wolves in sheep’s clothing, I’m sure he must seeBut man is an animal, and animals can’t sin, they survive“Behold – ‘WALTZING TO THE RHYTHM’“See the freak of nature as they mock him and taunt himClosed minds criticize what they can’t understandIt’s hard for them to look at him once without smirkingWaltzing to the rhythm of the formative man They talk at him, drown his mumbling, interrupting, never listening“Humble as a doormat, he thinks he must deserve it‘Why else would nice people have cut me to strands?’Those he trusts would say, ‘It’s just your imagination’Waltzing to the rhythm of the metamorphosing man They talk at him, drown his mumbling, interrupting, never listening“Showed repeatedly that he wasn’t worth defendingTaught to be a spittoon, not groomed to be a manHis shame, guilt, doubt and fear have now turned to burning hatredWaltzing to the serial killings of the transmuted man They talk at him, drown his mumbling, interrupting, never listeningWait for the ricochet!”   Doctor Tarz abruptly awoke and opened her eyes, “He evaporated…” “Please now play your tape recording, Sophie?”   “Certainly,” replied my Aunt Sophie.   Soon everyone listened to my Aunt Sophie’s tape recording. Every word channeled through Doctor Tarz was more enlightening the second time around.   “Most impressive,” Doctor Tarz commented. “Yet, I’m presently exhausted and in dire need of rest. Tomorrow, again I want everyone to arrive at 5:00 a.m. If all goes well, following our OBE session, I’ll attempt to contact Walt Whitman.”   The Curtain Closed! THE END(Poems Written By Joseph Anthony Malgeri, Copyrighted 1988 To 2016)
","September 13, 2023 21:24","[[{'Kevin Logue': ""Cheers Joe, only last week I said it would be nice to have Patrick astral projecting and what do I read... only a darn tooting astral projection battle with Lilith herself! Nicely done sir.\n\nPoor Patrick having dirty dreams about demons and not realising they are actually happening in another plane of existence.\n\nCouldn't help but Reed them poems in Lou's silky monotone voice, most enjoyable.\n\nBrilliant line right here >> But, due to a lifetime of third-dimensional conditioning with our law of gravity, the idea of falling had automatically e..."", 'time': '11:35 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks, Kevin, and yes, I do see what you mean about the redundancy in that paragraph, oh well... and your suggestions were definitely valid. Glad you read and liked the story, as for the poems being recited in Lou's voice, yeah, I could joyfully imagine it too."", 'time': '16:40 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks, Kevin, and yes, I do see what you mean about the redundancy in that paragraph, oh well... and your suggestions were definitely valid. Glad you read and liked the story, as for the poems being recited in Lou's voice, yeah, I could joyfully imagine it too."", 'time': '16:40 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Marc Rothstein': 'This is my first read in the series. Cool concept. Have a relative who visits Lily-Dale yearly for readings. I drove through it once. It has a gypsy feel to it.\nAnyone who wants to channel Frank Z is OK in my book.\nSome nice poetry.\nHappy writing.', 'time': '14:18 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks much, Marc, FZ has been one of my heroes since the late sixties, and anyone with relatives who attend Lily-Dale yearly is almost family. Much appreciated.', 'time': '16:37 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks much, Marc, FZ has been one of my heroes since the late sixties, and anyone with relatives who attend Lily-Dale yearly is almost family. Much appreciated.', 'time': '16:37 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Love it! Channeling Lou Reed! The man was a legend, and his work with Velvet Underground is soooo underappreciated. Man, you picked a great one here, my friend.\n\nIt's odd that you have one poem about animals. They don't sin - they survive. I alluded to the very same philosophy in the tale I just submitted to Reedsy. I have a line that reflects what you said in your poem: The animal gets what the animal needs.\n\nAnother nice addition to the Dr. Tarz saga. And we can look forward to Walt Whitman? I'm in!\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '12:49 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks so very much, Delbert, and LR was indeed a legend, I'm glad you once again figured out who the poet speaking through Dr. Tarz was. For some reason, Behold Lost Poetry - part three was removed from the contest, although it's still on my page.  Maybe this one will also get removed."", 'time': '16:42 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Delbert Griffith': ""What? How in the hell did THAT happen? There's no reason to disqualify it, as far as I can recall. Something screwy there, my friend."", 'time': '17:25 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'Yeah, screwy alright, but if you look under the contest - ""The Human Touch,"" and then under the sub-level - ""Start or end your story with a character receiving a hug or words of comfort,"" ""Behold Lost Poetry - part three"" won\'t be there. Plus, even though it\'s still on my page, but where all my other stories have in yellowish/orange outline the words ""SUBMITTED TO CONTEST,"" this also was removed on ""Behold Lost Poetry - part three."" Maybe it was just a fluke, or more likely within the story itself lies the revealing explanation for my remova...', 'time': '17:30 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'Sorry, my friend. I hate to see worthy tales go by the wayside.', 'time': '18:17 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks for expressing your concern, Delbert.', 'time': '18:35 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""That's really strange. Can you query it with them,? Did you get an email saying it was approved originally?\nBehind the scenes at reedsy is very mysterious.\n\nPs - love this installment as always!"", 'time': '18:18 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'Yes, it\'s strange. I looked, but I can\'t find how to query them. Although, I\'m better off not querying them, because I\'d only receive a BS excuse and not the truth. And yes, I did receive an email stating ""It was approved originally."" Just the same, thanks again for liking it and reading it, Derrick, as well as for writing: ""PS - love this installment as always!"" BTW, if someday you no longer find me on here, it may be because I got kicked off.', 'time': '18:38 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks so very much, Delbert, and LR was indeed a legend, I'm glad you once again figured out who the poet speaking through Dr. Tarz was. For some reason, Behold Lost Poetry - part three was removed from the contest, although it's still on my page.  Maybe this one will also get removed."", 'time': '16:42 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""What? How in the hell did THAT happen? There's no reason to disqualify it, as far as I can recall. Something screwy there, my friend."", 'time': '17:25 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'Yeah, screwy alright, but if you look under the contest - ""The Human Touch,"" and then under the sub-level - ""Start or end your story with a character receiving a hug or words of comfort,"" ""Behold Lost Poetry - part three"" won\'t be there. Plus, even though it\'s still on my page, but where all my other stories have in yellowish/orange outline the words ""SUBMITTED TO CONTEST,"" this also was removed on ""Behold Lost Poetry - part three."" Maybe it was just a fluke, or more likely within the story itself lies the revealing explanation for my remova...', 'time': '17:30 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'Sorry, my friend. I hate to see worthy tales go by the wayside.', 'time': '18:17 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks for expressing your concern, Delbert.', 'time': '18:35 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""That's really strange. Can you query it with them,? Did you get an email saying it was approved originally?\nBehind the scenes at reedsy is very mysterious.\n\nPs - love this installment as always!"", 'time': '18:18 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'Yes, it\'s strange. I looked, but I can\'t find how to query them. Although, I\'m better off not querying them, because I\'d only receive a BS excuse and not the truth. And yes, I did receive an email stating ""It was approved originally."" Just the same, thanks again for liking it and reading it, Derrick, as well as for writing: ""PS - love this installment as always!"" BTW, if someday you no longer find me on here, it may be because I got kicked off.', 'time': '18:38 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""What? How in the hell did THAT happen? There's no reason to disqualify it, as far as I can recall. Something screwy there, my friend."", 'time': '17:25 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Yeah, screwy alright, but if you look under the contest - ""The Human Touch,"" and then under the sub-level - ""Start or end your story with a character receiving a hug or words of comfort,"" ""Behold Lost Poetry - part three"" won\'t be there. Plus, even though it\'s still on my page, but where all my other stories have in yellowish/orange outline the words ""SUBMITTED TO CONTEST,"" this also was removed on ""Behold Lost Poetry - part three."" Maybe it was just a fluke, or more likely within the story itself lies the revealing explanation for my remova...', 'time': '17:30 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'Sorry, my friend. I hate to see worthy tales go by the wayside.', 'time': '18:17 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks for expressing your concern, Delbert.', 'time': '18:35 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""That's really strange. Can you query it with them,? Did you get an email saying it was approved originally?\nBehind the scenes at reedsy is very mysterious.\n\nPs - love this installment as always!"", 'time': '18:18 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'Yes, it\'s strange. I looked, but I can\'t find how to query them. Although, I\'m better off not querying them, because I\'d only receive a BS excuse and not the truth. And yes, I did receive an email stating ""It was approved originally."" Just the same, thanks again for liking it and reading it, Derrick, as well as for writing: ""PS - love this installment as always!"" BTW, if someday you no longer find me on here, it may be because I got kicked off.', 'time': '18:38 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Yeah, screwy alright, but if you look under the contest - ""The Human Touch,"" and then under the sub-level - ""Start or end your story with a character receiving a hug or words of comfort,"" ""Behold Lost Poetry - part three"" won\'t be there. Plus, even though it\'s still on my page, but where all my other stories have in yellowish/orange outline the words ""SUBMITTED TO CONTEST,"" this also was removed on ""Behold Lost Poetry - part three."" Maybe it was just a fluke, or more likely within the story itself lies the revealing explanation for my remova...', 'time': '17:30 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Sorry, my friend. I hate to see worthy tales go by the wayside.', 'time': '18:17 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks for expressing your concern, Delbert.', 'time': '18:35 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""That's really strange. Can you query it with them,? Did you get an email saying it was approved originally?\nBehind the scenes at reedsy is very mysterious.\n\nPs - love this installment as always!"", 'time': '18:18 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'Yes, it\'s strange. I looked, but I can\'t find how to query them. Although, I\'m better off not querying them, because I\'d only receive a BS excuse and not the truth. And yes, I did receive an email stating ""It was approved originally."" Just the same, thanks again for liking it and reading it, Derrick, as well as for writing: ""PS - love this installment as always!"" BTW, if someday you no longer find me on here, it may be because I got kicked off.', 'time': '18:38 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Sorry, my friend. I hate to see worthy tales go by the wayside.', 'time': '18:17 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks for expressing your concern, Delbert.', 'time': '18:35 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks for expressing your concern, Delbert.', 'time': '18:35 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""That's really strange. Can you query it with them,? Did you get an email saying it was approved originally?\nBehind the scenes at reedsy is very mysterious.\n\nPs - love this installment as always!"", 'time': '18:18 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Yes, it\'s strange. I looked, but I can\'t find how to query them. Although, I\'m better off not querying them, because I\'d only receive a BS excuse and not the truth. And yes, I did receive an email stating ""It was approved originally."" Just the same, thanks again for liking it and reading it, Derrick, as well as for writing: ""PS - love this installment as always!"" BTW, if someday you no longer find me on here, it may be because I got kicked off.', 'time': '18:38 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Yes, it\'s strange. I looked, but I can\'t find how to query them. Although, I\'m better off not querying them, because I\'d only receive a BS excuse and not the truth. And yes, I did receive an email stating ""It was approved originally."" Just the same, thanks again for liking it and reading it, Derrick, as well as for writing: ""PS - love this installment as always!"" BTW, if someday you no longer find me on here, it may be because I got kicked off.', 'time': '18:38 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Fine work. I can see you are serializing your book. This is a good read.', 'time': '17:50 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Much appreciated, Philip, thanks.', 'time': '19:17 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Much appreciated, Philip, thanks.', 'time': '19:17 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mike Panasitti': ""Dr. Tarz really knows how to pick the poets she channels.  All consummate artists and versifiers.  Your poetry is great.  The fact that they are songs you've recorded is even more impressive.  Adding a succubus to this ongoing narrative is a cherry on the icing.  Will there be a part V?"", 'time': '19:51 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks so very much, Mike, but no, there won\'t be a part five. I think I kind of dragged it out enough. I felt part 3 was the best, but it was removed from the contest. Actually, I\'m proud it was removed, because it proves what I wrote is the truth. Albeit, if I\'m not going against the grain of blarney and injustice, then I wouldn\'t be doing (told to me by a Dr. Tarz prototype) what my my purpose in life is meant to be. BTW, I love your: ""All consummate artists and versifiers.""', 'time': '22:05 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks so very much, Mike, but no, there won\'t be a part five. I think I kind of dragged it out enough. I felt part 3 was the best, but it was removed from the contest. Actually, I\'m proud it was removed, because it proves what I wrote is the truth. Albeit, if I\'m not going against the grain of blarney and injustice, then I wouldn\'t be doing (told to me by a Dr. Tarz prototype) what my my purpose in life is meant to be. BTW, I love your: ""All consummate artists and versifiers.""', 'time': '22:05 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,oopqyl,Behind Closed Doors,Kevin Logue,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/oopqyl/,/short-story/oopqyl/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror', 'Thriller']",19 likes,"
TW: Language, sexual violence, child suffering, suicide, all things horrific.“Have you seen this boy?” The woman behind the chained door shook her head at the creased photograph.“He’s six here,"" Anna urged, ""but he's closer to eight now.”“Ain't seen him. Sorry. Truly I am,” The woman hung her head closing the door.Anna had almost gotten used to it, the slamming doors, the constant barrage of no’s, dejected looks momentarily sharing her horror, then straight back to daily life with the squeak of a hinge and the click of a lock. That's just what normal people do. Life goes on, for most. Times she wished she could close the door on it, say goodbye, give up. But what kind of mother would that make her?Sliding the photo into her inside jacket pocket she pressed it to her chest, where he belonged. Men huddled on the apartment steps, threw dice and glared at her as she left. Women shouting from sash windows at kids playing on the street shook their heads at the sight of her. Sorrow? Pity? Repulsion? She didn't know nor care. By reputation alone most everyone in Hartsville knew her, or of her. She'd become as much a lost soul as little Jimmy, except no one hunted for her. Not anymore. Released without substantial evidence is how the lawyers explained it. Not innocent. Not guilty. Somewhere in between and cast into the worst court of them all, the public. Half the town, and all her family, blamed her for Jimmy’s disappearance, and half again thought she murdered him. Some things just don't rub out after printing. Drawing deep from a cigarette, she leaned against the rust bucket she called a car, and home, its windows crowded with the few possessions her former husband allowed her to have. Gazing up and down the street she considered how much longer she could do this, how many more shoes could she wear through, how many-“Hey you.” Anna turned, searching for the smooth voice. A tall figure lurked in the alleyway opposite, features hidden by the descending sun, intentions none the plainer. Cocking an eyebrow she pointed to her chest.“Yeah you, come here.” Waving her over, he disappeared into the poster tattered passage.Discarding the cigarette she made a show of tucking her four day fresh white tank top into her equally dirty jeans. In reality she ran a hand under her cargo jacket, making sure the snub nose would be easy to pull. Only a fool came into The Devils Basement as the locals called it, unready, unprotected, or more worrying, unwilling to do what might be needed to be done.Steadying her breathing, she edged between the cars, and made for the mystery man. Standing at the other end now, one foot on the crumbling red brickwork, arms folded, eyes closed, his head tilted to the gathering clouds. “What do you want?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.“Not me,” he didn't open his eyes.“Well who?”“Boss man.”“Should that mean something to me?”“Maybe.”“It doesn't, now what's this about?”“He needs a job doing, says you’re the woman for it ”“Sorry, don’t do job interviews in back alleyways.” She turned, throwing a dismissive wave over her shoulder.“Here now woman, before you go, he wants you to have this,” he extended a closed fist, finally opening his eyes. She stepped back, squinting in disbelief at his yellow stare blazing like the mid summer sun.Nonetheless, curiosity sunk its teeth into her, “What's that?”“A gift. If you like, more be waiting after a ride in that car down there.” Nodding toward the perpendicular laneway, Anna leaned out all cautious like to spot a rumbling estate wagon.“Who’s in that? And where would it take me?”“Trust me woman, you ain't going to care after you see this,” he waggled his fist.She extended a shaking palm, his fingers unfurled, her heart stopped. Then hammered, temple thumping loud. Impossible. Stomach knotting, hairs spiked the length of her neck. How? Dizziness overcame her, faint, happy, angry. It was all too much. Tears welled as she lifted that tiny yellow watch. The one with the cracked Power Ranger face Jimmy flipped open and shut when he got nervous. Terrified of the answer, yet hoping it to be true, she turned it over. J.C engraved on its back. Jimmy Crawford. Her Jimmy. She took off before her reeling mind could catch up, and within seconds flung open the car door. She knew the kind of mother she was. Relentless.***The bag over her head didn't scare her, nor the machete wielding woman next to her, not even the fact they’d been driving for at least an hour now. No, what scared her was herself. She just jumped without thinking. Anyone could have faked that watch, it was common knowledge he wore one the day he disappeared, but not the engraving Jimmy did with a nail. Or was it? She wracked her memory…The car slowed to a stop, another stop sign, traffic, the cops?With a mechanical click the doors unlocked, swung open, and someone seized her elbow, “Let’s go woman.” Her bated breath gathered like dew under her nose, stones crunched under foot, then a hinge complained as what sounded like a heavy metal door groaned open. “There's steps here.”“Wouldn't it be easier to take this thing off,” Anna asked, trying to add a little unfelt humour to her voice.A sharp jab between her shoulders was the only reply. She didn't ask any more questions, humourous or not.The descent stretched impossibly long, like the moment you see a child falling but are too slow to react. With each step the heat grew inferno hot, sweat matted her hair, dampened her top, stung her eyes. Where were they taking her? What did they want? Another door opened, the stench of sweat and sewage hitting her harder than a bat. Then music, laughter, glasses clinking. Prodded onwards, silence fell in her wake. Pushed into a chair she grunted, canvas bag whipped from her head, she panted the stale air.The room flickered, tiny flames dancing behind red glass scattered across a discord of tables. Everything blurred as if staring through a heat wave. Licking her lips, she tried making sense of the shapes. Like a head swelling adrenaline rush, everything stopped swaying and came rushing into sobering focus.Hunched over a curved counter, a man fished juicy maggots from a writhing jar then dropped them slurping into his toothless mouth. Two skeletal thin women wearing nothing but dog collars curled at the feet of an obese man rubbing goose fat through his hair. Young men howled at a geriatric pole dancer whilst an amputee burn victim served curdled milk. All the while a man on a small stage played dirty blues on a gore splattered guitar, face a snarled rictus, fingers bloody stumps. Vomit climbing her throat, blood draining from her face, she gripped the round table as a drowning man may grip driftwood. ""Jesus Christ!""""Not quite."" She spun to the chocolate rich voiced stranger opposite. He wore a smoldering cigar on thin lips, a sneer in his ember eyes, yellowish smoke drifting from flared nostrils.""You this Boss man?""He nodded.Courage boiled from the gun in her waistband, ""Where's my boy!""""Around,"" he waved a hand festooned with many rings across the debauchery on display. ""You'll see him when the time's right, when the deal is done."" He leaned from the shadows, elbows making the table creak. ""Prove it. Prove he's here.""Yellow Eyes dropped a tattered ball of fabric into Boss man waiting palm, then he threw it at Anna. Unrolling that faded superman t-shirt her chin trembled. Jimmy's t-shirt. What happened to him? Did these people hurt him?She swallowed her fear and the urge to run, Jimmy was here. After two years she finally found something, something more terrifying than these foul bastards, hope. ""What do you want? Where did you get this?"" she cuddled the disintegrating garment.""No small talk?""She held his burning gaze.""Fair enough. He was wearing it when we found him.""""Where?""""Not far, right under your nose actually. A neighbour.""""A fucking what!"" She leapt up, anger hammering her chest.He held out his hands, ""Calm Anna, I'm here to help Anna,""""Help? Why?""""Let's say I've a soft spot for the innocent and outcast,"" He gestured to sit, she complied. ""Although it's not the only reason, you see I provide a service to our little community of Hartville and you, well you are two birds one stone. Wouldn't it be nice to stop running, get the vengeance you deserve.""""Vengeance? I just want my son, please…"" her voice broke, unstoppable tears falling .""You'll want revenge,"" Boss man studied his nails without a care in the world. ""A local woman came to me, told me of a man, a terrible man, patrolling the local parks and schools, said he was offering sweets and toys to her nieces to get into his van. Smart girls ran away. The police however did little, the law is weak that way."" He paused, puffed his cigar and blew smoke into Anna's face.""So I sent some of my hounds,"" he nodded to Yellow Eyes and Machete, ""to rain some hell on this pervert. Thing is, it was clear that his house, his deviate prison, was being used by more than just him. A ring as they say. We searched the premises, found poor Jimmy chained to a bed frame in the basement with two others, little more than malnourished sex dolls."" Anna's stomach turned, terror and anger searing her insides. She wanted to hurt someone. Anyone.""A little torture goes a long way Anna, remove a little flesh and tada, the pervert gave up the names of his accomplices. Would you like to know who they are?""Jaw clenched she hissed the word, ""Who?""""I'll give you three names, you do what needs to be done, you'll see your boy again. We have a deal?""""How will I get back here, I don't know–""""Levi will go with you,"" Yellow's eyes winked at her. ""So is that a yes?""No sooner had she agreed than that damn canvas bag was pulled over her head once more.***Anna dove into the station wagon's back seat, ears ringing, heart thumping, throat choked with the metallic aftertaste of gunpowder. Levi smiled between the seats, “Damn Miss Crawford, you a cold bitch, no hesitation, he opens the door and you–”“Just fucking drive already!” Anna barked, balling the cuff of her jacket and rubbing at the crimson mottling her face.“Ha, ok, you the boss tonight.” Anna stared out the rear window at the tree lined street and white picket fences speeding by, concerned neighbours stumbling into the road to investigate the woman wailing over her husband's body at forty six Broken Ridge Avenue. Little did they know the service Anna just did for them. Eradicated suburban filth. First of three. She rested the revolver on her knee, somehow it felt lighter, as if that one bullet carried away the weight of her suffering, her loss. But he wasn't lost, he was waiting for her. Something unexpected curled the edge of her lip.“You smiling Miss Crawford?” Levi asked into the rearview mirror. “You are! Cold bitch, you're going to fit real nice.”She shook her head, dismissing both comment and grin. “Who’s next?”“Edward…***“...Calhoun.” Anna repeated the name, tracking her finger down the apartment buzzer's name plates. “There you are.” Two short buzz's, a click, a cough, then, “Hello, who's there?”“Mr Calhoun, sorry to disturb you,” she already picked a name from those displayed, “this is Jessica Longsteen I've lost my key, again, and you were the first to—”“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The electrical hum of the magnetic release sent a chill down her spine, not fear, but anticipation. One step closer to Jimmy.Four flights of stairs, one long worn carpeted hallway and she stood outside his peeling door. Patiently she waited for a latino couple to get on the elevator, then knocked, placing a hand over the spyglass. Floor boards groaned from within, a chain rattled, a bolt slid, and she found herself staring at a stout unshaven man in his fifties wearing a blue telecom’s shirt.“What can I do for you missy?”“This is for Jimmy!”His eyes stretched fearful wide, at the name, the crazed redhead at his door, or the gun inches from his face, it didn't matter. Pull, click, bang. His last thoughts sprayed over the cracked plaster inside, his body collapsing as though its bones turned to mud. For a second she watched him, hopeless, pathetic, no longer a danger. She breathed deep. One to go.***“Miss Crawford, yo, Anna, Anna!”Startling awake she grabbed Levi’s poking hand, blinked into focus then looked about. She lay in the back of the car, a cul-de-sac of two storey houses loomed outside, quiet with barely a light on, the moon hanging low shimmering off their slate roofs. Anna stretched, cracked her neck, then shook her face. “How long were we driving, I can't believe I fell asleep.”“It's the adrenaline, big come down, happens all the time. I took the long way here, had to avoid prying eyes, that last one definitely got some flashing light attention. But this is it here Miss Crawford.” Levi pointed out the side window, to a silhouetted figured light by the glow of a computer screen typing into the small hours.Anna sucked her teeth, sniffed, pulled the lapels of her jacket, then checked her gun. Dirty bastard was probably on some chat site, pretending to be a teen girl or some other filth.“You ready?”“And willing,” Anna answered, shuffling and gently closing the door. She caught sight of her reflection, frazzled and blood specked, and an idea fizzled into being.She grabbed her arm, dragged her leg and hobbled towards the downstairs window. It didn't take long for him to spot her. Taking off his glasses he twitched the curtains.“Mister, please,” she whimpered, “I went off the road round the corner, I..I need…”Holding up a hand, he dashed from the room, a porch light sparked to life and the front door opened.“You ok Lady, what the hell—”He spun roaring as the bullet tore through his shoulder. He tried dragging himself back across the perfectly manicured lawn, but it was useless. The hammer fell, back of the head, he jerked, spasmed, fell still. It was done.She smiled running back to the car, she could already feel Jimmy in her arms. Her sweet innocent little Jimmy. ***The macabre cabaret garnered no interest this time around, and she stared straight at Boss Man when the canvas bag was removed.""My boy,"" she said, not a request, placing the revolver on the table before her.He smiled, swirled a glass of red wine, drank, then nodded to no one in particular. Eternity stretched out before her, biting her lip, fingers drumming the scarred tabletop, she couldn't quite believe it. She'd finally found him.Two great bulking neckless forms lumbered from the shadows, a metal box held between them. It thudded onto the table before her. Boss Man grinned tapping its top.Giggles simmered behind her as she lifted the lid with trembling hands. Tears exploded, lip quivering, shoulders shaking. There was no mistaking it, those cheekbones, large hollow eyes, even the skin dried and rippled as it was. She touched his forehead, sweeping away a dirty blonde fringe and kissed him.She pulled his cracking and snapping corpse into her arms, his jaw swinging open in one last horrific scream. Falling to her knees she pressed him close to her chest, where he belonged.""Why? Why didn't you tell me?"" she spluttered between sobs.""I said you'd see him again, here you go."" Laughter rose like hyenas on the hunt, the unwashed bodies pressing coffin close around her.""It's ok honey,"" she whispered to her son, rocking back and forth. ""I got the bastards, I got them–""""Two of them anyway,"" Boss man sneered.""What?""""I said there were accomplices, I didn't say all three were. You humans are so eager to jump to your worst instincts.""""Oh dear god, oh god–""""He can't help you Anna, we have a long standing arrangement,"" he finished the wine with a lip smack.""Why are you doing this to me? You're monsters, all of you!""Boss man leaned forward, ""Didn't I say I've a soft spot for the innocent, poor Jimmy suffered because of you, you're the monster who left her six year old son alone in the park whilst you scored some smack!""She wailed, ""I'm clean now, I'm…"" It seemed pointless to try to explain, it wasn't going to bring him back.""What the fuck are you?"" she roared.""You know already, you've always known. And now you're mine, forevermore.""To a cacophony of laughter she lowered Jimmy's remains back into the metal box, slowly closed the squeaking hinge, said goodbye, and gave up.Her finger wrapped around the trigger, the barrel cold beneath her chin. Perhaps in death she could be a better kind of mother.""See you soon son.""***
","September 15, 2023 11:00","[[{'Howard Halsall': 'Hey Kevin,\nThat’s a gruesome story to be sure. I enjoyed the rising tension and final release. The 2 out of 3 idea was a superb notion; the deal that was too good to be true - a lesson in life (& death too), indeed.\nThe entire tale well-conceived and executed (no pun intended) with calculated precision, well-written throughout and full of detailed descriptions. I particularly liked the encounter with the boss man in hell… “Hunched over a curved counter, a man fished juicy maggots from a writhing jar then dropped them slurping into his toothl...', 'time': '02:30 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""Thanks very much for your encouraging feedback and catching that typo, at times it's enraging how they slip through.\n\nThis was easily the darkest thing I've penned, I've never tried horror but it was surprisingly enjoyable to venture down that shadowy path.\n\nCheers again for reading and commenting, it's much appreciated."", 'time': '06:53 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Thanks very much for your encouraging feedback and catching that typo, at times it's enraging how they slip through.\n\nThis was easily the darkest thing I've penned, I've never tried horror but it was surprisingly enjoyable to venture down that shadowy path.\n\nCheers again for reading and commenting, it's much appreciated."", 'time': '06:53 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mike Panasitti': ""A page turner, if there were pages to turn.  But to be more accurate, the suspense increased the further down I scrolled.  I'm trying to wean myself from dark prose, but this was well worth the read.  Great take on the prompt."", 'time': '20:15 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': 'Thanks very much Mike for reading and leaving such wonderful feedback. Honoured to be the exception 😊', 'time': '20:16 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Thanks very much Mike for reading and leaving such wonderful feedback. Honoured to be the exception 😊', 'time': '20:16 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Christopher Bradley': 'Excellent story thoroughly enjoyed the darkness and depravity of it all, through the eyes of a suffering mother.... who may or may not be innocent', 'time': '17:08 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""Cheers! That's the thing, her innocence is in the court of public opinion now 🤔"", 'time': '17:33 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Cheers! That's the thing, her innocence is in the court of public opinion now 🤔"", 'time': '17:33 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': 'Very dark indeed, and that two-out-of-three twist - damn! Brutal. Very fitting, of course.\n\nSome great lines too, like ""His last thoughts sprayed over the cracked plaster inside"". Art from the macabre.\n\nWe understand why Anna did what she did. Guilt and misery, and even a tiny bit of hope, can drive people to anything. Taking advantage of that for nefarious purposes, suitably fiendish. But the drugs are a nice touch too, since it means her hands weren\'t clean.\n\nSo there\'s tragedy here, tragedy beyond what happened to the child. If she was th...', 'time': '00:02 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""Cheers Michal. I'd say this was the darkest thing I've ever written, really wanted to layer the monstrosities so appreciate the feedback.\n\nThat's one of my favourite lines too, and like all good lines I typed it before I thought about it ha."", 'time': '06:50 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Cheers Michal. I'd say this was the darkest thing I've ever written, really wanted to layer the monstrosities so appreciate the feedback.\n\nThat's one of my favourite lines too, and like all good lines I typed it before I thought about it ha."", 'time': '06:50 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Chris Miller': 'Noirish start followed by macabre body horror. It was pretty dark, but that kept it engaging. Horrific, but then a deal with Old Scratch would be, wouldn\'t it?\n\nMaybe she never kicked the drugs.\n\n""...reign some hell..."" rain?', 'time': '00:26 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""Cheers for the feedback Chris, I hadn't considered the noir aspect but it really does have that gumshoe approach, missing kid, unreliable narrator etc. \n\nThanks for the pick up, I wrote rain to begin with and then doubted myself, English and it's many similar words always makes a fool of me ha!"", 'time': '02:04 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Cheers for the feedback Chris, I hadn't considered the noir aspect but it really does have that gumshoe approach, missing kid, unreliable narrator etc. \n\nThanks for the pick up, I wrote rain to begin with and then doubted myself, English and it's many similar words always makes a fool of me ha!"", 'time': '02:04 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': 'Great writing Kevin! Lots of gut wrenching emotion in your descriptions. Works really well, and the plot goes to all the right places. Lots of tension that kept me reading every line until the end.\n\nParagraph like this one are great. ""She extended a shaking palm, his fingers unfurled, her heart stopped. Then hammered, temple thumping loud. Impossible. Stomach knotting, hairs spiked the length of her neck. How? Dizziness overcame her, faint, happy, angry. It was all too much. Tears welled ...""\n\nFor edits, these lines could use some small twea...', 'time': '14:52 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""Cheers Scoot glad it kept you till the end, and thanks for the edits I'll get a look at them now.\n\nThe dice throwing, and looks, line was implying that they were throwing her dirty looks. Maybe it's a colloquialism, but I'll revise it all the same."", 'time': '16:04 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Cheers Scoot glad it kept you till the end, and thanks for the edits I'll get a look at them now.\n\nThe dice throwing, and looks, line was implying that they were throwing her dirty looks. Maybe it's a colloquialism, but I'll revise it all the same."", 'time': '16:04 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Oh my goodness - this is so sad, dark, and macabre! She doesn't even get her little Jimmy back 😭 Sad, but this ending is suiting. You never get what you really want with the Devil, right? \n\nThe writing is really wonderful. So many great descriptions, specifically with the horrific scene at the night club/bar. Creepy stuff, but only because you painted the picture so well. \n\nAs a mother, I really related to her relentlessness. No one wants to admit it, but you will do horrible things without questions if someone hurts your child, especially i..."", 'time': '13:34 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': 'Thank you so much for such wonderful feedback. As someone new to fatherhood I see a lot of this coming through in my work, the fact I would do anything to protect her and fear what lengths that would go to if someone actually hurt her. Even typing that is making my jaw clench, ha.\n\nAppreciate the description comment, at times to shy away from descriptions as I think, at times they can hinder what is important to the narrative but it was necessary for this, and the club scene in particular.\n\nGood catch on the typo, thanks, will fix now.', 'time': '13:43 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'AnneMarie Miles': ""Congratulations on fatherhood! Parenthood changes everything, and I find it being the one thing that always breaks into my stories now. Not surprised it's finding a way into yours, too. \n\nI agree about the descriptions. I've been intentionally working on refining my work, saying more with less, but there is certainly pieces that are elevated with more descriptions, and it definitely benefited this piece."", 'time': '14:28 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Thank you so much for such wonderful feedback. As someone new to fatherhood I see a lot of this coming through in my work, the fact I would do anything to protect her and fear what lengths that would go to if someone actually hurt her. Even typing that is making my jaw clench, ha.\n\nAppreciate the description comment, at times to shy away from descriptions as I think, at times they can hinder what is important to the narrative but it was necessary for this, and the club scene in particular.\n\nGood catch on the typo, thanks, will fix now.', 'time': '13:43 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Congratulations on fatherhood! Parenthood changes everything, and I find it being the one thing that always breaks into my stories now. Not surprised it's finding a way into yours, too. \n\nI agree about the descriptions. I've been intentionally working on refining my work, saying more with less, but there is certainly pieces that are elevated with more descriptions, and it definitely benefited this piece."", 'time': '14:28 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Congratulations on fatherhood! Parenthood changes everything, and I find it being the one thing that always breaks into my stories now. Not surprised it's finding a way into yours, too. \n\nI agree about the descriptions. I've been intentionally working on refining my work, saying more with less, but there is certainly pieces that are elevated with more descriptions, and it definitely benefited this piece."", 'time': '14:28 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Horribly wonderful story, Kevin 😲 the way it flows is great, grabbing attention from the start and sending you on a heart-racing trip of suspense with the MC. She alluded to the kind of mother she was, her reputation, at the start and I assumed it was because her son went missing and everyone judged. The ending was such a surprise reveal about it all! \n\nI really enjoyed this, very well done!!! I’m a little concerned about myself though because my favorite line from it is: \n“His last thoughts sprayed over the cracked plaster inside, his body ...', 'time': '11:17 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""That's made me very happy Nina, cause that's my favourite line too! Glad to hear the flow and suspense works, it's strange when rereading, and rereading, these things that it, as writers, wears off and I end up doubting if there is any there in the first place. This is why feedback is crucial!\n\nReally appreciate you reading and commenting.  And good luck to you too!"", 'time': '11:40 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""That's made me very happy Nina, cause that's my favourite line too! Glad to hear the flow and suspense works, it's strange when rereading, and rereading, these things that it, as writers, wears off and I end up doubting if there is any there in the first place. This is why feedback is crucial!\n\nReally appreciate you reading and commenting.  And good luck to you too!"", 'time': '11:40 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Kevin baby,\n\nDamn. I loved it, horrible as it was. The writing is earthy and powerful. It's a gut-wrenching topic, so some might think that that's what's striking a chord, but in my opinion, your writing is the event, the story is the date of the holiday. If it's too hard to figure out, it's a compliment. Trust me. \n\nI mean, considering who the mc is dealing with, (somewhat untrustworthy 'people' ? ex-people? Demonic, sick-assed mo-fo's? Whatevah.) I guessed a good portion of the outcome. But your writing makes even a bad trip worthwhile. I ..."", 'time': '04:47 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': ""Cheers Ken, for the edits, pick ups and ego boosting comments. \n\nUsually the wife reads my stories before posting to catch those sort of things but can't you tell she didn't yesterday ha.\n\nSee what you meant about that canvas bag line, changed it and just made the yellow eyes defined and not doubtful. The ember eyes with Boss man/Demon/Satan with trying to imply fiery embers but now that I've used eye colours for two character descriptions I can see the problem. I will get a run through and fix that up once the weans are sorted ha!\n\nI hadn't..."", 'time': '06:08 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Ken Cartisano': ""Kev,\n it' sKen,\n\nI believe you did blur the line, I didn't mention that in my prior comments, but your description of the place she went to started out hard-core realistic, and then, it got so weird, it seemed hard to reconcile your descriptions of the scene with what is possible. But it has to be surreal because what 'chocolate voice' is after it seems, in the end, is simply her soul. But it's all too real because she can, and does take her own life.\n\nI noticed too, that you ran right up to the word limit. I did a word count on it and was a..."", 'time': '18:00 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': ""Cheers Ken, for the edits, pick ups and ego boosting comments. \n\nUsually the wife reads my stories before posting to catch those sort of things but can't you tell she didn't yesterday ha.\n\nSee what you meant about that canvas bag line, changed it and just made the yellow eyes defined and not doubtful. The ember eyes with Boss man/Demon/Satan with trying to imply fiery embers but now that I've used eye colours for two character descriptions I can see the problem. I will get a run through and fix that up once the weans are sorted ha!\n\nI hadn't..."", 'time': '06:08 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Kev,\n it' sKen,\n\nI believe you did blur the line, I didn't mention that in my prior comments, but your description of the place she went to started out hard-core realistic, and then, it got so weird, it seemed hard to reconcile your descriptions of the scene with what is possible. But it has to be surreal because what 'chocolate voice' is after it seems, in the end, is simply her soul. But it's all too real because she can, and does take her own life.\n\nI noticed too, that you ran right up to the word limit. I did a word count on it and was a..."", 'time': '18:00 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""Kev,\n it' sKen,\n\nI believe you did blur the line, I didn't mention that in my prior comments, but your description of the place she went to started out hard-core realistic, and then, it got so weird, it seemed hard to reconcile your descriptions of the scene with what is possible. But it has to be surreal because what 'chocolate voice' is after it seems, in the end, is simply her soul. But it's all too real because she can, and does take her own life.\n\nI noticed too, that you ran right up to the word limit. I did a word count on it and was a..."", 'time': '18:00 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': 'Kevin, this is deep. Could be a psychological thriller. \nThe ending was a good reveal. \nLearning how the son was lost to the mother in the park explains how she felt so sick at the end. And ready for death. \nWell done. LF6', 'time': '20:26 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kevin Logue': 'Thanks very much Lily, was hoping it would be so I am very pleased with your feedback.  Appreciate you reading.', 'time': '21:20 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Thanks very much Lily, was hoping it would be so I am very pleased with your feedback.  Appreciate you reading.', 'time': '21:20 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,jn01e4,Cool,Murray Burns,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/jn01e4/,/short-story/jn01e4/,Dark,0,"['High School', 'Christian']",14 likes,"
CoolHigh school. The land of the haves and the have-nots. The cool kids and the outcasts who gather at the nerd table in the lunchroom. The quarterback and the 3rd trombone in the school band. The Petrie dish for the natural evolution of separations within a species long before sociologists wrote about tribes and caste systems. Calvin knew where he was, and he knew he didn’t belong there.He fit in, but he hated where he fit in. His “friends” were companions. He concealed his disdain for them but never felt comfortable in their midst. It is a sad and lonely place for a teenager who thinks he’s cool, but no one recognizes just how cool he is.“Calvin, why don’t you come along with us? It’ll be fun. Joey’s mom is making a spaghetti dinner before the Homecoming Dance, and then we all sleep over at Tom’s. He’s got Halloween One and Two.”“No, Bernie, I think I’ll pass on it.”“Come on, the dance will be fun. Cecelia says she’s going with a group of girls. There will be a lot of girls to dance with. Are you sure?”Calvin put the odds of anyone in his group getting out on the dance floor Saturday night at absolute zero. Talk, talk, talk. That’s all they ever did- talk about hooking up with one of the cheerleaders, talk about getting a cool car someday, talk about an exciting road trip. Fanciful dreams of the have-nots. Calvin would rather stick needles in both of his eyes and walk into traffic than stand in a stag line at the Homecoming Dance with these guys.“No, I’m sure.”Calvin. Average student, average intelligence, average in appearance, and unfortunately in light of discarded dreams, well below average in athletic ability. Now a senior, he still lamented the fact he couldn’t make his freshman basketball team. Remarkably, in his three years plus at Central High, he hadn’t done a thing anyone could remember.Some say it was a serpent. Milton said it was a cormorant. Either way, it was a ruse with life-altering consequences.New kids in class draw a lot of attention, this one more than most. Stunningly handsome, hair as black as coal, penetrating deep blue eyes, and a confident, calm presence unusual to the high school scene. He noticed Calvin as quickly as everyone noticed him.Was it coincidence or design? The new arrival counted out three desks and plopped himself down next to Calvin. They spoke in near whispers.“Hey, I’m Lew. I don’t know where you guys are in the book, but I have a little trouble with math.”The smile was capturing.“So, I might need a little help.”An unusual feeling overtook Calvin. The new kid, the center of attention, looking every bit the part of one of the cool kids, was talking to him. Was it possible that he could become his friend, the kind of friend he wanted, the kind of friend he deserved? It was a scene coming out of a movie- Sal Mineo latching onto James Dean.“I’d be glad to help. Math is my strong subject. My name is Calvin.”Calvin struggled in math, but he jumped at the chance to befriend the new, cool kid. If he could just get into Lew’s orbit, he knew he could immediately leap to the top of the school’s social ladder merely by association.Calvin was excited about his prospects as he walked down the hallway to the lunchroom. He and Lew had exchanged phone numbers and planned to meet that night at the city library to get his new friend caught up on classwork and any other things related to life at Central High. The whole school was talking about the new kid. If he were at his side, people would be talking about him. He would be noticed. For the first time in his life, he would be somebody.Calvin was sitting at the nerd table in the lunchroom with Joey, Tom, and Bernie as Lew left the serving line, meal tray in hand, and looked for a place to sit. Torn. Calvin wanted Lew to come sit with him for all to see, but he would be embarrassed to have Lew discover he dwelled in the land of the nerds. The usual level of conversation at his table would take embarrassment to humiliation and likely drive Lew to greener pastures. Calvin considered feigning he dropped something and duck under his table. Too late. Lew was headed his way.“Hey, Calvin, do you mind if I sit at your table?”Shock waves rippled through the lunchroom. Joey, Tom, and Bernie couldn’t believe the new cool kid spoke to their friend, knew his name, and wanted to sit with them. Students in the room who witnessed the event were curious… puzzled…dismayed…aghast. Rumors circulated that the new cool kid was Calvin’s cousin who just moved into the area. Why else would the coolest kid to ever stroll the hallways of Central High take a place at the nerd table? Calvin himself wondered. He would soon find out.-----------“Thanks for meeting up with me, Calvin. I really appreciate it. You can imagine how hard it is for a guy to be dropped into a new school. Getting to know someone with connections will really help.”“I understand. It’s no problem. Sure, I can show you the ropes around here.”The first clue. Calvin stumbled through a chapter of his Trigonometry book with the new student. Lew picked it up faster than Mr. Edwards could teach it. In fact, at one point Calvin thought he could have written the book.Clue number two. Lew was more interested in Calvin than he was in life at Central High.“So, you didn’t make it through tryouts?”“No, I got cut the 2nd day.”“That’s too bad. And you look like a baller to me. Life isn’t fair sometimes.”That was clue number three, the puzzling focus on Calvin’s life was laced with a masterful way of highlighting the injustices Calvin had suffered. Eve had no warning, no reason to suspect. Neither did Calvin.The discussion went beyond basketball. Calvin didn’t have a girlfriend. Calvin never had a girlfriend. He struggled with his schoolwork and often incurred the wrath of his parents for mediocre to failing grades. He didn’t have a car, and use of the family mini-van was granted grudgingly and infrequently. The unsuspecting Calvin felt comfortable with his new friend, and soon it all came out. The revelations were candid and personal.“Joey, Tom, and Bernie- I guess they’re nice enough, but they’re not really the kind of guys I’d like to hang around with.”“I completely understand. I was in the same boat back in Kansas.”Lew and Calvin, compatriots in the battle to attain their rightful place in life? Lew, the coolest guy at Central High, and Calvin, the…well, Calvin as described above… fellow travelers, kindred spirits, birds of a feather? Wishful thinking can take one to dangerous places.“Just so I know, is it ‘L-E-W’ or is it ‘L-O-U’?”“Either way works. It’s short for Lucifer.”Oh-oh.“Lucifer? Your name is Lucifer? Uh, Who would name their kid Lucifer?”“No one named me. I’ve always been Lucifer.”Double oh-oh. Calvin struggled to come up with a response. The name itself. The fact no one named him. He’s always been. Puzzling, mysterious…weird. Calvin knew there was something not quite right with this guy, but he tread carefully lest he cut his lifeline to a new, improved existence.“No offense intended, but the name is just a little… different.”“No offense taken.”Lucifer skillfully led the discussion deep into the Neverland dream world of the long-suffering nerd. Nearly every sentence began with a ‘What if’ followed by something delicious and tempting to the teenage mind.“What if you could date the hottest girl in the school?”“What if you were the star of the basketball team?”“What if you could ace every test?”“What if you drove a Hummer?”Wishful thinking. Lucifer’s voice was hypnotic. Calvin could feel it, holding hands with the beautiful Marcie after school, nailing a 3-pointer at the buzzer, National Honor Society, pulling into the student parking lot to the envy of all, and finally, strutting his stuff like the cool guy he knew he was. He could taste it.Show time.“Would you like these things to happen, Calvin?”“Of course.”“I can arrange it, Calvin. I can make it all happen for you, give you the life you desire, the life you deserve.”“Uh, how are you going to do that?”“Hang on to your shorts, Calvin. I’m not just Lucifer. I am THE Lucifer, the devil, Satan, Beelzebub. Take your pick. That’s me.”Calvin snapped out of his dream world. He had arrived at the bridge too far.“Listen…Lew…I should be getting home. I…”“Calvin, I understand this can be a little overwhelming, especially for a young person. That’s why I offer a free, no obligation, 90-day trial.”“What are you talking about?”“You get all the goodies for a while. If you like it and want to keep it all, we make the deal.”“What deal?”“You get the goodies, I get your soul.”“What?!”“Your soul. You know, that mythical thing you humans think makes you special. You don’t really need it anyway.”Calvin was not a religious person. Like many young people, he had not spent much time pondering the meaning of life, the origins of the Universe, or the existence of a higher being. He wasn’t even sure he had a soul, but the idea of losing one was troubling. Whatever the case, he quickly concluded that the idea of giving his soul to a kid in his Trig class was whacko stuff.“No, I think I’ll stand pat. It’s been interesting.”Calvin got up from the table and headed toward the exit.“Calvin, I know you don’t believe me, but let’s try this. I’ll start sending a few goodies your way, you know, just to show it’s all legit. Then we’ll talk again.”Calvin was done with it but replied politely.“Sure, sounds good.”“And, Calvin, one more thing. If you had a Hummer, what color would you want.?”No harm in responding.“I’d say black.”When they left the library, Calvin saw a shiny black Hummer parked under the lamppost at the entrance to the library.-----------Strange things, all good, started happening to Calvin. With minimal effort, he was acing all his tests. Answers seemed to come to him as easily as the air he breathed. Kids, cool kids, started to say hello to him in the hallways. And then the miracles of all miracles.“Calvin, I hear you’re a whiz in Trig. I’m just not getting this latest chapter. I was wondering if you could help me, maybe stop over at my house, and we could study together?”“Why, of course. I believe your name is… Marcie.”One night Calvin eyed the basketball in his garage. He thought of Lucifer and all the positive turns in his life. He stepped out of the garage, basketball in hand, and walked to the 3-point line his Dad had marked on the driveway. Three bounces and the ball was away. Swish. Swish. Swish. Again and again. Calvin couldn’t miss. He moved across the court gracefully, putting in shots, left hand and right hand, from all over the court. From a distance, you would have thought Michael Jordan moved into the neighborhood.The “goodies” kept on coming while Lucifer waited patiently. Calvin didn’t want to believe it, but in his heart, he knew it was not all coincidence. Strange forces were at work.Calvin and Marcie became an item. Movies, school dances, and after-school study sessions. Straight A’s on all tests and homework assignments. He moved off the nerd table and sat with Lucifer and other members of the cool class. The most Joey, Tom, and Bernie got from Calvin was a half-hearted, muttered, barely audible “hey” when they passed each other in the halls.Calvin tried out for the basketball team. The varsity coach could only wonder where Calvin had been the last few years. Coach Roy had never seen such skills, and Calvin was quickly pegged for the Lions’ starting point guard. He was having so much fun that he lost track of time.“Hey, Calvin, how’s life treating you?”“Pretty good, Lucifer, pretty good.”“I need to remind you. There are just a couple of weeks left in your 90-day free trial. You’re going to have to decide. In the meantime, I thought you could use some wheels.”Lucifer tossed a set of keys to Calvin.“For the Hummer in the student parking lot.”The apple was looking better and better.“So, tell me again, I give you my soul, and everything keeps on going like it is?”“Yep.”“For how long?”“We only offer lifetime contracts.”“And just how would I go about giving you my soul? I’ve never done it before. Do I sign something?”Lucifer laughed.“No paperwork. I’ll just know. You reach that point in your mind, and I’ll know. We can tell things like that.”“I decide to give you my soul, and that’s it?”“Yep.”“And I get all the good stuff forever?”“Yep.”“And why do you want it anyway?”“Calvin, the damn thing is useless. Has it ever done anything for you? You don’t even know if you have one. I just want it because I have a competition going on with the Big Guy ever since the Rebellion and I got the boot. He’s up on me a little, but in today’s world I’m gaining on Him fast.”“The Big Guy?”“God, who do you think? You’ve got two weeks, Calvin.”“I understand.”----------Calvin had heard a lot about a soul. Now he needed to figure out what it was and if he really needed one. Two nights at the St. Peter’s 24-Hour Chapel and Mass on Sunday didn’t move the ball. A soul. He couldn’t see it, touch it, or smell it. On the other hand, all the goodies coming his way were real, tangible, and there to be enjoyed. One in the hand was looking to be a better option than two, or in this case, a perhaps mythical soul, in the bush. It would be hard for Calvin to give up driving Marcie home in his shiny black Hummer after dropping 27 points on the court.There was no fanfare, no formal announcement, no ceremonial signing. Calvin just decided to give up his soul in exchange for all that Lucifer promised.--------- Lucifer was in the stands for the big game against Jefferson that night. Warmups came off in normal fashion, but then the wheels came off. Calvin couldn’t have put the ball in the hoop if he had been sitting on the backboard. Turnover after turnover, stumbling around out on the court like… well, like the Calvin of old. The Coach pulled him from the game in the first quarter, and as he sat on the bench trying to comprehend what had just happened, he saw two late arrivals enter the gym- Marcie and the football team’s quarterback… holding hands. A bewildered Calvin turned to see a smiling Lucifer in the stands.After the game, the crestfallen Calvin shuffled out of the locker room. Lucifer was waiting for him.“What the hell happened, Lucifer?! My game stunk, and Marcie was with her old boyfriend!”“Yeah, I saw that. Bummer. I’ll walk out with you, Calvin.”The first thing Calvin noticed when they stepped out into the parking lot was that his Hummer was not there.“Where’s my Hummer?!”“Gone.”“What do you mean gone? My Hummer, my girl, my game, all gone? I suppose my grades will take a hit.”“Oh, yeah, big time. They’re going to suck, man.”“Lucifer, I thought we had a deal!”“Calvin, have you ever read the fable of the frog and the scorpion?”“No.”“Well, the scorpion can’t swim, and he promises the frog he won’t sting him if he gives him a ride across a stream. The frog believes him because if the scorpion stung him, the frog would die and the scorpion would drown. Halfway across the stream, the scorpion stings the frog. The dying frog asks the scorpion why he would do such a thing because he would now drown and die himself. To which the scorpion replied, ‘I’m a scorpion. That’s what I do.’ Good story, you should read it sometime.”A troubled look appeared on Calvin’s face.“So, I broke my promise. I lied about everything. You must understand, Calvin, I’m the devil. That’s kind of what I do.”“Dammit, Lucifer, that’s really low.”“No kidding. Look at it as a learning experience. You always need to know who you’re dealing with.“So, this whole thing was all for nothing?”“No, not at all. I got your soul.”“No, you’re not holding up your part of the bargain so I get my soul back.”“No such luck, Calvin. Once you lose your soul, you can’t get it back. It’s been fun, Calvin. I’ve got to run. I’ve got my eye on a kid from Jefferson.”And Lucifer was gone.---------The landscape of the lunchroom at Central High changed. It still featured the cool kids’ tables, areas for the non-descript, and the nerds’ table. Sadly, additional seating was added to the scene- the Calvin table. Jettisoned by the cool kids, and shunned by the nerds he dissed during his popular days, Calvin now eats alone in the corner of the cafeteria. Some days, between bites of his corn dog, a room-temperature pizza slice, or a chicken tender, Calvin will ponder the meaning of the word, as well as his new status in life- soulless.
","September 13, 2023 02:25","[[{'Hannah Lynn': 'Aww poor Calvin.  Well done!  I enjoyed your story!', 'time': '02:11 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Devil is in the details.', 'time': '02:11 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Funny - and sad. The whole deal-with-the-devil thing was well played and certainly explains a lot about temptation. I liked the simile between high school relationships and a Petri dish. That was clever and creative. Nicely done, Murray. You have a way of spinning a yarn, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '13:39 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'How very existential!! Loved the idea of Lew going back on his word after the “trial period” (😂to that btw!) \nCalvin doesn’t know it, but luckily I think things get better after the Petri dish of high school. Those are tough years, and no wonder that’s where the devil stakes his ground for deals.', 'time': '19:13 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,v1fy8b,Velvet Ash,Greydon Blight,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/v1fy8b/,/short-story/v1fy8b/,Dark,0,"['Horror', 'Fiction', 'Fantasy']",13 likes,"
After a long day of driving, Brea and Ridley had at last made it free of the city. A winding road now guided them west, and with each turn they found themselves swathed in a fleeting moment of orange silk. The lazy sun had drawn the horizon’s blanket up to its chin like a drowsy giant. Ridley’s main focus was the road—an anxious driver who feared the sentinel oaks that flanked him on both sides. Tall and imposing, they cast a verdant dark canopy that turned the blue day overcast with leaf-green clouds.  Beside him a sweet voice broke the silence, soft lips wet by a nervous flick of the tongue. “May I get a share of that?” Brea asked. “Hm?” Ridley responded, his eyes briefly darting to the rearview mirror as he gradually eased off the pedal. “Share in what?”“The attention you’re lavishing on the road,” Brea clarified.“Last thing we need is to turn our holiday into a countryside ditch misadventure, especially while I carry precious cargo,” Ridley responded, his gaze caressing her. Brea was beautiful—her hair was short and wild, like stiff black coral fighting the sea’s current. She had dark skin peppered with freckles that glowed copper in the sun. She wore a clean white sundress patterned with yellow flowers, which blossomed like small suns beneath Ridley’s weathered brown leather jacket. She would often borrow it as the days came to a close and the cold started—her head fell cosy in the jacket's hood, trimmed with a soft white fur.“Just teasing,” Brea replied with a smile, her hand tender on his back as he was more than a palm’s breadth from sitting comfortably.  “Something else is on your mind.” Ridley said, “We’re never five minutes from home before you’re queuing up some ghastly tune on the radio.” “Oh, very nice! I’ll have you know my taste is impeccable thank you very much,” Brea defended with a wide grin. “Spill it.”“I’m just really proud of you. I know it's rough for you, getting out of the house. Commitment,” Brea spoke earnestly, her index finger traced delicate spirals along his back. “Mum was starting to think I’d made you up.” Brea looked at Ridley, their eyes met like earthly brown sprouting lush green grass. Even while seated his height was unmistakable; his fiery red hair brushed the car’s roof, flowing long and artfully swept behind his ears. He wore a navy shirt, tailored and smartly tucked—it was Brea’s favourite, for it was soft to the touch and cradled his waist perfectly. “Does she now? Well, maybe you’re the one behind the wheel, chatting away to yourself like a madwoman,” Ridley quipped.  “Hey!” Brea laughed, her fingers playfully dancing along Ridley’s side.In the blink of an eye a car appeared before them, its hazard lights resembling the eyes of a sinister serpent. A man stood between the blinking red; frantically he waved his arms like the snakes flickering forked tongue. Ridley steered clear of the car and slammed on the brakes, after a tense moment of skidding they came to a halt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Brea repeated in a panicked frenzy.With his hand entwined in her hair, lost in the soft strands of night, Ridley spoke reassuringly, “You’re okay, chicken. You’re safe.” With a gentle pull, he planted a kiss upon her brow and shifted the car into reverse. “You think they need help?” Brea asked, her tone now calmer. “Likely just a flat or something. Hopefully they have a spare, then I can help.” Stepping out of the car, Ridley graced the elderly man with a polite smile, but instead of reciprocation he was met with an unsettling glare. His eyes were large, black, and encumbered by heavy, sleep-deprived purple bags that were bundled in wrinkles. His pallid skin appeared frail, while tufts of grey facial hair sprouted in patches across his jaw and upper lip. His clothes, mostly shades of navy and forest green seemed ill-fitted, as if borrowed from a larger frame. Ridley noticed a figure in the back seat, their eyes forward and head still. “Need a hand?” Brea spoke, her words offered in an attempt to dispel the tension she sensed rising. “My Ridley’s good with cars, and I’m good with small talk.” “Well, you two are sweet, I’m quite small talker myself,” The man replied, his accent was elusive and thick, requiring a moment for it to make sense.“Got a flat?” Ridley asked. “Flat?” The man replied with a perplexed twist of his lips. “Are your tires okay? Is one of them deflated, no air?” Ridley attempted to clarify.“No. Tire… okay.” The man smiled, withholding any further information. Beads of sweat dappled his forehead, racing the curves of his deeply etched wrinkles. “Go wait in the car, honey. I’ll handle this,” Ridley declared tersely. Brea didn’t question him as she turned back, as he was not one for excessively sweet pet names.“You have phone in car?” The man peered past Ridley to ask. “Yes, we do. I can call someone if you’d like? We still have some signal, I think,” Brea offered, her voice shaking with unease. “No. Maybe you could small talk with my son, he use cane. You take him to trees over there, let him relieve self. Long car ride here, many days,” the man chuckled, his black eyes shifting from Brea to Ridley. “Car tired like me. You see engine?” “In truth, we’re on a tight schedule. Your parents are expecting us before nine, aren’t they?” Ridley redirected the conversation. “Yeah, dad’s eager to show you his hunting gear, maybe take you pheasant shooting in the morning,” Brea fibbed, her upper lip shimmering with sweat.The man’s tone grew grim as he replied, “I think you stay. Good with cars and small talk you say.” “Sorry, but do you have someone we can contact? We’ll do it on our way,” Ridley said. “No phone call. It okay, thank you for stopping,” The man responded. He extended his hand; tremors were noticeable from fingertips to elbow. Against his better judgement, Ridley accepted the man’s hand. The skin felt as thin as paper, and his nails were long and dug deep into Ridley’s wrist. “You have strong shake—warm.” He pulled Ridley closer, attempting his best to grapple with him. As chaos unfurled and Ridley resisted, the car door swung open and a cane planted firmly into the earth. A young man emerged, handsome yet frail with thin brown hair. With a wobble he raced to their side and placed a black bag over Ridley’s head. Amidst the darkness, Ridley felt the warmth of his breath flood the bag and wash over his face. The fabric had an odour to it that tasted sweet and clouded his senses. Hands clawed and assaulted him relentlessly. Although battered, Ridley was stronger. He wrestled himself free and tore the bag from his head. Brea was crying out in fear and distress as he crawled into the car, yet the world seemed silent. Ridley’s foot pressed firmly on the pedal and the tires released plumes of smoke into the air. His senses grew increasingly disoriented, limbs seeming detached from his body. The road now twisted and spiralled in bewildering circles, and the trees that once stood sentry now marched forward, seemingly closing ranks against him.“Stay away from the fire,” Ridley mewled as the car flooded white.***“Hello, my sleepyhead,” Brea greeted tearfully.Ridley’s eyes opened and traced the contours of the sterile white room with measured caution. The distant howl of a car horn echoed in the back of his mind, twin beams of white light racing toward him. A warm hand cradled his, its touch familiar. Brea was by his side, her eyes swollen red and rimmed with purple. Ridley’s lips parted and his tongue danced the words, but only a hoarse croak drooled free. “It’s okay, chicken. You’re safe,” Brea shuddered the words—he’d seen her grieve once before, an aunt he’d never had the chance to meet. Yet this was beyond that; she was already in mourning. Ridley sensed the pain was dulled, the effects of painkillers rendering everything soft and distant. His head was cradled in a snug neck brace, and his mouth bore the metallic taste of blood as a lazy tongue probed loose teeth. Words remained elusive as his mind drifted, moments from slumber. “Um, the doctor said…” Brea’s voice hiccupped with emotion as she held his hand to her cheek. “You’ve got a bit of a fever; they’re having some trouble bringing it down. He gave you some more medicine and said I could be with you. Right here by your side the whole time while you fall asleep.” The tears flowed heavier now, her attempts at reassurance marred by her own anxiety. He wasn’t falling asleep… her top lip shimmered with sweat. Run away, Keep away from the fire, Ridley thought. He scanned the room and saw the doctor, leaning heavily upon a cane. He watched as the doctor’s eyes lifted in a wide smile concealed beneath a surgical mask. Panic seized Ridley, yet the spurious medicine had already sailed the rivers of his veins. He was powerless to shake off Brea’s gentle embrace as though he were a delicate and broken thing.“I love you,” she whispered into his ear. I love you, now run, the words remained trapped in his mind, unspoken. Her tears fell upon his cheek, turning into wisps of steam.***Amidst the night, red serpents of flame writhed and coiled. They slithered ever higher, their tongues of smoke licking the dark sky, extinguishing stars with each insatiable gulp. Bullets flew and lit the sky in falling meteors, their tails long with wisps of heat. Men cried out, their voices high like babes, clutching damp red worms to their open stomachs. Once they had acted valiant and spirited; now they were naught but green boys. The fire within the trenches had rendered Ridley’s body a deep baked brown, the smell sickly sour. Clumsily, he fumbled with a grenade pressed against his chest. A cold muddy hand plucked it from his trembling blackened fingers—a green boy had crawled up beside him, now dyed red and brown. Death seeped from the burnt stumps behind him. He gave Ridley a hug before he fell exhausted into his lap, his eyes watching the stars fall out of the sky one by one. “Keep away from the fire,” Ridley whimpered, but the world was loud, and the boy was ready. He pulled the pin. ***Ash clung to his fresh skin, and around him the hospital had fallen—timber aflame with scarlet lightning. How many souls had this sinful rebirth consumed? His body felt weightless as he was dragged without care through the choking smoke into the open air. A prick in his wrist brought a familiar face into view, black eyes gazing hatefully into his own. The needle plunged deep, its venom cold. “The injection my son gave you… very potent, a test to bring out the fire. This one just take you to sleep, you rest now,” the old man said, his actions graceless as he hoisted Ridley into the back of the car. The night was bright, a full moon spiced with ember stars. The car’s boot slammed shut. Time flowed, a river through his fingers that he couldn’t stop nor track. His consciousness wavered, drifting in and out of sleep, ensnared by dreams of lives long past and forgotten—friends turning grey and fluttering away like wind-blown petals. With sheer might, Ridley slid his tongue between chattering teeth. Beneath him the road roared, thunderous detonations of fire cleansing fields of grass, swords clashing and arrows soaring, men wailing—war. Then silence enveloped it all and he beheld Brea trapped in fire; yet her face was calm and her hand never left his, soft velvet ash between his fingertips. He bit down, and let the blood fill his throat.   ***“May the woods shield me better than this blasted armour,” Ridley cursed as he crawled through the frigid woods. The air carried the haunting howls of dying men from the battlefield he’d abandoned. A cunning arrow had found its path between the split of his breastplate; he had snapped away its wooden stem and feathered roots, but the petals of the iron head had unfurled between his ribs. His leg lay shattered behind him - a consequence of an ungraceful tumble from his horse. His helmet, armour, chainmail, and leathers lay strewn behind him, porcelain shards of a broken vase. His clothing now hung in tattered ribbons as he dragged himself through the thistle and underbrush. The cold surrounded him; wolves with ice on their breath and frosted fur sunk their fangs deep and chilled his bones. What a short life to end in the dark heart of the woods, pecked by hungry pheasants and nipped by ravenous foxes come the morning.  “I forbid it. I forbid you death’s claim on this soul, I forbid the hungry my flesh and bone,” Ridley gasped the brave words. The last thing he carried with him was a sword: long, sharp and void of blood. He thrust it into the earth and used it to help him stand. One misstep and Ridley’s foot caught a stubborn root—a small tumble that nonetheless wrenched the iron flower from its bloodied soil.  “Foolish man. It is not my right to forbid it. Fate seems most keen to collect me,” he muttered. Through the gaps in the trees, Ridley observed the sight of a blind-eyed deer approaching, its antlers scraping the clouded night sky to unveil the stars. As it drew nearer the biting wolves fled and a den of snakes coiled around him, bundling him in warmth. The deer’s front legs rose and the creature began to walk upright on its hind legs. Ridley could now discern that its antlers were coiled white serpents, lively with forked tongues and chattering mouths. The deer’s cloven hooves unfurled into black hands that shimmered like fractured flint.  “Not arrow nor sword shall be your day's end,” the snakes spoke in unison, their tongues flicking embers into the night air. “The womb of fire shall nurture your rebirth, bringing you into the world anew from the ashes. Consent, and you shall witness as many suns as the night beholds stars. But know this - whoever shares in mother’s heat, shall become mine.” Without hesitation Ridley accepted the deer’s hand, longing for warmth above all else. An intense agony surged through his body, numbing his senses and sending him into fits of maniacal laughter, emerging like wraiths of grey smoke from his tortured form. A blinding white fire consumed him, bubbling and crackling. Through the scorched black skin, flowing with rivers of red heat, his new self emerged. Breaking free from the shackles of his dying body that flaked away into pale ash, Ridley stood tall and counted the stars. ***A mantle of radiant steel draped over Ridley’s shoulders - its glowing red metal coursing down his arms, cooling only as it reached his fingertips. His body billowed wisps of black smoke, shrouding the sky in a vast ashen haze that suffocated the old man as he approached him. His son lay unconscious in his arms as he rescued him from the wreckage. “Give my boy the fire, let him see sun again!” implored the old man, his ugly black eyes lost in swollen red. “The cane won’t hold him up anymore—let him rise from ash like you!” “Then carry him into the woods and tell him to ask the devil nicely,” Ridley responded bluntly, his mind filled with the wails of Brea’s voice in the rising smoke, her face flickering in the wild flames.The old man collapsed, his son’s feeble head resting in his lap. “You’re a monster!” he yelled. “Unnatural!” he wept. Ridley stepped off the road and ventured into the forest. He inhaled a breath of cool air and turned to address the old man. “Then let your boy die, let him be natural.” With his body blanketed in cold metal, Ridley marched alongside the towering oaks. Uncertain of his destination and the path to follow, he allowed himself the freedom to wander, guided by the shifting winds. When the air grew cold, he turned; when it warmed, he quickened his pace. His feet became bloodied and splintered until he stumbled upon a clearing - the moon at the peak of the midnight mountain, casting the forest in a pale glow. Exhausted he sank to his knees and heard the approach of four gentle hooves, which as they drew nearer, became two. “Child of fire, I can taste the request you seek to bargain,” spoke the white serpents, their tongues painting the featureless sky with red and yellow stars. “But all deals must be made fair. The fire hungers. You will be the table ever set, the bowl forever full. Flames shall etch your flesh and never leave you cold. Until the sun’s light is extinguished, you shall be mine, my fire’s pet. “I accept,” Ridley declared, extending his hand, expecting the deer’s hoof to blossom into five stone petals and clasp his own. Yet his hand remained suspended in the air. The deer collapsed to the ground - all four hooves pounding the earth as it bleated and wailed, shaking its head until its antlers, one by one, dropped free. Then, it fled into the night. The largest of the antlers snaked its way toward Ridley, writhing and contorting in pain until it transformed into the sword he had long ago discarded. “At last, you claim your first blood,” Ridley remarked, freeing the sword from the earth and plunging it into himself. The fire swiftly consumed him whole and burned all through the night, and come morning Brea rose from the ashes, weary eyed and miserable. 
","September 16, 2023 00:15","[[{'Mike Panasitti': 'This is lavishly written.  Much symbolism to analyze and dissect here.  It reminds me of a surreal story by Julio Cortazar:  ""La Noche Boca Arriba,"" where the protagonist shifts from one dreadful reality to another.  Very well done.', 'time': '15:03 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Greydon Blight': ""Thank you so much for the in depth comment! And I had not heard of that story before so I appreciate the recommendation, I'll have to give it a read myself. Thanks again!"", 'time': '14:27 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Greydon Blight': ""Thank you so much for the in depth comment! And I had not heard of that story before so I appreciate the recommendation, I'll have to give it a read myself. Thanks again!"", 'time': '14:27 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Joaquin Otanez': 'I read your story and I really liked would it be possible to use your story and narrate myself for my YouTube channel.', 'time': '18:54 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Greydon Blight': 'Hi, thank you for asking for permission! You may, as long as proper credit is given!', 'time': '20:05 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Greydon Blight': 'Hi, thank you for asking for permission! You may, as long as proper credit is given!', 'time': '20:05 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,gknqrf,Dark Penance,Cade Holter,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/gknqrf/,/short-story/gknqrf/,Dark,0,['Horror'],13 likes,"
This story contains references to the sexual abuse of children. Reader discretion is advised.The Devil came to him in a desert. The sky was blank and bright, blinding blue, with a sun that shone harshly upon a pale ground spider webbed with large cracks. Before The Devil came he saw mountains surrounding him, him and the small, upturned boat that pressed against his naked back. A high ringing sound filled his ears, constant and grating, and he saw black smoke spiralling up in massive plumes that blocked the horizons view.“Thomas Haig.” Came the harsh whisper of The Devils voice, and with it came a prominent smell of sulfur and rotting meat. When The Devil came into view Haig had no knowledge of where they came from, nor where they may go when this moment had passed. “Be not afraid.” The Devil said, it’s tone mocking and childish in its glee. “You are a great favourite here.”The Devil had no horns in its golden blonde curls, and it’s skin wasn’t red and ruddy but glowing and fair, as if not a second of its life had been spent in the harsh sunlight it now stood in. The Devil was hairless, save the top of its head, and had features soft and small like a young boys, but it’s voice came scratching out if it’s throat like an old hags. It was naked, but no genitals or breasts formed from its flesh, and out of its back jutted twin wings bereft of any feathers or skin, leaving charcoal black bones.“How am I a favourite?” Questioned Haig, fear audible in the back of his throat. “Do you truly need to ask?” Mused The Devil, and memories of life ran through the skull of that bastard Thomas Haig. Good ones. The ones featuring the girls and the boys who looked as sweet as the girls. He remembered talking to some, making promises to others, taking the rest by force from the hands of men and women he had killed in their own homes by blade or by hammer or by bullet. They all ended the same way, with Thomas Haig sinking himself to the hilt in their thrashing, trembling forms, and then leaving them by the side of the road when he had his fill.The memories made him hard, but that hardness dissipated when he remembered how the last one, a juicy little bitch of nine years who had bashed him in the head with a stone, and had ran and told on him. The trial was swift, as was the hanging, though Haig was told by the old Marshall that it would not be a swift death. He was right. The sensation of the rope crushing his windpipe and of himself kicking the air uselessly made Thomas Haig shoot a hand to his neck. Thomas Haigs neck wasn’t broken or crushed now, so, slowly, the tightness in his chest loosened.“Don’t you think you should’ve done more?” Said The Devil after Haigs gasping subsided. “Don’t you want to find that little bitch and make her pay? Have your fill with her, and after?” Haig looked at The Devil, took in its naked, unnatural form for a long while before responding. “Won’t that cause more problems for me down the line? Won’t me taking that deal get me a worse punishment?”The Devil just started laughing and, from the distant mountains from which smoke belched into the air, a cacophony of high whines and deep bellied guffaws and agonized moaning filled the stinking air. “Quit your laughing!” Haig screaming. “Ain’t nothing funny here, shut it!” The Devil raised a hand and, without one exception, the choir of laughter ceased. “I want to make a real deal with you Haig, I think you’ll like it. For you, I will grant you one more life to live as you see fit.” The Devils left hand was laid onto Haigs left shoulder, and he struggled not to gasp at its striking heat. “It’ll be a life dependent on how many you send my way. Every man, woman, and child you send down to me, what would have been their life becomes yours. You could do the things you love doing forever Haig. Do you really, truly want to pass that up?”He didn’t want to pass it up, that deal was like music to Haig, but he kept his jaw set and his face neutral. “You didn’t answer my original question.” The quaver in his voice had long since gone past, and was replaced with an uncontrollably shiver of glee. “What happens when that well runs dry?” The Devil took his hand off of the man’s shoulder, creating an involuntary sigh from Haigs throat. “You can’t get it any worse than you already will Haig, even we have limits down here.” The Devils whisper had turned to a man’s normal speaking voice, one that Haig realized was his own. “Why not try and stave it off for a while?” The Devil leaned into Haigs ear like a seductive harlot. It’s whisper returned, the voice itself echoing between a man and a woman’s. “Why not come down here a legend?” Its voice split the man’s doubt in half. Thomas Haig, killer of 20 men, women, and children, and rapist of twice that, shook the hand of The Devil in that dried out portion of Hell, and his vision went black. He would make that juicy little bitch pay alright.When his vision returned it was still black. The air around him was hot and suffocating and the sensation of wood against his spine had not gone away. Confusion reigned for just a short moment before realization set in, and anger, horror, and despair took hold for the rest of Thomas Haigs miserable life as he began to uselessly scratch and flail against the inside of his new prison. He cursed The Devil. He cursed God and all His servants. That nine year old girl was cursed as well, as was the Marshall and all of his victims. He screamed and cussed until his throat went hoarse.Under six feet of dirt, nobody could hear his screaming.Lower than that, a choir of laughter started up again.
","September 08, 2023 23:04","[[{'Kevin Logue': 'Firstly, as no one else has yet, may I offer a belated Welcome to Reedsy.\n\nThis is a devilishly dark story Cade, just as the prompt called for and with a nice twist to boot, and well deserved for the monster he was.\n\nYour imaginary in the opener sets the surreal scene very well and amplified by the intrigue of the man carry a boat on his back. This again reflected in the coffin wood on his back is a nice bookend.\n\nI see from you bio you regard yourself as an amateur writer, although I fall into the same category id like to offer some advice....', 'time': '13:12 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,12frnu,Curdled,Scott Christenson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/12frnu/,/short-story/12frnu/,Dark,0,['Fiction'],11 likes,"
Robert dipped his finger into the milk and felt its warmth. The digital thermometer displayed a temperature of 103 F. He added a cup of dry starter culture, spreading it evenly over the milk, and a spoonful of yeast, and gave the vat a stir. The air was heavy with the smell of aging cheese.He set a timer for 30 minutes and busied himself flipping over yesterday’s molds. The cheese needed to be rotated daily to drain the whey, the process that has been followed for thousands of years in the Rhone-Alpes. Saint Felicien is one of the softest types of cheese, so he needed to be careful not to break the delicate rind that had formed. The rind of soft cheese is not a type of paper as many customers guess, but an amalgate of dried milk and mold. He lamented not being able to label the cheese with its real name. Despite being the only cheesemaker to put in the effort to produce Saint Felicien in America, the name could only refer to those produced in a designated region of France.Most Wisconsinites still opt for the artificially colored, mass-produced product sold in the supermarket, the stuff that should hardly be called cheese at all. While he turned over the delicate pouches of fermenting cream, he tried to keep his mind away from the latest loan statement from Dad. Each month, Robert’s father meticulously calculated the interest on the $120,000 loan to found the creamery. The interest was steadily accumulating. The business made a small profit, but one thing or another broke constantly and needed to be fixed, and the repair bills had soaked up all the money they earned, and more.Robert needed to do something big to break out of this endless loop. Get more attention, bring in national sales. Whole foods. Trader Joes. He wrote a book on the history of craft cheese in America. The first draft was done. Even though people said it was impossible to find a publisher as a new author, unless one was a celebrity, he didn’t give up hope. The American cheese festival would take place in San Francisco next month. He would max out his credit cards, if needed to, to make it there.Gwen interrupted his reverie. “Should I start wrapping tomorrow’s batch for the farmer’s market?” She stood facing him with her work overalls on. Robert felt lucky to have someone willing to share his lifestyle.“Thanks. Rack 37 and 38,” he said. “And, be careful.”“Always am.”Those racks had aged for 60 days. Sad because Saint Felicien reached its peak of flavor at 40 days. But each batch was labelled and records needed to be shown to the Wisconsin Department of Agriculture which required all cheese to be aged for a 60 day minimum period. At least he and Gwen could eat the cheese at its peak, like they do in France, where he had spent 6 months on an apprenticeship.The next day, at the Market on the Square in Madison, Robert handled a new prospective customer. Robert enjoyed talking to people, and was happy to introduce natural cheese to the people of Wisconsin, one at a time, if that’s what was needed.“This cheese is handcrafted at our creamery located a half an hour outside of Madison. We buy milk from local producers, and make cheese the old-fashioned way, like they do in Europe. I won’t get into the details, but it's scandalous the artificial methods food companies use to make cheese.” He paused for a second before his deal closer. “Chemicals,” he said with a conspiratorial look that signaled it was best not to ask more.A paper plate with a small piece of cheese was already in her hands. In the heat of the afternoon, it had become as runny as molten butter.“This looks…interesting,” she said, holding it up with a tiny plastic fork.“Nibble on the rind. Then slowly savor the headline act in the middle,” Robert enticed.Gwen tapped his shoulder. They were setting up down the aisle. Those monsters ruined everything every Saturday.**Aaron worked as a substitute teacher, and as a freelance editor for several online nutritional websites. Someday you’re going to make it big, Aaron’s mother kept telling him. Too bad the medical treatments for lupus consumed so much of his time and energy. And he had tired of explaining to employers, and to everyone else, that men also suffer from the disease, so mostly he didn’t talk about it except with people in the community.“Don’t eat that!” Aaron shouted across the aisle at a young woman who was holding up a piece of unhygienic cheese with a plastic fork. “It’s not safe!!”After taking a quick glance, she put the fork down and looked at the cheese merchant. “Is this safe?”“Unpasteurized cheese is perfectly safe as long as it’s made with high-quality milk and handled properly. We do our best to keep bacteria counts down–”She put the paper plate back down on their table. “Maybe next time.”“We follow FDA regulations…”She flashed an uncomfortable smile at the cheese merchant, turned around, and walked away into the crowd of farmer's market attendees.Victory! Aaron thought. He looked at Melissa, the final remaining member of his 2021 anti-raw milk activism campaign. “Fucking monsters,” he grumbled. “Monsters,” she agreed, her voice filled with bitterness.The cheese merchant, who usually avoided engaging, shouted back. “I can hear you. I am not a monster!”  “Raw cheese is a ticking time bomb,” Aaron argued. “It’s a breeding ground for E. coli and listeria and is a health risk.”“Here’s the thing, bro. People have been eating cheese in Europe for hundreds of years and lived to tell about it.”“Just because it doesn’t happen to everyone, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”“As if you know.”“I do know!”“I eat my own cheese every day. Look at my physique. Now look at yours. Who’s healthier?”“That is the last straw.” Aaron felt his face grow warm. Just when he might have taken a swing at the cheese guy, Melissa stepped in front of him.Melissa took over shouting at the cheese merchant, “What if that woman was pregnant? Your cheese was going to kill her unborn baby. How do you explain that?”He appeared to not want to make a scene with a woman and backed off, and just pretended like they didn't exist for the rest of the morning.Around noon, when the farmer’s market was reaching its peak, full of families coming into the city for a day out, Aaron and Melissa began chanting. “Beth Johnson! Beth Johnson!” Someone asked, “Who’s Beth Johnson?” Aaron pointed at his sign. Beth Johnson had died of listeria contracted from drinking unpasteurized milk in Oregon in 2018.“Beth Johnson?” the cheese merchant said. “That hasn’t been proved. Stop being ridiculous with your accusations.”“Let’s take a public opinion poll!” Aaron shouted back.“Let’s do that.”“Who thinks raw cheese is dangerous?”“Who doesn’t?”Shouting to get the attention of the attendees of the farmer's market, they both tried to convince people to take their side. But the crowd skittered away. Soon aisle 5 was deserted except for a few people who watched them warily from a distance. And unhappy fruit preserves and honey sellers. Unless there was physical violence, no one had any real interest in their disagreement.**After flipping out on the protester as a result of losing his customer, Robert looked at Gwen for reassurance.“Can’t win them all.” She gave him a smile that showed she was 100% on his side.“But this is so frustrating.”“If you look back, we sold more cheese last year after that monster got us into the Madison Herald.”“That’s true,” Robert said. “The gourmet media's attention goes to the producers in Oregon and California, and we are stuck with this guy.”At 3pm the crowd began to thin. The anti-raw milk protesters started packing up their signs, the ones with slogans like ‘Listeria Monocytogenes Kills!’ and ‘Raw Milk is Curdled Conspiracy Theory!’Robert began disassembling his own ‘Raw Cheese is our Heritage’ display with its map of France and the historical timeline of cheese production in Wisconsin.As they both packed away their displays to take home–signalling the end of today's battle–they gave each other a tiny nod. They had been doing this every Saturday morning for at least a year. Robert took a deep breath, and then went over and explained the proposal. A few weeks later, Robert and Aaron found themselves in Robert’s truck on the long drive to San Francisco to attend The American Cheese Festival. In the back of the truck, Robert had 300 units of Saint Felicien cheese. Aaron had his ‘Raw Milk Kills!’ displays and brochures. They had agreed to split the cost of gas.“Pasteurization was the most successful public health program of all time,” Aaron was telling Robert again.“Don’t you think I know that?” Robert said. “I’m not Satan. I’m just carrying on tradition. Everything in life has risk. And raw cheese is thousands of times safer than raw milk.”“And you cheese makers are making the fat profits.”Dumbfounded, Robert took his eyes off the road to look at Aaron. “I’m losing money. Every month.”Either from what he said, or from the realization that his driver wasn’t looking at the road, something broke through.“Sorry to hear that,” Aaron said.“Thanks.” Robert looked back at the road, an endless straight line through the cornfields of Iowa. “Why are you so opposed to raw cheese?”“A person I know died of a bacterial infection. She had lupus. The doctor thought she might have drank raw milk or ate unpasteurized cheese.”“Did they do an autopsy?”“When someone with lupus dies, there’s no autopsy.”“That’s rough,” Robert said. ”I do follow FDA regulations–”“I don’t want to hear about it.”“I hear you."" They had a two day drive ahead and neither of them was going to change the other's mind. ""Let’s talk about something else.”“Deal.”“And remember the plan. After you start shouting at the top of your lungs on the first day of the festival, when a few people have begun recording with their mobiles, take one of my Saint Felicien cheeses and smash it into my face.”“A win-win like you said. But isn’t that dangerous?”“The cheese is safe.”“If you say so.”
","September 15, 2023 09:24","[[{'Mary Bendickson': ""Say 'cheese'😁"", 'time': '21:26 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Scott Christenson': 'hehe wisconsin gets free marketing everytime people take photos.', 'time': '03:36 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Scott Christenson': 'hehe wisconsin gets free marketing everytime people take photos.', 'time': '03:36 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'AnneMarie Miles': 'I love the originality of this: a story about cheese. And it\'s relevant! People are concerned about what they\'re eating now more than ever. Could even add a non-dairy cheese merchant to spice things up - ha! \n\nI love the reveal at the end about the two working together. That was an unexpected surprise, nicely executed. Love the humor that shines through: ""if you say so."" Good work, Scott!', 'time': '19:19 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Scott Christenson': ""That's a great idea having a non-dairy cheese merchant haha, I could def see that being v funny having them as a bystander. She'd def be a beneficiary of the feuding but probably trying to stay out of it at the same time."", 'time': '03:34 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Scott Christenson': ""That's a great idea having a non-dairy cheese merchant haha, I could def see that being v funny having them as a bystander. She'd def be a beneficiary of the feuding but probably trying to stay out of it at the same time."", 'time': '03:34 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Funny one here. Liken it to one prison Essay I read in Lithub. It made me laugh nonstop.', 'time': '17:27 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Scott Christenson': 'Feuds in prisons are probably not that different than feuds at a farmers market lol.. people are all the same.', 'time': '03:28 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Philip Ebuluofor': ""I don't believe you. Humans may be humans but prison is to be equated to the farmer's market. I was once inside and I have been to the farmers' market."", 'time': '16:38 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Scott Christenson': 'Feuds in prisons are probably not that different than feuds at a farmers market lol.. people are all the same.', 'time': '03:28 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Philip Ebuluofor': ""I don't believe you. Humans may be humans but prison is to be equated to the farmer's market. I was once inside and I have been to the farmers' market."", 'time': '16:38 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': ""I don't believe you. Humans may be humans but prison is to be equated to the farmer's market. I was once inside and I have been to the farmers' market."", 'time': '16:38 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'𝔊𝔲𝔞𝔡𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔭𝔢 𝔗𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔯': 'Hi, Scott. \n[The cheese needs to be rotated daily to drain the whey, the process that has been followed for thousands of years in the Rhone-Alpes.]\nBefore and after this, you’re using past tense, but here, you’re using present tense. Did you mean to do that?\n\n[Most Wisconsinites still opt for the artificially colored, mass-produced product sold in the supermarket, the stuff that should hardly be called cheese at all.]\nOnce, driving through Eagle River, there was cheese for sale on the sidewalk. Not a farmer’s market, craft sale, street fair,...', 'time': '19:10 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Scott Christenson': 'Hi Guadalupe, Thanks so much for all those edits. Yeah when writing in past tense, I keep thinking its ok to put factual statement in present tense, but it does look odd when I go back and reread. Happy to hear you enjoyed this!  Yeah when driving through the countryside sometimes theres ""cheese curds"" stand just out in the middle of the cornfields.  Maybe today there\'s some artisan cheese stands who knows.  A bit of a stretch for the prompt, I suppose they both see each other as ""the devil"" even though they are both well intentioned nice pe...', 'time': '03:33 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Scott Christenson': 'Hi Guadalupe, Thanks so much for all those edits. Yeah when writing in past tense, I keep thinking its ok to put factual statement in present tense, but it does look odd when I go back and reread. Happy to hear you enjoyed this!  Yeah when driving through the countryside sometimes theres ""cheese curds"" stand just out in the middle of the cornfields.  Maybe today there\'s some artisan cheese stands who knows.  A bit of a stretch for the prompt, I suppose they both see each other as ""the devil"" even though they are both well intentioned nice pe...', 'time': '03:33 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': ""I didn't expect to read a story about cheese today, or to be some informed afterwards, but damn I'm glad I did! This flowed very well, was quite engaging, and even a rewarding twist. Nice entry Scott.\n\nI noticed three lines you may want to look at:\n\n- Eacb month, Robert’s father meticulously - \n\n- The American cheese festival took place in San Francisco next month, - took seems wrong here, takes maybe?\n\n- It was a two days drive ahead and neither of them were going to change each other's minds.  - Think it would flow better as, They had a tw..."", 'time': '12:57 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Scott Christenson': 'Hey Kevin, thanks so much for finding those! It really helps. Writing about things that are going to happen in the future in past tense is so confusing. And happy to hear you enjoyed the surprise of a cheese story to the monster prompt. Its going to be all killers and fantasy monsters this week I guess. I always find myself wanting to write about something unexpected for whatever the prompt is.', 'time': '14:20 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Scott Christenson': 'Hey Kevin, thanks so much for finding those! It really helps. Writing about things that are going to happen in the future in past tense is so confusing. And happy to hear you enjoyed the surprise of a cheese story to the monster prompt. Its going to be all killers and fantasy monsters this week I guess. I always find myself wanting to write about something unexpected for whatever the prompt is.', 'time': '14:20 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': 'Scott, this is a story that should be in the high schools. Maybe it would help educate people about what is going on in the fight. I learned about processing cheese. Always a good tale when learning happens. \nYou certainly made it all work for a great story. \nLF6', 'time': '19:51 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Scott Christenson': ""Thanks for reading. Yeah I grew up in wisconsin but knew nothing about how cheese was made until recently. I had been experiment making yogurt and tofu, and cheese actually isn't all that different. I was surprised to find out the skin on cheese like camembert and brie wasn't paper. but actually just a bunch of mold and milk, hmm not sure if thats good or bad. But my main idea was to have a story about two protesters on opposite sides who just aren't going to change their mind about something and how they could find ways to get along wiht ea..."", 'time': '03:54 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Lily Finch': ""Yeah, we used to make our own yogurt all the time. I felt like at times if we left it for a bit longer than it should have been it tasted like a white kind of cheese with a tang to it. We don't make cheese anymore. I like it when I read stories that teach me something. LF6"", 'time': '16:13 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Scott Christenson': ""Thanks for reading. Yeah I grew up in wisconsin but knew nothing about how cheese was made until recently. I had been experiment making yogurt and tofu, and cheese actually isn't all that different. I was surprised to find out the skin on cheese like camembert and brie wasn't paper. but actually just a bunch of mold and milk, hmm not sure if thats good or bad. But my main idea was to have a story about two protesters on opposite sides who just aren't going to change their mind about something and how they could find ways to get along wiht ea..."", 'time': '03:54 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lily Finch': ""Yeah, we used to make our own yogurt all the time. I felt like at times if we left it for a bit longer than it should have been it tasted like a white kind of cheese with a tang to it. We don't make cheese anymore. I like it when I read stories that teach me something. LF6"", 'time': '16:13 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lily Finch': ""Yeah, we used to make our own yogurt all the time. I felt like at times if we left it for a bit longer than it should have been it tasted like a white kind of cheese with a tang to it. We don't make cheese anymore. I like it when I read stories that teach me something. LF6"", 'time': '16:13 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Amid the controversy, creativity springs forth! What a clever idea, both getting attention by promulgating a fight. I love the idea, and I love knowing more about processing cheese. It's so cool how you can weave all of this together and make a worthy tale out of it. Nicely done, Scott.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '11:14 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Scott Christenson': 'Thanks! first draft, will clean up the flow a bit by tomorrow. \n\nI thought it ironic this week while researching this that half of Youtube says, if you go plant-based and quit all meat and dairy, you are guaranteed to ""feel amazing!""... and the other half says drink raw milk straight from the cow and ""feel amazing!""  It feels like they are proposing the exact opposite thing.', 'time': '11:28 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Scott Christenson': 'Thanks! first draft, will clean up the flow a bit by tomorrow. \n\nI thought it ironic this week while researching this that half of Youtube says, if you go plant-based and quit all meat and dairy, you are guaranteed to ""feel amazing!""... and the other half says drink raw milk straight from the cow and ""feel amazing!""  It feels like they are proposing the exact opposite thing.', 'time': '11:28 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,yn6b7j,Garita Del Diablo ,Jonathan Page,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yn6b7j/,/short-story/yn6b7j/,Dark,0,"['Horror', 'Fantasy', 'Drama']",10 likes,"
Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw’d upon;Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,Inestimable stones, unvalu’d jewels,All scatter’d in the bottom of the sea.Some lay in dead men’s skulls, and in the holesWhere eyes did once inhibit, there were crept –As ‘twere in scorn of eyes – reflecting gems,That woo’d the slimy bottom of the deep,And mock’d the dead bones that lay scatter’d by. Richard III, Act 1 Scene 4On San Clement’s Day, my lagoon front building project encounters an unexpected and formidable obstacle.In a land teeming with boutique hotels, I find myself constructing yet another tourist trap, despite knowing that it's the last thing the island needs. But driven by the need to support my family, I press on through the relentless onslaught of calamities. Two hurricanes. An earthquake. Construction delays. A pandemic. Inflation. Crime. Corrupt unions. A scarcity of workers. These setbacks continually plague my path. Nevertheless, the island’s raw beauty and historical allure cast an irresistible spell that captivates tourists and vagabonds and draws them in like a siren song. Unlike these transient sojourners, my fate and legacy are inextricably tied to my ancestral homeland—the backdrop for my family's struggles for generations.My immediate concern lies with my son Pedro, who has recently been accepted into Columbia Law School. Pedro's dedication and ambition have led him to dream of a prestigious legal career in New York, someday having his own office in the tower of an international law firm. I am wracked with guilt, for I cannot bring myself to shatter his dreams with the truth of our financial condition or tell him that his dreams are out of reach.Facing the ocean, cannons that once defended El Morro stand as a testament to the valor of my forefather, Admiral Pedro Tello de Guzmán. In 1595, he valiantly repelled the English Armada, his frigates ablaze amidst a barrage of fire pots and shells on that unforgettable San Clement’s Day.The echoes of that fateful battle still resound within these walls, a clarion call that stirs the spirits of all who tread upon this hallowed ground.Today, after nineteen generations, I wage seemingly mundane battles: navigating the labyrinthine bureaucracy for construction permits, grappling with budgetary constraints, and combating persistent construction delays. In this ceaseless struggle against the forces of nature, commerce, and bureaucratic logjam, I fight to maintain a precarious foothold. The remnants of past dynasties and the echoes of glory and independence reverberate within the bones of El Morro and embolden me in my path.Within the old fortress, jutting defiantly into the ocean stands the garita known to locals as “Garita del Diablo.” This hidden sanctuary, a sentry tower with a thin opening, seems to exist in an otherworldly realm, hovering over the blue expanse of the sea itself. It is whispered about only by those who dare. It holds an inexplicable allure for me. As night guards once shouted through the blustery darkness to ward off slumber, one soldier, Sanchez, grew silent in the din of the crashing waves and howling winds. Fearful of abandoning their posts, his comrades dared not investigate until sunrise.Only his rifle and uniform remained, as the search for his missing body proved fruitless. The legend arose—a chilling testament—that Sanchez had been spirited away by the very Devil himself.Despite being only late afternoon, the weight of my worries and the anxieties of the day overpower me. Listening to the calm seas, the smell of seafoam in my nostrils, bathing in the tropical autumn air, I slump down and sit with my back against the cool stone walls of the Garita. Before long, I drift off into the deep peaceful sleep of exhaustion.I awake naked in a dungeon beneath El Garita del Diablo. A four-foot-long iguana is mounted on my chest—the spines on its back at attention, the claws of his feet clinging to my bare skin. He regards me with disinterest at first until I jolt up, and he scurries away. Pictures of Spanish Galleons are drawn on the walls in white chalk and shimmering paint that glimmers with the faintest light, causing ghostly figures on the ship's upper decks to dance in the black of night like they have captured a true pirate’s booty. Who drew these haunting images? I imagine these frightful ghouls are the depiction of the marooned spirits of the English navy that El Morro still holds captive to this day.Not knowing where I am, I grasp around me and feel a mound of cold, wet gold and silver coins underneath me. What is this treasure? Turning to my side and getting on all fours, I follow the drawings to the wall and begin feeling my way along it in the dark. I feel shackles and cuffs on the wall covered in a foul oily film. The musty air is heavy with dampness and decay. The close quarters add to the stagnant atmosphere, creating a feeling of suffocating stillness. And then my groping left-hand clasps the right hand of a skeleton, sending a shiver of electricity all the way up to the back of my skull as we shake hands across centuries. Desperately, I search the walls and finally find a torch hanging in a sconce. As I pull it down, hands shaking, brow beaded with sweat, the torch alights as if by magic.With the flickering torchlight casting dancing shadows on the stone walls, I am able to see the full length of the chamber. The unadorned skeleton sits in an Indian position with its hands on its knees and a pile of pesos in its lap. The entire floor is littered with a heap of gold and silver pesos and other metallic treasures and gems, forming little dunes and mounds. It is a stockpile that would rival Aladdin’s cave. This must be the long subterranean tunnel under the parapet where my forefather’s soldiers hauled off the nearly two million pounds of pesos from the shipwrecked galleon that the English Armada had come to the Bay of San Juan to retrieve. My eyes focus on a shrouded figure hunched in the corner of the chamber.Holding up the yellow light, I discern that this hooded form is that of a living, breathing person! “Who are you?” I feel my heartbeat rise and my eyes draw into sharper focus.What looks up at me is in the shape of a human face, but has blazing yellow eyes, scaly green skin, and the visage of a haggard lizard.“I see you have found poor Sanchez,” the creature says with mirth.“What is this place?” I ask.“You are in another realm—beyond the Devil’s Doorway”—and he points a scaly hand at the staircase in the opposite corner.“But how is it no one has found this place, and this treasure, after all these years?” I ask.“Sanchez fell asleep at his post and found himself right where you now stand,” he says.“That was 400-years-ago! Are you going to chain me up and leave me to die?” I tremble as I walk backward with my back touching the cold stones, feeling a pit of dread in my gut—screaming ‘Escape!’.“You have it backwards. Sanchez chained himself down here, un-will-ing to return,” he counters.“Chained himself?”“Yes, he chained himself to that wall and gave me the key, as a guarantee that he would not forfeit his inheritance in a moment of weakness.”“Why would anyone choose to die for some shiny coins?” I ask.“These coins are not ordinary tender; they possess the power to fulfill any desire. Have you ever known the feeling of a desire that was completely fulfilled? The bliss that never thirsts for more. But go, grab a handful of coins, and run up the stairs back to El Garita Diablo, and you will see,” he says.I notice a handful of coins already in my hand and realize that for the first time in weeks my monetary woes have faded from my thoughts. All of my wants and worries have been pulled out of me and into these coins, exactly as the creature has said.I stoop and grab another fistful of coins and then ascend the short staircase in long lumbering leaps, as the corridor twists around the circular shape of the tower. At the top of the stairs is a corridor. The corridor is covered by a mosaic of smooth marble stones, depicting the Battle of San Juan, and the stones glisten and gleam—imbued with an unnatural energy. I thrust my hand through the opening in the corridor, and I feel the force of an invisible barrier pull the hair on my forearm erect with the force of an electromagnetic current. My fist proceeds into the corridor, but the coins fall in a pile at my feet where the invisible barrier stops them from going further.Running back down the stairs, I exclaim, “there is some invisible barrier – I cannot bring the coins through to the tower.”“This is the curse of El Draque, and as you can see poor Sanchez chose to stay in this dungeon with his forbidden riches and die with his treasure, rather than returning empty-handed,” he says.“This money would solve all my problems,” I tell the creature, realizing, that I have not stopped to inquire what kind of entity I am even speaking to.Slinking out into the middle of the chamber, the creature speaks. “I appear to you in reptilian form, but in truth I am an ancient spirit. The Sss-pirit of Plunder! The muse of Conquistadors and rebels that defy fate!” Then appearing to grow larger in size and casting off his hood with the thin clawed fingers of an Iguana, he continues, “I am called Defiance. My offerings are given for a sss-secret price.”“You ask me to choose without knowing the cost?” I ask.“Such is the aching bargain of craven lust—a blind trade—a gamble. I am that spirit which brought the great Sir Francis Drake to his demise against the palisades of this impregnable rock, laying him low with the retching of the sea. All for the favor of Queen Elizabeth and the promise of a bounty that could be piled to the heavens. What men will do for fame and fortune! My bargain is that I give the defiant their innermost desire but cannot reveal the toll for retrieving the boon of such forbidden treasures. It may cost you your very life or even your sss-oul. It is mine to grant the judgment, but another levies the wages.”“How can it be that there is a portal to the spirit realm? An invisible barrier? I have made this discovery, how is it I am denied the artifacts I’ve unlocked?” I ask.“Are you dense? There are portals all around you, filled with spirits and invisible barriers! What is a book? What is a film? These are portals to worlds brimming with sealed treasures, forever out of the reach of your hands. Who can pull a character of fiction into your world? Who of your kind knows the ritual to incarnate the unborn?”The creature stands there with his yellowing green scales shimmering under the torchlight, the weather of eons glinting from the shadows in his sallow cheeks. Staring into those yellow eyes, I notice that his physical body begins to dissolve slowly into a translucent mirage.“I don’t have long now before I must leave you. You can bring this treasure across the threshold and suffer the consequences, or you can return empty-handed. Choose. But, if you decline the wager, you will never be able to access this place again,” he says.I rack my brain at the conundrum that Defiance presents – inevitable wrack and ruin – no matter what I choose. Since my youth, it was always a Hobson’s Choice that would save me from my predicament. As a framer, I’d run into an architectural puzzle. Two choices would be presented and neither worked. I’d learned that wooden beams can be bent, and the frames of a structure can be reformed to meet new demands. There is always a third option.“You must make your choi-ssse before I fade away and return to my realm,” Defiance hisses, his long nimble fingers nearly transparent in the dim torchlight.Slumping down next to Sanchez in a fit of mental exhaustion, an idea occurs to me. It was what Defiance had said that brings the idea to my mind. Portals are all around you… who can pull a character of fiction into your world? Perhaps I cannot retrieve sunken treasure, but maybe I can retrieve a remnant from our world that has been lost to time – a living legend must be worth its weight in gold! Sanchez! You are the key to the lock that opens the invisible barrier!I see the entire architecture of my new hotel drawn out like a blueprint before my eyes—a destination like no other on the island. Its rooms and chambers would be imbued with the stories of past conquests. Buried treasures stored away in vaults. A restaurant where diners could attend a banquet attended by Sanchez himself!“I am sorry, old friend” I say as I grab the brittle radius and ulna restrained by the shackles and sharply crack them over my knee, severing the limb and allowing me to free Sanchez. I scoop up the disembodied bones of his broken arm and toss the remainder of Sanchez’s brittle skeleton over my shoulder.As I run up the stairs without looking back, I feel a slick and scaly hand try to grab my free arm and pull me down into the dungeon, but the slender digits already lack substance or form and pass right through me, just real enough to send an eerie chill through my body.Reaching the corridor, I plunge through the portal, emancipating Sanchez from the dungeon of legend.
","September 14, 2023 00:01","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Sneaky.', 'time': '04:42 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Mary!', 'time': '08:28 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Mary!', 'time': '08:28 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,rlv2cd,Devil Came Down to Georgia,Emma Hedrick,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rlv2cd/,/short-story/rlv2cd/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Teens & Young Adult']",10 likes,"
	She’s got a good head on her shoulders. That's what Gran said. Daddy and Uncle Hector said it too. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. 
	So even though the brimstone in the air is making her eyes water, even though the scalding ground is making the rubber soles of her shoes soft, and he’s looking at her with fire in his eyes, she's come too far to back out now. This deal is too important to lose her head now.
	“It’s the standard contract,” the devil says. The pinstripes on his suit aren’t black like she’d first thought. They’re red and shine in the red gleam of his eyes. “I get rid of the cancer and then you give me your soul on your dying day. That’s a good deal, right? You’ll have the rest of your lives together.” 
	Addie hunches over the paper and her shoulders shake. He thinks she’s crying, he thinks she’s trying to muster up the courage to sign, but she’s not. She’s reading the fine print because it’s the only part of the paper that’s not red. It’s black, blacker than anything she’s ever seen and she knows it would do no good to let her eyes skip over it.
	Addie bites her lip until the blood wells. When it drops, it falls on one word, Just one. Her blood eats through the ink, steaming and hissing. Addie breathes in the smoke and feels the word settle deep in her lungs.
	Then, when she’s done, she stands tall and looks the devil dead in the eye. His smile falters when he sees she has the same fire in her eyes as him when he sees that there are no tear tracks on her face.
	“Sure,” Addie says, her heart going a mile a minute. “That’s a good deal.”
	His smile returns full force when she signs it. He gently takes the paper and presses his own bloodied finger to sign it and promises she won’t see him again until she’s on her deathbed.
	She knows she’ll be seeing him a lot sooner than that.
	Owen’s cancer disappears like smoke between one doctor's appointment and the next. They talk about equipment errors and inconclusive biopsies before sending them on their way. Owen’s hand is sweaty in Addie’s and his shoulders are shaking. He’s trying not to cry, and he succeeds until they get in their car. Addie holds him and coos in his ear as he falls apart. 
	“It’s a miracle,” Owen says as he takes his first pain-free breath in months. “A miracle.”
	Her grandmother knows better. It’s just her and Gran a few days later sitting in the doctor’s office waiting on her results. 
	“You made a deal,” Gran says. It’s not a question. Addie can find no judgment in her eyes. “You’ve got his cancer.”
	Addie nods, calm and serene in the paper hospital gown. Her breath comes in short bursts these days and she refused to waste it.
	“You're a fool,” says her grandmother. “A lovestruck fool.”
	“Lovestruck,” Addie states. “But not a fool.”
	Her grandmother stares at her. After a long moment relief breaks over her face like a wave in the ocean. “The devil made a deal with you.”
	Addie notes the way Gran phrased it. The way it puts her in power. She knows Gran understands. She nods anyway her eyes aflame.
	“You know,” Gran starts. “Your Gramps was a fiddler. It's no surprise he passed it on to you.”
	Addie was not going to wait until she was on her death bed, lungs shuddering and heart straining. She refused to let Owen see her like that. She won’t let him see the stakes of the game she’s playing. Owen is pure and good and doesn’t have the strength of her family’s history behind him like she does.
	She’s alone when she puts one bullet in the chamber, gives it a spin, locks in into place, and holds it to her head. One in six, pretty good odds. 
	The devil arrives as she pulls the trigger, the smell of brimstone no longer making her eyes water. They stare at each other, fire to fire, as the gun clicks. Empty.
	“Well,” he says, “I can’t say I expected you to kill yourself. You didn’t even manage to load the gun properly. Here, if you insist, I’ll help you” He reaches forward and his nails are such a deep red that they appear black.
	She turns the gun on him and cocks back the hammer. 
	The devil blinks in confusion. Behind him, his shadow writhes and hisses. He says, “Why you know that won’t do a thing to me, my dear Addie.”
            “I do,” she agrees, “Unless you are in breach of your contract. Then it’s a different story isn’t it?”
	The fire in his eyes swells until everything around them is consumed by it. The heat rises through the floor but she knows better now. It can’t touch her through her soles now, she got tough feet.
	“I don’t go back on a deal,” he says, hissing through his teeth. “Owen’s cancer is gone, isn’t it? I’d say that I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain. I’m just waiting to collect on your end.” He eyes her gun and grins ghoulishly. “Care to make that sooner than later?” He eyes her chest. “Though by the smell of it, I could take you now and it wouldn’t make a difference.”
	“You take me and you’ll get a bullet between your eyes,” Addie says. “Well, one of five chances anyway. You take me Devil and you’ll die one way or another.”
	“And what makes you say that?” He coiled like a snake. “You can’t hurt me. I’m the devil. And you made a deal with me. There ain’t no stoppin’ the train your on, sweetheart. No stoppin’ at all.” He takes an aggressive step over.
	She pulls the trigger. He freezes for a moment when the gun clicks, face falling into a blank mask. “What was that?”
	“That was your odds getting smaller,” Addie tells him, her voice hard. “One out of four now Devil.”
	“You can’t hurt me,” he reiterated, somewhere between angered and frustrated. It’s not a place you want the devil to be. “You made a deal.” He takes another step.
	She pulls the trigger again and clicks her tongue with the sound of the gun. “One out of three… you might wanna check that contract before you keep playing with fire.”
	With a swirl of fire and shadow, the contract appears in his hand. He sneers and looks down, red eyes flying over the words. Addie watches him slow down. Stop. Start again.
	“And I, Satan, Lucifer the Morningstar, the Devil,” Addie quotes, “will allow the signer of this contract to spend the rest of life with Owen.”
	“Rest of her life, “ the devil says. “Her life.” The paper crinkles in his hands, nails piercing through where he grips too hard.
	That’s what it used to say before she willed her blood to erase the word. One word. That’s all Addie needed.
	The smile on her face is too sharp for any ordinary woman. “You should have read the fine print darlin’,” she drawls. Addie cocks back the hammer. “Owen and I will spend the rest of life together. So the devil has promised.”
	“No,” he says. “You don’t get to change the contract. I make the contract! Not you!” He bellows the last word as fire springs into existence around her.
	Addie stands tall in the flames and grits her teeth. “You signed second. That means you made a deal with me. And let me tell you, I’m not happy like you swore. Take the cancer Devil, or we’re going to find out how many times I have to pull this trigger to see you dead.”
	He seethes. The room around them grows unbearably hot, the wind outside howls, and there is hate in his eyes when he looks at her. She can see the second he decides what to do. He says, ”Your mistaken little girl. I may have to let you and your beloved live until the end, but it says nothing about taking your cancer, only his.”
	She meets his gaze evenly. “So you won’t take my cancer?”
	“No,” he says bearing his teeth. “Not unless you want to make another deal.” His face sours. “This time with me.”
	Addie nods thoughtfully, letting him think he’s won. When he steps forward, she waits until he’s halfway to her. Then she pulls the trigger. The Devil freezes, eyes flying wide, and he doesn’t have time to leave.
	The gun clicks and she smiles sickly sweet. “50/50 next time. You still wanna play this game?”
	The devil snarls, everything charming going away. “You! Fine, I’ll take your cancer, I’ll allow your happiness. You’ve won this round girlie, but you can’t win them all. To the end of life? Fine! That’s plenty of time for me to get even, just mark my words. You’ll have children and grandchildren and they’ll see me soon enough. I promise you that.”
	Addie’s hand is steady and she doesn’t lower the gun. As she takes her first pain-free breath in days. When she manages to exhale without problem, she opens her mouth and laughs in the devil's face.
	She says, “Your going to hound me until the end of life? Fine! I’ll take your challenge, Devil.” Addie continues, “I have a bullet with your name on it and a fifty percent chance of success. Any descendant of mine will be a fiddler just like my grandpa, and just like me.” Addie looks him dead in the eyes, “You take your chances Devil and I’ll take mine.”
 
","September 08, 2023 17:12",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,whkh7d,Hanging on God’s Pinkie,Marina Pacheco,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/whkh7d/,/short-story/whkh7d/,Dark,0,"['Adventure', 'Drama', 'Contemporary']",8 likes,"
	‘Oh God, oh God, please save me!’ I pray while hanging on to Jesus’s pinkie. 
	Not the actual Jesus, obvs, but a massive concrete Christ the King on the south bank of the Tagus River, his arms stretched wide, blessing the city of Lisbon. 
	‘Please, please, I’ll do anything, just get me out of this mess!’
	I’m currently regretting all my life choices, especially the most recent. I’m a free climber, best in my group of fellow fanatics, so did I back down when I was given this challenge? Hell no!
	As far as I’m aware, nobody has climbed Lisbon’s Cristo Rei. Or at least, nobody has bragged about it, or been caught doing it. Being caught means you lost anyway, even if you make it all the way to the top. 
	I came at night; the place is spotlighted so no problem there, and security is negligible for this tourist attraction. I already took the selfie of me sitting on the King’s head, smirk plus victory sign, Lisbon’s lights still twinkling behind me as the reddish light of dawn outlines the far hills. 
	It was arrogance that made me decide, after scaling the sheer walls, and then the equally featureless holy robes, and up the wavy hair, that – tired as I was – I’d take a walk along the Saviour’s arm. The state of the concrete isn’t pristine; sixty years of sun wind and rain have done their work. Whilst posing for another selfie before Christ’s cupped hand, looking for all the world as if he’s holding me up, the concrete gave and the phone went flying. Scrabbling for a hold – any hold – I slipped out of Jesus’s hand and at the last second sank my bruised and battered fingers into the groove of the pinkie.
	‘For the love of God,’ I pray, trying to keep my cool. Nothing leads to death faster than panic. ‘Please get me out of here.’
	I’ve never been more sincere in my life. I don’t look down. Instead, I try to gather energy to pull myself back up. A part of me feels sorry for the employees who’ll be turning up any moment now to open the ticket office, only to find my mangled corpse at their front door.
	‘No way,’ I mutter through gritted teeth. I’m at full extension, all my weight held by fingers that were already tired; my core muscles are burning too. I’m on borrowed time. ‘Come on God, if ever there was a time to show yourself it would be now.’
	‘God doesn’t make house calls anymore.’
	I look up at the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s dressed in a sharp suit, on his haunches in Jesus’s palm, his hands dangling casually between his knees as he looks down at me.
	‘Are you an angel?’
	‘I suppose you could say that. My name’s Lucifer Morningstar.’
	‘The devil?’
	‘So you know your theology. Or at least God’s side. History is written by the victor and all that, you know?’
	‘Uh-huh. Look, would you mind pulling me up? Then I’d be happy to discuss theology all day long.’
	‘No can do,’ Lucifer says. 
	‘Why not?’
	‘It’s negotiation 101. Right now, you need me desperately. But what can I squeeze out of you if I get you out of danger first?’
	‘What do you want?’ 
	My fingers are slipping and I have to squeeze my grip even tighter.
	‘Your soul, of course,’ Lucifer says, standing up and taking a step so that his shiny black shoes are only millimetres from my fingers. 
	‘Isn’t that a bit of a cliché?’
	I wonder if I have the strength to heave myself forward to lock onto his ankles. Would that make him fall? Would he fly away and leave me to my fate? Or just vanish?
	‘Well, I don’t make the rules’ Lucifer says with a wide-armed shrug that turns him into a parody of the statue.
	‘You don’t?’
	‘Article six, paragraph 12. The devil shall restrict his activities to dominion over hell and the collection of the souls of sinners. The rest of the paragraph details the definition of what makes a human a sinner and under what condition I can collect souls.’
	‘Souls’ implies the person is already dead, doesn’t it?’
	‘Bingo!’
	‘So … you can’t actually help me?’
	‘Article 133, paragraph seven, addendum XI. The devil may only appear in the earthly realm under two conditions: the collection of souls, or to test potential sinners.’
	‘To see whether you can tempt them?’
	‘Exactly!’ Lucifer says and makes a shooting motion at me with his index finger, a wide grin making his handsome face rather maniacal.
	‘So we have to make a deal? ’It’s getting hard to breathe and that’s making it hard to concentrate. ‘How can I make a deal when I’m inches away from death? Isn’t it a bit too obvious what I need?’
	‘True, we’re in the territory of fish and barrels,’ Lucifer says. ‘It makes things too easy and that would be coercion, which is God’s domain.’
	‘Really?’ I say thinking that all I need to do is hold on and the devil will eventually come through, or maybe not. Maybe he’s just enjoying my pathetic efforts to stay alive.
	‘You humans think he loves you, don’t you?’
	‘It’s what the Bible says.’
	‘Yeah, yeah, but that’s basically propaganda, isn’t it? I mean, who wrote it? And even in the book he threatens his so-called beloved people.’
	‘Does he?’ I grunt, sweat is dripping down my face, and between my shoulder blades, my fingers are getting slick.
	‘Even you humans have banned torture. The Geneva convention specifically forbids it. But what do you think hell is? It’s torture for all eternity. That’s a bit much, isn’t it?’
	‘I ‘spose,’ I grind out.
	Since there’s a devil, I’ve decided there’s definitely also a God, and all things considered, I’d rather go to heaven. But that trickster is making me doubt myself, and God for that matter.
	‘What if I say I want to be famous?’
	‘As what?’ Lucifer says, his eyes lighting up – or maybe that’s just the rays of the rising sun; he’s looking even lovelier now, almost golden.
	‘A climber.’
	‘Shall we add in riches? I can get you a great sponsorship deal.’
	‘Okay.’I t’s getting harder and harder to speak.
	‘Mmm,’ Lucifer says staring down at me, ‘this still feels like coercion.’
	‘You better hurry,’ I gasp and my fingers slip.
	This is it, but instead of a free-fall I’ve got a sharp pain because the devil’s got his foot pressed firmly down on the fingers of my right hand.
	‘Fuck!’ I breathe. 
	I’m just dangling by one arm now.
	‘I have too much of an advantage,’ Lucifer says. ‘I need to give you something to negotiate with.’
	‘What else is there but my soul?’ 
	This is too surreal. I relax all my muscles and try to calm my mind. If I can delay a bit longer, maybe I’ll gather enough energy to swing myself back into Jesus’s hand.
	‘If you do nothing for me and I fall now, it’s just a short trip to heaven and eternal relaxation.’
	‘Heaven’s not all it’s cracked up to be,’ Lucifer says. ‘For a start, no pets.’
	‘What do you mean no pets?’
	‘God doesn’t like them. Only beings with souls get into heaven, and animals don’t have souls.’
	‘That’s a bummer,’ I say while focusing on relaxing my shoulders and my core muscles. Every second of rest improves my chances of getting out of this.
	‘Besides,’ Lucifer says, ‘what makes you think your soul is so pristine? You’ve racked up quite a list of sins: breaking and entering, treating the life God gave you with frankly reckless abandon, not to mention petty jealousies and an unwholesome competitive spirit.’
	‘If it was so bad, you wouldn’t have to make a deal with me for my soul. You’d already have it.’
	I’ve started deep breathing, gathering the oxygen and power in my muscles for a swing up.
	‘All the same,’ Lucifer says, ‘you have the option of a deal with me, an easy trip down, and a good fifty years of comfort and renown ahead of you.’
	‘But like you said it’s too easy. How about this for a deal: If I can get out of my predicament without your help, I’m home free. But if I fall, you have to save me, and give me that life of leisure.’
	‘Ah, so you want to treat me as insurance?’
	‘Pretty much. Do we have a deal?’
	‘We do. Are you ready?’ 
	I take a deep final breath and gather all my reserves. Lucifer lifts his foot off my fingers. I swing left, and grab Christ’s pinkie with both hands, then, using the strength in both arms, swing right and up. Every muscle and sinew cracks as I throw myself over the end of the hand, so now I’m sitting astride the middle finger.
	‘I did it!’ I say, grinning like a fool. I’m up. I’m not home free – I’ve got a long descent ahead of me, but I can do that on my own.
	The devil applauds, and his grin grows broader.
	‘Are you sure you don’t want an easy ride down?’
	‘Not that, and not the life of leisure. My bet was to get up and down this damned statue on my own and that’s what I’m going to do.’
	‘Are you sure? Last chance to change your mind. This offer will never be repeated.’
	‘Now you sound like a cheap salesman.’
	Lucifer shrugs and turns to go, then he pauses and looks back at me, an enigmatic smile on his face.
	‘I hope I never see you again.’
	‘Same here,’ I say as he fades into the bright blue sky.
	It takes me hours to get down again, and I’m more shaky than from just the climb. I stagger over to a grassy bank and collapse, lying on my back, staring up at Christ’s wide-open arms. The sun is dazzling and warm. What a mad climb! 
	I gaze down at my right hand and the fingers that are bruised a deep purple, and I wonder whether I did manage all on my own. After all, without the devil’s foot on my fingers, and without that chance to gather my forces, I’d be dead. That makes me start questioning the deal I made and whether it’s a coincidence that there are so many tales of people cheating the devil. 
	Then I’m overcome with laughter. He really is a wily old devil.
","September 14, 2023 10:52","[[{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Clever and witty! Love this imaginative idea. Makes me think you've done some free climbing yourself. Welcome to Reedsy! Thanks for sharing and good luck!"", 'time': '04:58 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Marina Pacheco': ""Thank you for the welcome! I'm actually far too chicken to try free climbing :-)"", 'time': '10:03 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Marina Pacheco': ""Thank you for the welcome! I'm actually far too chicken to try free climbing :-)"", 'time': '10:03 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Fernando César': 'This is a nice twist on the devil. Maybe he’s not as devilish as it sounds… \nVery nice story! Loved the title. 🙂', 'time': '08:36 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,me3fbd,The Smiling Demon,J. William,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/me3fbd/,/short-story/me3fbd/,Dark,0,"['Speculative', 'Horror', 'Suspense']",7 likes,"
Warning: Reader Discretion is Advised.
 
This story depicts substance abuse, dark sorcery, bodily mutilation, and sexual content. It is not a pleasant tale. You may struggle to sleep at night upon completion, or maybe you will hear the weeping of all the souls she has stolen. I would stop reading now if I were you, for she latches onto your darkest thoughts and feeds on your greatest fears. Perhaps you take these warnings lightly—maybe you are a bold individual who enjoys the adrenaline rush of living in a nightmare. Very well, continue if you must. If she knocks on your door tonight, you better pray she does not smile.
 
Introduction
 
The line that separates science from sorcery represents man and womankind’s shortcomings. It is a thin, permeable barrier, easily crossed, but to do so comes with great sacrifice. Authors have penned magical words onto pages for centuries untold—strings of squiggly lines with the power to summon spirits, both benevolent and malevolent. Most grimoires are strictly forbidden and kept under lock and key, never to see the light of day, while others have vanished entirely. I grew up in the village of Dicabro, where two such spell books were unearthed.
The summoning happened thirty-three years ago, but an ominous shadow of evil has followed me ever since. I hardly know who I am anymore, but that is through no fault of my own. Despite my yearning for a peaceful life, any hopes of such tranquility will never come to fruition, for she will find me again.
 
Past
 
Brandon, my older brother by two years, was a high school senior. Unlike him, I had no friends aside from my orange cat, Ricky, who had a cute pink nose. As a teenager, I was incredibly awkward and painfully shy. My graduating class would have had only nineteen other students–I was the outcast. Carly and her boyfriend, Norton, were the worst, they led the others in tormenting me, something they started doing in first grade–we were sophomores when the summoning happened. It was the sixth day of the sixth month when it all started. Norton invited a freshman named Drew, the only kid at Dicabro High School more despised than me, to play a game later that evening. The residents of our littoral farming community habitually chastised the poor kid for no reason other than they could—police officers, teachers, students, and even the other parents targeted Drew. They teased me, too, but not as relentlessly. He always looked like he was suffocating in a fog of undeserved animosity but still pined for friendship. Drew accepted Carly and Norton’s invitation against his better judgment, saying he would join them in the cornfield later that evening.
Later that day, Brandon said I would be joining him and his upperclassmen buddies in the forest abutting our father's trailer. Our father, Reverend Dale, preached at the local Baptist church on Sundays and drank whiskey the other six days. He was abusive, often thrashing Brandon and me with his belt. He said it would cure our foolishness, but that was a mere excuse to hit us whenever he felt the sick urge to show dominance. Dad was a boorish oaf who drove our mother away, and I hated him more than anyone else in Dicabro, aside from Carly and Norton. Unfortunately, Brandon was a faster runner than me growing up, so I was usually on the belt’s receiving end. I always had at least one or two welts on my behind.
My brother was always less than kind toward me growing up, but sometimes he would show pity if Dad had just whooped my ass. Two months before the summoning, something changed about Brandon—he became more violent, and his words were more threatening than before. It all started shortly after he started hanging out with Timothy, Norton’s older brother. They would sneak into the forest to smoke marijuana and drink stale, cheap beer.
Five weeks before the summoning, Brandon snuck up behind me during school lunch, grabbed the back of my underwear, and lifted me upward, giving me a wedgie over my head, eyes, and even my nose. The other students laughed and jeered, as did a few cafeteria workers. While blinded by my underwear, someone jabbed my arm with a needle and withdrew blood. Brandon squeezed the back of my neck and whispered in my ear. “Say anything, and I will beat your face into such a bloody pulp it would make Dad proud!”
A week before the summoning, Brandon ripped a chunk of hair from my head and threatened to kill Ricky if I told anyone. I blamed his newfound friendship with Timothy for the malicious behavior, but little did I know the truth was more wicked than anything I could have ever imagined. Then, a few hours before the summoning, I lost my virginity, but have not been with a woman since. I was a fool who should have known something was awry since Alicia was not only a friend of Brandon’s, but also way out of my league. She approached me after school and seductively invited me to ride in her truck. She parked on the side of a nearby cornfield and removed her pants–mine came off next. It was euphoric, but the most pleasurable minute of my life wound up costing me everything and turning Dicabro into a literal nightmare. Alicia stole my loaded condom, pushed me out of her truck, and sped away, cackling like a madwoman. Brandon called thirty seconds later, reminding me to meet them in the forest at seven o’clock. He then sent me a picture of Timothy holding Ricky by the scruff of his neck. My helpless cat looked so frightened. Brandon was a monster and no longer my brother. I had no choice but to obey, for I could not let Ricky die.
 
***
 
Timothy taunted Ethan, a member of their entourage, “You’re shivering like a little girl, bro! We’re doing it tonight. Do you want out, or do you have a pair between your legs?”
“No!”
“No? You don’t have a pair between your legs?”
“No, as in, I don’t want out. I’m not a bitch.”
It was half-past six o’clock, and I crouched in a patch of tall grass, spying on my brother and his friends. Their hangout spot was a circular clearing with a stacked pile of firewood in the center. Timothy, Ethan, Alicia, and Brandon lounged in lawn chairs surrounding the logs, smoking weed and drinking rye whiskey. They were joined by Ella and Morris, two juniors who would never reach their senior year. Timothy passed over Ethan and gave the sparked joint to Alicia.
We lived in the hauntingly beautiful, northern part of Michigan. The Mitten State's iconic thumb-shaped peninsula, which touches Lake Huron and Saginaw Bay, is southeast of Dicabro, just across the bay. The verdant trees of Dicabro, predominantly broadleaf, were as beautiful as always, exuding lushness and vibrancy. A sweet fragrance of blooming flowers mingled with the stench of burnt cannabis. I noticed a cat carrier on Timothy’s lap and heard Ricky mewling from the inside. He blew smoke into my cat’s face, which really pissed me off. I was close to my breaking point.
My brother turned to face Alicia and laughed in her face. “I cannot believe you actually did it! You had sex with my brother... eww... you’re loyal to our cause, I’ll give you that! But that is so gross!”
“You’re lucky I didn’t ask you to do it,” Timothy said to Brandon with a strange look in his eyes as if it were not a joke. My feelings were bruised, and my heart shattered like glassware, for even though they were all wicked bastards, their words still felt like the stabbing of a dagger. However, consoling my hurt feelings was far less important than saving Ricky’s life.
Alicia reached into her purse, and my heart raced with trepidation. She removed my used condom, which she had placed in a jar, a vial of my blood, and a sandwich bag with a chunk of my hair. I could not help but feel a sense of unease, knowing they were torturing me for a reason beyond entertainment. Brandon removed a serrated steak knife from his backpack and a heavy book bound in scarlet leather; the title was written in a language not derived from the Latin alphabet. Timothy removed a machete from his backpack, and to my horror, he yanked Ricky out of his crate by the scruff of his neck. My helpless cat shrieked for help, and I almost budged. Over the past two months, they have collected my blood, hair, and semen, but now they have kidnapped my cat, bringing an innocent party into the mix. Ricky’s terrified mewls were enough to make me sob. After blowing my cover, I pulled the butcher’s knife I had brought from my boot and charged Timothy, wanting nothing more than to save my best friend. As I sprinted by, Brandon stuck out his foot, causing me to trip and crash onto the coarse ground. The knife fell from my grasp and clattered out of reach. The impact was enough to knock the wind from my lungs. I could feel my heart pounding like a steel drum as I struggled to breathe. Brandon mercilessly stomped on the back of my head, driving my face deeper into the dirt. I heard my nose crack and felt the warmth of blood.
My brother had given Alicia the scarlet grimoire moments before tripping me, and she started chanting in the wicked language. Brandon pulled my face from the dirt and pointed the steak knife at my left eye. The forested area grew more shaded than natural as Alicia’s voice grew louder, and the firewood spontaneously ignited. Timothy ripped the grimoire from her hands and chanted in her stead. Meanwhile, she grabbed my vial of blood and dumped the contents into the flames, which turned black—my used condom and bag of hair went in next. Brandon lifted my eyelid and stabbed me with the serrated blade. Showing no mercy, he ripped my eye from its socket and cast it into the inferno.
 
***
 
I started screaming but made no sound. I could see the cornfield north of Dicabro, three miles from the forest. Carly and Norton shared turns reading from a grimoire similar to my brother’s scarlet edition; however, its shade of peach was grossly identical to my skin tone. Despite being able to see everything, I could not find my body or hear anything, and my surroundings kept changing as if someone were passing me back and forth like a baby. I looked downward and checked my peripherals; all I could see was the leather book. I wanted to scream upon realizing my eye was part of the binding, having been sewn into the leather–what kind of sorcery was this?
Drew lay on the ground, bound and gagged, missing his right eye. The couple had stolen blood, hair, and semen from the freshman, as Brandon and his friends had done to me. Carly dumped Drew’s vial of blood into a small fire, accompanied by his hair and semen. The flames were black. She took the grimoire from Norton, giving me a better view of the cornfield. Norton tossed Drew’s eye into the flames, and a sudden chill swept through the cornfield. My eye, unable to blink, fixated on a shadowy figure amidst the cornstalks swathed in a wispy cloak of swirling black clouds. Her skin was necrosing.
“Who has summoned me to this realm?”
“It was I, Norton Simon, who summoned you, Quinn, the Oracle Goddess!”
The demonic woman moved inward while slowly removing her hood. Her grotesque face was enough to make anyone’s stomach churn, for there was nothing but an oversized mouth and pink, bulging veins that crisscrossed all over her pale skin. Her coarse black hair nearly touched the ground. Carly gasped upon realizing they had summoned the wrong entity. Quinn was supposed to be beautiful, with cascading blonde hair and sapphires for eyes, but this demon’s mouth curved upward into a hideous, bloodthirsty smile.
 
***
 
Brandon shook me awake and slapped my face a few times before I returned to the forest. What in the hell just happened? I had to warn them.
“Do you mean to summon the Oracle Goddess?” I asked with a quiver in my tone.
“Why?”
“I saw a demon in the cornfield north of here… but it wasn’t Quinn. You’re about to summon something else!”
“What are you talking about?”
I saw the scarlet-bound book in Timothy’s grasp–Drew’s right eye was sewn into the binding. His eye scanned the forest--he was as confused as I had been. The leaves rustled ominously in the wind as if the trees whispered something sinister. At that moment, the Smiling Demon from the cornfield emerged from the shadows, lurking behind Brandon. Timothy dropped my cat upon seeing her. Ricky was smart and ran away—to this day, I pray he found a loving home.
The demon lowered her hood with one hand and squeezed my brother’s throat with the other. Her ravenous mouth curved upward into a smile, for she was insatiably hungry. The Smiling Demon pulled Brandon’s face into her mouth, bit down, and began her feast. The slurping sound of her devouring his face still haunts me. Also, I swear I heard Drew weeping from underneath her cloak, but I ran before learning more—I heard Carly and Norton wailing, too. After thoroughly devouring my brother’s face, the Smiling Demon dropped his body like a worthless sack of meat before pursuing Timothy, who had wet himself. Ethan stood frozen in fear, watching Brandon writhe in agony; he was still alive, but faceless. Alicia tried to escape the chaos unfolding before us, and thought it only fair to push her into the flames—she could suffer the same fate as my stolen eye.
My father’s trailer was less than a mile away. I fled the scene, running through tall grass and avoiding every low-hanging branch I could, but the Smiling Demon drew nearer with each frantic step. I could hear the anguished cries of my brother amongst everyone else who helped summon her. Brandon begged for help, while Timothy simply wept. Carly screamed “NO!” again and again, and Norton questioned why there was no light. Upon hearing Drew’s innocent pleas, I glimpsed behind me and immediately regretted my decision upon seeing her grotesque appearance. The faces of her victims were crudely stitched into her skin, their eyes and mouths screaming and twisting as if trying to escape. The cacophony of wailing, damned souls followed me into my father’s trailer. He was helpless after I stole his truck—sorry, Dad. I sped away from Dicabro, racing south until the gas tank was only a few droplets from empty.
The Smiling Demon visited everyone’s house that night, searching for me, saying I was indebted. She devoured every face in Dicabro that night, making them part of her. The government dismisses Dicabro and the Smiling Demon as mere mythology, refusing to acknowledge their existence.
 
Present
 
The buildings in Tokyo are enormous, and the sidewalks are always crowded during the day. I have been in Japan, on Honshu Island, thousands of miles from my last home in New York City, for over a month. The sound of trains rushing by and thousands of nearby conversations between people I have never met mingles with the scent of freshly caught fish and the sea’s salty breeze. The smell differs from the pinewood scent characterizing northern Michigan. Yet, I fear she will find me in this most random of places.
My eyepatch makes me conspicuous in most crowds, so I walk with my head down and hood pulled up. I have changed my name twenty-three times and moved fifty-five since escaping Dicabro. The line that separates science from sorcery represents man and womankind’s shortcomings, for we are helpless if a monster from the other side attacks. The line is a thin, permeable barrier, quite simple to cross, but doing so often comes with great sacrifice. Every devoured face sewn into her necrosing skin is proof of what happens when we humans summon something not of this world.
My suite is on the twelfth floor of a thirty-story apartment complex. I never have visitors and do not claim any friends. I do not own any books or maps, for they contain words, and all the letters on my appliances, boxes, and other packages get crossed out before entering my suite. I have 777 crosses hanging on the walls, sitting on shelves, and even decorating my appliances and windows. The crosses bring me minimal comfort—perhaps I lost part of my soul when my eye was stolen. I can see her during the night, and whenever I dream, I jump awake only after she caught me. Presently, I stand in the hallway, fumbling with my keychain. After unlocking the door and passing through the living room, I enter my bedroom. Two books lay on my bed: one is bound in scarlet leather, and the other looks more like skin. They are the grimoires Timothy and Norton unearthed two months before the summoning. She has found me; very well, I have grown tired of running.
With a trembling hand, I place my palm on the skin-colored grimoire. My eye, sewn into the leather, stares back at me. The room is silent aside from my wicked chanting. The words feel heavy on my tongue, and I feel a darkness brewing within, for I have never spoken in the Satanic language before now, nor have I tried to summon Lucifer. Little did I know, the Devil had been chasing me this whole time.
“I’m sorry, Jordan,” I hear Brandon whisper from behind.
“So that’s my name,” I respond, somewhat happy to remember myself, and oddly ready to accept my fate. She stands behind me, salivating, and smiling, too.
","September 13, 2023 13:47","[[{'Allen Learst': 'I think this would be a better begging. It grounds me in the story and sets up potential conflict: Our father, Reverend Dale, preached at the local Baptist church on Sundays and drank whiskey the other six days. He was abusive, often thrashing Brandon and me with his belt. He said it would cure our foolishness, but that was a mere excuse to hit us whenever he felt the sick urge to show dominance. Dad was a boorish oaf who drove our mother away, and I hated him more than anyone else in Dicabro, aside from Carly and Norton. Unfortunately, Bran...', 'time': '22:15 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,7s50ko,Backstage Door.,Ken Cartisano,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/7s50ko/,/short-story/7s50ko/,Dark,0,"['Suspense', 'Horror']",7 likes,"
This was not my first stint as a stand-up comic, but it was shaping up to be my last. Mac, the Manager, had given me several consecutive dates months ago, and I never managed to fill even half the room, but Mac was desperate when he called me that morning.Hired to fill in for a more popular act, the crowd was a touch hostile. Most of them had come to see Abe Jordan. His name was on the marquee after all, and I was hoping he would show up for his last two sets because I was bombing big-time with the audience.I tossed my cigarette in the gutter and went inside to get the next set over with.A half-hour later, Mac, the manager waved me over to his cubicle-sized office. I already knew what he was going to say.“I’m sorry Jackie…”“I know…”“…but I gotta let you go.”“I know but…”“You need better material, Jackie.”“Yeah, well, it was pretty short…”“Or a better schtick.”“A better…”He held up his hand to stop me. “I got the word from the big-shots upstairs. I explained the situation. Told them their main act didn’t show so I called you in off the bench. But they don’t give a shit. They want me to give everyone a raincheck. It’s a fucking mess. I hate giving out rainchecks. I appreciate your help, Jackie, even if they don’t.”I think he had more to say and then thought better of it. Stand-up comedy is brutal, dog-eat-dog, and part of Mac’s job was quality control. I simply wasn’t up to the club’s standards. I don’t think I was really cut out to be a comedian at all. “I understand,” I said. “Did you hear from Jordan?”“Yeah, said he was on his way. He’ll handle the last set. That should appease the savages.” He shook his head and shrugged, then handed me a couple of crisp hundred-dollar bills, chump change, and added, “Don’t spend it all at the bar.”I didn’t.That was the end of that career.It had rained during my grisly final set, everything was wet and shiny when I stepped out the backstage door into the alley. I was startled by a man standing in the shadows just a few feet from the door. He was dressed in black except for a long white scarf. He wore a top hat, which he politely tipped in my direction. He resembled a magician, but, the residual comic in me thought, ‘Oh great, just what I need, a confrontation with Jack-the-Ripper.’He said, “You’re the comic named Jackie, right? Jackie-the-ripper.”“I was,” I said, with a touch of sarcasm. “Do I know you?”He seemed pleasant enough as he stepped forward out of the shadows. “Not really,” he said. His smile was brief and cold. He produced a black cane from out of nowhere. “So—how’d you do in there? You knock ‘em dead? Were you killing it?”“T’yeah, right,” I said. ‘I couldn’t even get a laugh out of a bunch of drunks.’“Oh, that’s too bad. I’ve no patience for fools and drunks, they’re exempt from contracts.” He tilted his head from side to side. “Those are the rules, though. Right? It goes with free will and all that other crap.”I was not in the mood for an existential chat with a weirdo in the alley at midnight. Not tonight anyway.I felt a twinge of guilt when he said, “Well, you certainly have the wits to be funny, what’s the problem, material?”“No, I’ve got some funny stuff. I pay for half my material. I don’t know, it’s either my appearance, or my timing. Not sure.”“Yes, timing,” he said, making the cane disappear with one hand, while producing a cigarette case with the other. “Timing is everything.”I was impressed with his sleight of hand. “Maybe I should dress like you,” I said, suddenly feeling hilarious.He held out the case, allowing it to open. “Would you like to knock ‘em dead?” He said, offering me a cigarette.I accepted one and put it between my lips. It was a stupid question. “Well of course I would.”“I could make that happen,” he said. “Easily.” The sound of a steel Zippo lighter clanged moments before a flame appeared in front of my face: a large, fluttering, orange inferno that threatened to set my hair on fire. “Jesus!” I said, leaning back, and I thought I saw a fleeting wince flash across his features.“That’s quite the flame-thrower you’ve got there, mister,” I said, tilting my head, inhaling the enticingly aromatic smoke.“Thank you. Nice, isn’t it?” He said, holding it out in the palm of his hand, as if I should take it.It was a burnished black with beveled edges. On each side it possessed a singularly gruesome holographic skull that seemed to float deep within the wafer-thin lighter. It was almost mesmerizing, and I realized, quite by chance – that he was moving his hand slightly, enhancing the holograms effect. I looked up to see him studying me and felt an unconscious shiver, though the night was warm and humid.“Yeah, it’s nice,” I said, a subtle insult. Like saying it’s chilly in Antarctica. The lighter was so cool, so thin, I didn’t see how it could even work.“Exactly,” he said.I know it’s impossible, but at this point, I felt like he really was reading my mind. I instinctively stepped backwards. Something about him raised the hair on the back of my neck. It was just about midnight, not a soul in sight but the two of us, and unnaturally quiet: Not even the sound of a car on a distant street could be heard.“You have nothing to fear from me,” he said. “You just need a good promoter. I could turn you into an overnight success…” He snapped his fingers for effect and I thought I saw sparks. “…like that.” Despite an inner core of reluctance, his offer was surprisingly tempting, but for an errant thought that popped into my head, fresh from my own subconscious: ‘Nothing in this world could make you a great comic.’The cigarette’s exotic aroma was intoxicating. I took another deep drag and examined it as I exhaled, looking for the brand. There was just the faint image of a skull.I felt a sudden and acute sense of dread and foreboding when a church bell began to toll somewhere in the night. I wanted to flee but felt transfixed in time and place. As if the man had a physical hold on me. The stage door opened, nearly hitting me in the back. Mac, the manager, appeared in the doorway. “Where the hell is Jordan, goddammit?” He swore, looking up and down the alleyway.As echoes of the church bells died away, the manager looked at me curiously, put a hand on my shoulder and said, “What are you still doing here?”I dropped the cigarette and slipped inside the building.Abe Jordan never showed up. I stuck around for another hour, totally creeped out by ‘Mr. Skull, then waited for a mass exodus near closing and placed myself in the middle of the throng all the way to the parking lot.The next day, Mac called me around noon and asked me if I’d heard from his missing comic. After some discussion about who was where and what was said, I brought up the magician in the alley and his amazing sleight of hand, wondering if Mac knew who he was.The manager was dismissive. “What magician? We don’t have any magic acts, other than you. First you make the customers disappear, then the other comedians.”Before I could say, ‘That’s not funny,’ Mac hung up.A few days later, by pure chance, I happened to glimpse the missing comic through the window of an upscale café, a restaurant I couldn’t afford to eat at. I pushed my way past the blustering maître d and found Abe Jordan dining alone in a comfortable booth.I sat down and said, ‘Remember me?’He did. “How ya doing?”I told him how badly I performed in his place and asked him why he never showed up for his own damned gig. I was still annoyed, and I’m sure it showed.“I did, actually,” he said, dabbing his chin with a napkin. “It’s a funny story.”I stared at his sumptuous breakfast, waiting for his bullshit explanation.“I ran into this guy in the alley by the back door.”“At the club?” I asked, just to be clear.“Yeah. He stepped out of the shadows just as I was about to go in, dressed like…”“Dressed like Jack-the-Ripper?” I suggested.“Well? Yeah, I suppose. I figured he was just some rich fag in a costume. Told me he could turn me into an overnight sensation. ‘I’d knock ‘em dead,’ he said.”“So what happened?” I asked, sliding closer to his eggs. Surreptitiously smelling them while pretending not to.“I told him to get lost. Whattaya think?”“Oh,” I said, “but…”“But,” he continued, “the guy whipped out a contract and ten grand in cash. Says he’s in earnest. Says he slit a guy’s throat once for assuming he was gay, but he’d let my attitude slide this once.”“Wow,” I said.“That’s not ‘wow’, wow was the ten grand and the contract. He signed it too, and said he was ‘compelled’ to honor its terms.”“What were its terms?” I asked. “You didn’t sign it, I hope.”He looked out the window. “I did sign it.” He took a sip of his coffee and looked me in the eye. “So what? It’s bullshit, Jackie. A contract signed in demon’s blood? For my soul? Jesus, give me a break. The guy was a crackpot.”“Oh.” I said, “So the money wasn’t real either, then.”After a long, suspended, pause—he said, “The money was real.” He looked out the window again.“Did you spend any?”“I celebrated. I’m done working off strip, for pennies. I’ve got some big-time irons in the fire—and cash in my pocket.”God those eggs smelled good. “Sounds to me like you have a deal, buddy, unless you give that guy his money back.”He rolled his eyes and fixed me with a hard stare. “I ever see that guy again? I’ll cave his head in with a crowbar.”He shoveled more food into his maw while I stared at him. “What?” He asked, after swallowing.I took a deep breath. “I don’t think you can break deals with guys like that.”“Fuck him. What’s he gonna do? Put a curse on me? I hired a body guard. I’ll be fine. I don’t have to honor a deal with a nut-case in an alley, Jackie. Consumer protection laws give us three days to back out of a deal.” He was done with the subject, and me, it appeared. “How ‘bout we get together next week? Give me a ring. I’ll make it up to you.”“I don’t have your number, Abe.”“Oh,” he said. “Well I have yours, I’ll call you, then. How about that?”What could I say? I barely knew the guy, and we both knew he would never call me. The silence lengthened until I said, “That’d be great, Abe. You’re sure you have my number?” I almost laughed. Instead, I slid out of the booth without waiting for an answer. He didn’t even offer to order me a cup of coffee. None of the waitresses had bothered to ask me if I wanted anything, either.“I got it,” he says. “And I really am grateful Jackie, no kidding. Now get out of here and let me finish my breakfast.”A few days later I heard a rumor about a guy in Vegas who had such a funny act that people could not stop laughing.A week after that, I overheard some customers discussing something they’d heard on one of those trashy entertainment shows, about a comedian who was so funny, dozens of people had reportedly died with laughter as a result of his act. I almost snorted into an espresso and their three latte’s. A barista’s job is not glamorous, but at least it paid the bills. The tips weren’t bad, either.A few months later, the Las Vegas Health Department issued a press release concerning suspected Legionnaires Disease at a prominent Vegas venue. The Casino owners were furious, citing a lack of forensic or biological evidence to support such a claim. The story dropped from the news after an unnamed Health Department official said, and I quote, “The Casino would have us believe that dozens of people fell ill and died from jokes told by an up-and-coming comic. Let’s be serious now, people.”Finally, another popular comedian who I refuse to name told me he was there when it happened. He said “The comedian’s name was Abe Jordan…”I mumbled a curse under my breath.“…and he wasn’t really that funny. But for some reason, his jokes, his delivery, or his timing was so good, he made people laugh so hard that their hearts couldn’t take the strain.”The casinos have deep pockets and long arms, so Jordan was soon indicted by a grand jury, charged and arraigned and represented by a world-renowned attorney who accepted the case free of charge. The show trial was conducted in a light-hearted manner, and when they put him on the stand in his own defense, nine of the jurors, the judge and two bailiffs died laughing in mid-testimony.It was quite a startling affair and while he was leaving the courthouse with his lawyer, he was taken into custody by large, serious men, wearing dark sunglasses, driving black, unmarked cars.Nobody’s heard from him since. It was like he was cursed.
","September 14, 2023 13:50","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Great story telling. Beware back alley deals.', 'time': '04:54 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'Hey Ken. This story surprised me, with the comedic subject matter I was expecting your madcap wit bouncing all over the place. But this tale had a more regretful tone which suits the prompt much better.\n\nDoubly surprised when the MC turned down the Magicians offer, that was a nice reversal seeing how it played out with Abe. What is the cost of fame and fortune eh?\n\nThe interaction in the back alley is where this story really shone brightest, the dialogue, the disappearing cane, the strange cigarettes and lighter, all built a marvellous intri...', 'time': '06:03 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,d7m2w0,The Devil and I,Kang Lee,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/d7m2w0/,/short-story/d7m2w0/,Dark,0,"['Drama', 'Fantasy', 'Suspense']",7 likes,"
Torrential rain screamed down upon the beach. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the black clouds before flickering off again. Sharp blows of wind blasted by, swirling into massive sandstorms above the inky-black water. Crows flew around, which I could barely make out from the dark sky. 
“Are you sure this is the right place?” the frenzied taxi driver asked, trying his best to maneuver the car on the disintegrating mud track. Just half an hour ago, a strong gust of wind had blasted the taxi into a ditch, and it had taken twenty minutes for us to get out of the pit. There were still brown stains on the widows. 
“Of course,” I replied, staring out the windows. In the distance, a skyscraper jutted out of a hill, piercing through the sky.
The driver grunted. “Such arrogance coming from someone so young. Especially since you need me to wait for you to pick you up after your appointment.” He spat the word like he was saying “excrement”. “Why do you even want to meet the Therapist anyway?”
“I need his assistance,” I snapped.
I was still clutching the brochure I had picked up from the train station. Escape to paradise without needing to pay money, it read, along with explicit directions on how to go to the Therapist’s office. Of course, I knew who the Therapist really was. 
The driver pulled the car next to the entrance, adorned with wreaths of violent nightshades. Small fountains splashed and bubbled around the revolving glass door, in front of which two burly security guards patrolled the property. 
Their eyes narrowed at me as I stepped out of the taxi, clutching only the pamphlet and my school bag. 
“State your business,” one of the guards ordered. 
“I’m here on an appointment with the Therapist,” I replied, pointing at the pamphlet for good measures. 
After thoroughly inspecting my belongings–and by that I mean taking a magnifying glass and painstakingly going through my bag–the guards stepped aside to let me through. 
The revolving doors led to a Gothic lobby with a neat spiral staircase rising out of the centre, a large oak desk with a bored receptionist, a quaint café selling afternoon tea and macarons, and a fleet of five glass elevators. 
As soon as I entered the lobby, the receptionist snapped to attention. “How may I assist you?” she asked, looking glad to have something to kill time with.
“I have an appointment with the Therapist,” I replied. “How can I get to his office?”
“Take the third elevator to the top floor. As soon as you get off the elevator, he’ll know you’re there.”
That seemed rather unsettling to me, but then again, traveling across the country to meet up with a stranger was not what I’d call normal. 
The elevator was waiting for me. Soft lofi music hummed in the background as the glass car zoomed upward toward the office, which eased my nerves. After ninety seconds of flying upwards, the doors opened with a pleasant ding. 
As soon as I stepped out of the car, I immediately understood what the receptionist had meant. The aura of something–or someone, more precisely–enveloped the room, tingling my arms. Ideas and thoughts I had never dreamed of began to take shape inside of me: how to best hide from the police, how to lie perfectly, how to cleanly murder someone. It was like a consciousness was wrapping around me, infecting my thoughts…
Suddenly, ebony mist thickened in front of me, morphing into a man in his middle ages. He had striking wine-coloured eyes and wavy caramel hair. Dressed in a black leather jacket and leather pants, he looked like he had stepped out of the cover of a sports magazine. 
“Hello, Samael,” the man purred. “I am the Therapist–”
“You mean the Devil himself,” I corrected. 
His plastic smile only grew. “Indeed I am. Now, as a certified psychologist and counselor, I can help you with your problems in life.”
He conjured up two red sofas and a coffee table with a red mug on it. 
“How?” I gasped, staring at the red mug. 
The red mug was filled with hot chocolate topped with whipped cream spiraling like an ice cream cone. There were even miniature marshmallows sprinkled in the drink. It was exactly what my favourite childhood drink was. 
“I know my clients,” the Devil replied, gesturing at me to sit down and enjoy the drink. “You booked an appointment with me, which means you want something otherwise impossible to get. Tell me your story.”
I stared at the whipped cream slowly disintegrating into the hot chocolate. In many ways it represented my life: stable at first glance but insidiously breaking down once you look a bit closer. 
“I’m having many challenges with my life in general,” I explained, trying hard to look away from the Devil’s piercing eyes. I could still feel the magnetic tug radiating from him; if I didn’t keep my guard up, all of my thoughts might be taken over by the Devil. “Like, I can’t tell you how much.”
“You’re going to need to.” He slowly smoothed the collar of his jacket. “I’ve got nothing but time.”
“No one in school likes me. Not even my teachers. They all think I’m super weird.”
“As I recall, your peers and teachers think you’re psychotic because you broke your best friend’s arm,” the Devil recalled. “After breaking his arm, you proceeded to break his leg and then toss him up a tree like a rag doll.”
An inferno raged on my cheeks. “He provoked me first!”
“Anyhow, go ahead,” the Devil encouraged. “What other problems in life do you have, other than the fact that you’re a complete social reject?”
“All my investments are tanking as well,” I continued. “Not only that, the lemonade stand I set up went bankrupt.”
“That was because everyone that hates you decided to boycott everything you held dear.” The most unsettling and infuriating thing was that the Devil wasn’t asking me; rather, he was bringing me up to speed with my own life. 
“Yes,” I conceded. “I’m also super ugly.”
The Devil looked cosmically bored at that point. In fact, he conjured up a cup of coffee just to stay awake. “Is that all you need my help with?”
“I’ve also descended into heavy dissatisfaction and depression as a result of the several years of bombardment I’ve received,” I added. “I’ve tried everything under the Sun to return my life to normality, but nothing has worked. For Heaven’s sake, I’ve even consulted a genie! So I’ve turned to you.”
The Devil snapped his fingers, and a scroll appeared in his hands. “So, to be clear, these are your wishes: to restore all interpersonal relationships with your classmates and teachers; to have a stable source of income after your investments and your lemonade business failed; to look attractive; and to be cured of your subsequent mental health problems.”
“That seems about right,” I agreed. I finished the hot chocolate. Despite its glamorous appearance, it was dull and tasteless. 
The Devil spread the scroll across the coffee table. He had pre-written all of my requests in black ink in beautiful calligraphy. There was a dotted line at the bottom of the scroll. 
“When you sign this contract, all of your wishes will be granted,” the Devil explained. “And my powers are guaranteed to be one hundred percent effective in eliminating problems.”
“Excellent!” I exclaimed. 
“However, there’s the matter of payment to be settled.” The room seemed to darken. 
“I already told you, I don’t have any money,” I retorted. “I can’t possibly pay you until you grant my wishes.”
“I don’t need money.” The Devil’s plastic smile vanished, being replaced with a frozen glare. “In exchange for granting all of your wishes, I get to take away anything I want from you.”
“Um…why?”
“Everything has a cost, Samael. And don’t you think letting you live a happy, rich, fulfilling life has the most expensive cost? The price I’m setting is merely this: I want to have your soul.”
“You’re going to steal my soul?” I echoed. 
“I never said that. All that will happen is this: a sliver of my existence will wrap around your soul, safeguarding it, should you sign this contract. A pretty simple deal, if you ask me. Remember, the contract gives you limitless joy in your currently mediocre and melancholy life.”
A quill pen appeared in my hands. 
I thought about my disappointed parents and my estranged best friends. But what would happen to me if I gave in to the Devil’s demands?
But then again, the worst thing that could happen would be hearing the Devil’s voice in my head from time to time. And the Devil couldn’t possibly betray me with the amiability he had displayed. 
So in the history of the worst decisions anyone could’ve made, I signed the contract. 
 
***
 
“How have you been?” The Devil grinned, spraying whipped cream onto two mugs of hot chocolate. As usual, there were vibrant marshmallows haphazardly thrown about. The smell of vanilla wafted from the mug, filling the room with a dizzyingly sweet aroma. 
“Wonderful,” I replied, fingering the diamond watch locked onto my wrist. 
It had been six months since the Devil had granted my wishes, and every single one of them had been met. The Devil had reconstructed my social life, enhanced my appearance, allowed me to become bright and optimistic, and granted a fortune to me. I had all but forgotten about the Devil until last night, in my dream, and ordered me to come to his office. 
“I trust that your life is now free of problems?” he asked, handing me a cup. 
When I nodded, he continued, “I need your help for something. In exchange for everything I’ve done for you, I think it’s a pretty minor favour.
“All I need you to do is end something.”
“What?” I asked, lost in thought. “A relationship? A business?”
“A life.” He sipped his hot chocolate while carefully studying me with those wine eyes. 
My heart stopped. “What?”
The Devil slowly stalked towards the window that overlooked the stormy beach. From where we were, the swirling clouds of dust looked like hazy and dynamic outlines of the beach, and the stormy ocean itself was a crumpled-up sheet of navy-blue paper.
“Eons ago, there was a large community of deities that ruled over the cosmos in Mount Olympus. The King of All Gods, Zeus, appointed every minor god with a role to fulfill. 
“Zeus granted me the role of gatekeeping all of the ancient powers and energy in the world, and I dutifully guarded knowledge from the unworthy. 
“But over time, I trained myself in the most ancient and most powerful forms of magic. I learnt how to make all desires come true, for example. I also learnt how to cast an execration spell that could destroy even an immortal deity’s life force, something not thought possible before.”
“And you killed someone?” I whispered, barely swallowing the huge lump in my throat. 
The Devil snorted. “Every single day of my life, I regret not having done so. As soon as Zeus and the other gods learnt about what I had been doing, they banished me from the heavens and taught mortal followers that I was inherently diabolical. They tied my consciousness to a lonely beach bombarded with a constant tempest.”
“But you’re here,” I reminded him, pointing at him and the diamond watch he had practically bought for me. 
Within Stormy Beach and this skyscraper, my full self exists. But outside of these premises, only slivers of my abilities can escape. Which is where you come in.
“Ever since my banishment, my sole mission has been to bring down Mount Olympus and destroy everyone living on it by casting the execration spell. But since I can’t very much do anything, I need someone on the outside to do it for me.”
The world started spinning. “You don’t mean me, do you?”
The Devil chuckled. “Oh, I do mean you. The execration itself is very simple; all you need to do is find the god’s shadow and recite an incantation to store it to a solid, like a stone or a plank of wood. After that, you need to demolish the solid. Luckily for us, I know the incantation and the location of the god’s shadow; in fact, Zeus’s shadow is hidden under Hampstead Heath, which is an hour’s walk from here.”
My hot chocolate nearly made a return. “I’m not going to execrate Zeus because of a vendetta you have against him!”
The room blackened, and ice crystals pierced through my whipped cream cone. The Devil’s gripped me by the shoulder, his hand more frozen than Antarctica. 
“I don’t need to remind you of what I have in possession, do I?” he snarled, shoving me onto the ground. He placed his left boot onto my stomach, slowly adding pressure to it. “I have your soul, Samael, what your existence is built out of. What do you think will happen if I destroy it?”
“Don’t!” I shrieked. 
Faint light glinted off of the Devil’s smirk. “It sounds like we have a deal then.”
He conjured up a black book and a stone and tossed them to me. “The incantation is written on the thirty-ninth page. Find the only sycamore inside the Heath, place a block of stone in front of the sycamore where it can absorb moonlight, and recite the incantation. You mustn’t take any pauses, or else the execration will fail. When the incantation is finished, the stone should be pure white. Bring it back to me, and I’ll handle things from there.”
Before I left the skyscraper, the Devil locked eyes with me. “Remember, your entire existence is within my control.”
***
I found the sycamore tree in the dead centre of Hampstead Heath. A blood moon glared down from the sky, bathing the field in an eerie maroon glow. Combined with the absence of the wind, the dead stillness transformed Hampstead Heath into a cemetery. 
As the Devil had instructed, I placed the stone in front of the tree where enough moonlight shined onto it. I then opened up the black book to the incantation and began to read. 
“Hinc, umbra dei, lux sancta, vitaque dei essentia, Hoc solido penitus penitusque recondetur. Voluntate ipsius diaboli, hunc deum exsecratum a facie terre irrevocabiliter et perpetuo, destructo solido, annuntiabo.”
As I chanted, light streamed from the sycamore into the stone, where it began to lighten the stone’s dark grey hue, slowly morphing into a luminescent white. Meanwhile, the tree leaves started to wither, the trunk cracked and shrunk, and its snaky roots began to squirm out of the soil, gradually coiling up around the dying tree. 
However, as the stone brightened and the tree shriveled, I wondered how justified I was in execrating the King of All Gods. Sure, the Devil would erase my entire existence if I didn’t do as he wanted me to, but there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t in the future, even if I did do as he wished. 
The Devil had warned me that the execration would fail if I paused. Should I stop the execration and risk my own life?
The last light streamed from the tree, and the tree began to collapse, while the stone blindingly glowed as bright as the Sun. 
With a heavy heart, I stopped chanting. 
The rays of light froze before the stone started to quiver. After five seconds, the brilliance of the stone began to flow back into the sycamore, resurrecting it. New leaves sprouted in places of withered ones, the trunk thickened, and roots burrowed deep underground. 
As the stone returned to its grey hue, I turned towards Stormy Beach, for the last thing I had to settle. 
 
***
 
The tempest seemed to rage with more fervor as I approached the skyscraper. Lightning struck a nearby tree, lighting it up like a candle. 
Before I took another step, a black vulture landed next to me, its eyes burning with a deep violet fire. Its beak was gnarled and rotting, and its talons were daggers, stabbing the sand.
“You,” it snarled, and it morphed into the Devil. “I will erase you after what you did.”
“You won’t,” I corrected, trying to stabilise my trembling hands. 
A frozen smile stretched across his face. “And why do you think I won’t?”
I set the stone on the beach, in line with the skyscraper and under the light from the blood moon. 
“No!” The Devil lashed out a leg to kick the stone over, but in the swirling sandstorm, he lost his footing and splattered to the ground. 
“You will not erase me because I am going to execrate you,” I explained. “Thanks for the lesson, by the way.”
I began the incantation. 
The Devil reared his back and roared, morphing into his true form: a winged, black bull with a violet trident. He hurled the trident at me, but it vanished into the glowing stone, growing brighter by the moment. 
“I can still destroy your soul,” the Devil snarled as his tail began to inch towards the stone. He clutched a sphere of cyan light in his right hand–my soul, presumably. 
My thoughts arced through the air like lightning. So be it. We’ll both burn away. 
The final rays of light streamed from the building and the Devil as I finished the spell. The stone was as white as snow, piercing through the darkness like a beacon. 
As I watched, the faded Devil began crushing the sphere of light, slowly dissolving me. 
The final step of the execration was to destroy the stone by using a command word. 
The Devil and I, both disintegrating away, met each other’s eyes. 
“Goodbye,” I saluted. 
“I detest you,” he growled, flinging the shattered sphere onto the ground. 
The stone detonated. 
","September 11, 2023 14:48","[[{'Belladona Vulpa': 'Engaging story, it kept me reading with interest until the end! \n\nVery nice descriptions, and humor (I laughed when the devil was so bored he conjured coffee to stay awake). \n\nInteresting take on greek mythology, with the devil being a minor god that becomes greedy. I like when I see ancient Greek or Latin phrases in these kind of stories and it did not disappoint.  \n\nI like also the dynamic between the characters, the twist and the resolution.\n\nWell-written!', 'time': '11:12 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Karen McDermott': 'Great story, really gripping with a sprinkle of humour.', 'time': '14:23 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,asmbeu,The Broad Strokes,Joe Smallwood,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/asmbeu/,/short-story/asmbeu/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Contemporary', 'Inspirational']",7 likes,"
“Some people start talking to themselves whenever I am around,” I observed one fine Saturday.“How so, Peter?” my wife replied while she checked the firmness of a Cucumis melo reticulatus, otherwise known as a muskmelon or cantaloupe. “Too firm, that one,” she said, rolling it over to grab the one that made her smile.“See what I mean?” I huffed.“I was talking to you, not to myself!” Into one of her numerous cloth bags that melon went.We should have gotten a cart. Goodness knows how heavy a load I would have at the grocery checkout. And I would be the one carrying everything.“Here comes one, watch out!” I barely said under my breath, frozen as a Gen Z with no time to spare took aim.Blonde this time, energetic twenty-something, intent on sliding through between us, black leggings, expertly cantilevering without a moment lost. How do they do it? With an enormous handbag, no less!“She might have left me a kiss!” my wife chortled. We both laughed. It wasn’t going to be a typical Saturday after all. I turned around for no reason.“Hey there!” It was Jeff here at Longo's. I was almost sure it was. I could feel my face reddening. It wasn’t Jeff? His black mane of hair was expertly unkempt and wild. As I craned to see him in the crowd, I imagined a near-beard, not too long on that hidden face, with only a few items in his hands; what was it? One orange, not too big, two small bananas not in a plastic bag, and coffee beans, lots and lots of those, in a clear plastic bag that could not carry its weight.Jeff hardly turned to greet us. “Oh, Peter, it’s you!”Knuckle bumps and handshakes, the memory of which make us awkward, was doubly so for Jeff, balancing fruit and coffee. I offered him one of our sixty or so cloth bags, five of which were at hand.“On me, Jeff,” I smiled. “Please don’t return it. Wouldn’t want to set a precedent for being careful with these things.”“Thanks. I just might.”I spied his name tag, askew with dark lettering over his suit, as he piled his items into one of our bags. “Task One” was emblazoned across it over his name. The plastic sheath the nametag was in was crumpled and bent. Jeff never was one for formalities.My wife was a mind reader. I was lucky to have her. “You two carry on. Text me,” she said. I called after her.“Make sure to get a cart!”#I could see that my hold on Jeff was not what I imagined. Gone were the days when a good business deal could stand on its own without all the puffery and extras that people expected these days. I was a dinosaur to him. It was hard to take in, but you roll or get rolled. The hunt was as good as the prize, and Jeff knew better than to be impolite with an old associate. I still knew lots of people.“You on break? From the conference, I mean?” I asked as we headed to a bar. It was freezing outside; the glitzy lights of the bar were not to my taste, and the noise almost certainly wasn’t.Jeff snorted. “I’ll take a break whenever I want,” he said as we stepped past the threshold to the bar.“Company paid?”“I am the company now.”We settled into a table. Jeff ordered a spritzer, and I had my usual. I eyed him while making small talk with that casual charm that he was used to. How can I say this? That phone of his was flipping around in his hands, this text, that email, a call going to his automated AI answer. And that was just in the one minute it took to order drinks!“What do you do when your hands are full of fruit and coffee?” I finally asked.“What? Oh, you don’t know? AI can do most of it. It studies me all the time. Some deals it brings me are better than I could do myself.”“So, you have been replaced already?” I asked.“In a manner of speaking, yes. Why should that matter?”I knew Jeff well enough that he would follow that comment with much more that I didn’t need to hear. I better step it up or lose the initiative, I thought to myself.“I have a deal that AI could never do for you.”“I’m all ears. Shoot.”“Turn off your phone first.”Now, he was on the spot. “What is this some kind of game?” He stared at his screen, I guessed it was stock quotes this time, a trade, maybe a pick to consider from the scrolling I could barely make out. He was engrossed, barely listening. A jab of his finger, then another. He sighed.“You’re not serious!” He moaned.“Deadly,” I said.#It was like an AA meeting without the stories, the hangups, or the false camaraderie. This was the real deal. You could imagine a large group of people talking with no one on their cell phones.Jeff looked around. “This is it? You brought me here for this?”I nodded as I removed my jacket and handed my scarf and gloves to the coat check person. Jeff did the same. I pocketed my check ticket and looked around.Oliver was first up. He gave my hand that vigorous shake a young former athlete was liable for, a massive smile on his face.“Exclusive rights, you said, and exclusivity is what you delivered! My non-existent hat is off to you, sir!”“Glad to be of help,” I said. “Say, have you seen Michael around tonight? I’ve been meaning to introduce a business associate to him.”“Sure! He’s right over by that potted plant near the fire exit. You can’t miss him.”We made our way over to Michael, seated in an overstuffed leather chair, like one you might have seen in a twentieth-century smoking room. A gaggle of young ones surrounded him, neophytes, I would call them. Just learning. I could hear so many questions as we drew near. Some of those people didn’t know how to talk with their hands-free of a device. It would come to them eventually.Michael stood up and offered his hand. It was an honor he gave very few others in our group. I could see that the neophytes were in awe, studying our every move. I wasn’t in a hurry. There was no need for introductions. Michael knew what I was thinking.“Why don’t we retire? I know a spot,” Michael said, motioning to a part of the room with a roaring wood fireplace. My hands were cold. A great big fire was just what I needed.Jeff seemed to have no idea how fortunate he was as he sat next to Michael in those same overstuffed chairs. The neophytes stayed away. They seemed to know that the grownups were talking.“So, Michael, I have one for you; Jeff Underhill is his name. He’s full of questions that I have tried to answer. But I’m not a Jedi master, as you well know!”Michael laughed. “It’s always the same, isn’t it? We can only try.”Jeff looked very uncomfortable. He was sitting on the edge of his seat. “First, I would like to know how this all works. You all run businesses, but personally, apart from your companies, none of you are online. You use cell phones, don’t you?”Michael looked thoughtful. “You need to ask the right questions to understand us,” he replied.Jeff folded his arms and scowled. “What questions? Everything should be transparent. AI’s parse everything for us. I shouldn’t have to ask questions!”Michael sighed. “Then you will never understand.”I waited on Jeff for such a long time. Did I make a mistake in choosing him? Michael was being so patient, doubtless as a favor to me. But there was a limit to everything. Ask what questions you should be asking, Jeff! I inwardly pleaded. You could only bring a horse to water, after all.After what seemed a long while, Jeff’s expression changed. “Oh, I get it. This is a club, an old-time business association from the last century, a throwback. You’re all a bunch of Luddites. You refuse to use AI, Google, or Apple. Big data has nothing on you guys, off-grid. I get it now.”“Do you?” Michael asked.#Jeff joined. Many people did. More than the system could tolerate. AI could not make sense of us because we never used it. We put people first. Loyalty and direct face-to-face human relationships were what mattered. We became the “unpredictable ones,” phenomenally successful because no one could track us.When the mainstream media and business elites demonized us and called us names, we were ready. Supporting each other and having a shared history got us through. The devil is in the details. And we went for the broad strokes, being human without compromise, no deals with the devil for us.
","September 12, 2023 04:56","[[{'Kevin Logue': 'An interesting take Joe, refusing to make a deal with the devilish AI. Smart.\n\nThe opening had me thinking he was cursed but its just commentary on the disconnected nature of modern media based society. Well done.', 'time': '08:05 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joe Smallwood': ""Thanks Kevin. We are so wired up these days, On our cells up to 5 hours a day, it's like technology is taking over everything. A reaction is bound to come, if indeed it hasn't already started."", 'time': '12:06 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joe Smallwood': ""Thanks Kevin. We are so wired up these days, On our cells up to 5 hours a day, it's like technology is taking over everything. A reaction is bound to come, if indeed it hasn't already started."", 'time': '12:06 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'I like old school.😄', 'time': '16:55 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joe Smallwood': 'Me too.', 'time': '03:41 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joe Smallwood': 'Me too.', 'time': '03:41 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,gm8g5m,In death there is only death,Marie Perederii,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/gm8g5m/,/short-story/gm8g5m/,Dark,0,['Adventure'],7 likes,"
Pain shot through her shoulder, the blow was overwhelming even for Sira, she gritted her teeth and stood back up to face Karim grinning at her as if she’d just handed him his wings. Well that look wasn’t going to last long, the match had just started and she was not going to let her one chance to become a true demon slip away into Karim’s grasp, especially not Karim. So she stood and swung her staff in command, instantly the spell worked its magic, knocking Karim out his weapons reach, which stood leveling him on the base of the arena. Which was currently in pieces, due to their match. Slabs of rock narrowly missed Sira as she maneuvered to get closer to Karim, her sudden blast of energy caught him off guard and he stumbled even further back. Big mistake in Sira’s mentor’s opinion. He had always told her to go with the flow. Besides, Karim tired himself out in the first seconds of the match, he wasn’t the best with energy management. The second Sira’s thoughts wandered Karim must have seen his chance because he pushed off a rogue slab of stone and launched himself straight at her! Even though it was a very good attempt Sira had to admit, training reflexes saved her from what would’ve been a straight blow to the chest. She swung her staff at Karim’s colliding with his and causing them both to fly backward, Sira felt the burn of the large fresh wound on her back as she slammed into a bolder, she would get him back for that later. “What’s the matter? Feeling weak? Because you are” Karim snarled, half gleeful, half looking like he wanted to quit. “Well you don’t look much better gelpa, or are you always like that?” She knew that calling Karim “gelpa” would irritate him and he would most likely get a surge of dark energy from the comment, but the word hadn’t triggered anything of the sort. Instead he smiled “I’m honored to be thought of as a friend to you” he said more gleefully, and it finally came to her, he was distracting her while he was regaining enough energy to finish her. Oh no you don't, you little slimy angel,Sira privately thought and pushed off. What happened next surprised them both, Sira felt a surge of energy, stronger than the usual power of dark energy. Due to this she realized it would be a lot easier to take out Karim and get to the firestone, the original reason for their sour bickering. Whoever got to the stone first would be able to go through the gate and claim the next title of demon. Sira and Karim had been nominated as top two, but there can only be one graduate. So here they were, fighting over a gemstone that would give them enough power to wipe out half of Ruinsaer. Sira hit Karim in the jaw, knocking him out with a mild sleep spell that worked better than usual, she noted. She flew toward the crystal and as she did she felt the mysterious energy leave her hands and she suddenly felt so weak she could barely keep her eyes open. But she wasn’t going to give up that easily, she felt the blood dripping down her back and her shoulder that Karim had sliced earlier screamed in pain. But she had no time to focus on that, she had clumsy feather wings that barely knew how to fly but, surprisingly enough she was able to get up to the platform, before landing she checked for hexes that the coaches may have placed on it, but there were none. So she took the jewel and walked over to the gate. She looked back one last time at Karim’s unconscious body floating amid the boulders and stones of the once full arena. “May you find your way here again” she whispered in the ancient prayer tongue and crossed through.
 
Sira awoke from her nightmare to find the hut on fire, again. This wasn’t an uncommon scenario for Sira. One moment she is dreaming in the demon’s quarters room-the next she is in a battle with a mysterious voice that never shows its face. Before she knows it the hut is once again on fire and her arm is throbbing, she is conscious of the fact that her firestone, which had been branded into her skin all those ashes ago had been the source of the pain. But when she had used a spell to check it, everything seemed to be fine. Sira looked to her gelpa for help, but Cima only gurgled and rolled over. Sira hadn’t meant to start a fire, it just happened. Sira managed to smother the flames and somehow got around to cleaning the burnt patches of clay around the hut. “When are you going to start controlling that?” Cima asked her in Ruin, still groggy from little to no sleep. “We can’t keep cleaning and recleaning this place forever you know” she seemed annoyed, probably because she had to put up with the constant light of Sira’s flame. It bothered Sira how Cima could never get a grip and just help her. But of course little lazy Cima wasn’t even half awake. “Cima Where if you don't wake up now I will pull your little horns off and throw them into the Hellfire itself” Cima Ground and reluctantly got up,  she seemed very unhappy about the fact that today was their last day in Demon training, suddenly although Sarah understood that he had deserved it she remembered Karim’s  lifeless body, limp and tattered floating between life and death. She shuddered, It had been Five ashes since the incident to be exact only three ashes after Sira  had destroyed Karim  in the battle for demon training. Karim  had been sent to stop a war between two aligning forces that were destined in one of Hornail’s prophecies to destroy Ruinsaer. He had failed,  and because he had, he was placed in combat with the black blooded lady herself, and although Sira  knew he had died with true honor and that he had felt no pain. She  understood that if she hadn't beaten him that day he wouldn't have been dead and she could have completed the assignment to full capacity, because everyone knew that she was very much capable of destroying an army. Even though everybody had told her that it had not been her fault and that she had rightfully claimed her place beside the Hellfire,  he still felt like she was responsible for Karim’s death. Even though she felt like it had been impossible and the very suggestion of it was against every law they obeyed as demon trainees, Sira  knew there was a way to bring Karim  back. But for that, she had to make a deal with the devil Sanza, the outlaw who ruled from on high, to get to him would be hard, but not impossible. When Sira told Cari of her troubles, her sister in arms said that if she were to do something that insane, then she swore on lava blood that she would stay by her side no matter what. The journey to Scale Mountain was tough, Cari whined the whole way but since she had sworn and she was a devoted sister, she never asked for a break unless Sira permitted. By the end of the journey Sira could see why only the ancients made the journey to prove their ever devoted worth, it was very challenging and demanding. But somehow, after countless rest stops, they arrived. Sanza sat on his throne, like a true Devil king. Although originally the third sister of the Occulum was destined to rule the Hardlands, he had taken up the position after the Black Blooded Lady, and the Ice lady gave up their search, or rather the Black Blooded Lady gave up her search and being the oldest the ice lady followed her older sister. “Sanza the Great, I come to bargain with you almighty”,Sira had read many ancient texts about the words that opened the gates to the kingdom of the eternally tortured and dead. But saying the words, despite all the exhaustion and discomfort she was currently feeling, the words made her release a small chuckle, it felt wrong calling a prisoner of The Black Blooded Lady, who was truly great, almighty. “Enter,Demon Sira, but leave your friend there, only one can come.” Cari looked ready to protest-then she stopped, this was Sira’s test-not her’s and even though Sira could see that she wanted to argue, Cari retreated.
As soon as Sira stepped in the realm of Sanza, she felt the otherworldly presence in the air. As if she had crossed into an entirely different world, although that's just how realms felt. “I understand you have come to make a deal with me?” Sanza’s tone was daring-teasing almost. He seemed amused that Sira had come “I want you to bring back Karim '' Sira said, losing all sense of formality. “Ah well, if you would be so kind as to bound us by blood, the deed will be done and the deal holding us together until death.” Sanza named his terms, which were strange ones at that. Sanza had only one demand, that Sira let him continue ruling this realm. Since it was in the hands of the black blooded lady to decide where he was to be, Sira made no sense of this demand but nevertheless she agreed. They signed with lava blood using the unbreakable seal. The following day, once they returned a scroll arrived at their doorstep.  Unlike the usual morning briefing scrolls, marked with the Hellfire seal. This peculiar one was marked with the black blooded lady's seal herself. Sira froze with terror once Cari read it over to her, their leader wanted to talk about her deceased son, Karim Black Blood.
 
 
","September 12, 2023 17:35",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,dgu0ts,Clarksdale Curse,Steffen Lettau,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/dgu0ts/,/short-story/dgu0ts/,Dark,0,"['Drama', 'Fiction', 'Thriller']",7 likes,"
Author's note: All ideologies are welcome to enjoy this fictional work.
 
You ever heard the joke about the atheist who made a deal with the Devil?
 
Let's just say he had a hell of a time.
 
All kidding aside, I fear retaliation for telling this story, but I need to warn you all to stay away from the crossroads at the U.S Routes 61 and 49. Yes, in Mississippi. Yes, the same place where Robert Johnson got famous.
 
My name is Trevor Johnson. I happen to be a descendant of that famous musician, more on my mother's side, but please do not ask for verification. I have been trying to separate myself from that man, despite the both of us being residents of Mississippi. Both of us were aspiring musicians, but he was actually good. He got better; I didn't. Oh, I did the studying and training, but I suspect that the atmosphere gets to me more than the stage fright; it gets hard for me to breathe around a crowd. I don't think it's as severe as it sounded, but I ended up making it so much worse.
 
I was an atheist, which riled up my Catholic mother, even upsetting my Protestant dad. They both still loved me, but they're always talking about how I would meet my Maker one day and that I would have to explain why I rejected him, blah-blah-blah. I just want to believe that everything was always left to chance, that we should just live our lives for ourselves and not in fear of the unknown. I excelled at science and math, I was formidable in writing and drawing, and I could construct a poem from my heart in an instant. Despite all this, my parents still held onto the faith that I would accept God one day, even after I showed them how far I have gotten without him.
 
My parents did promise to aid me should I ever get in trouble, and my mother told me that she would pray for me. I told her she didn't need to, her love would be enough. She merely straightened out my shirt and said, ""Child, you just be careful out there. You're a good son; Lord knows the Devil will come for you.""
 
Well, something was out to get me; despite landing work, I struggled to keep both my job and my classes. I thought back on my writing and my drawings, but such would not get attention out here. Pondering upon my ulterior options, I came to realize that music was a great attention-grabber; making money with it was good, but it was the reputation that really sold the person if you will pardon the phrase. Now, practically everyone was on the piano or the drums, and the guitars were done to death, but hardly anyone touched the saxophone. A difficult instrument to handle and play, they say, and it was true. Whatever time that I could spare on the brass beauty, it just wasn't good enough; the tutor I had to come over and teach me showed me where to place my fingers, how hard I should blow into the instrument, and how exactly the saxophone works with the human throat. For some reason, my vocal cords fatigued in a couple minutes.
 
It didn't help that I also got easily frustrated with all that was going on in my life, which is probably why the tutor finally quit with this statement: ""If your temper was metal, you could make yourself an instrument that you might actually be decent with!"" I did apologize to him a few days later, but he remained affirmed to not teach me anything except where I could stuff the brass.
 
I was ready to head home after a long day and get some rest. Life came to get me again, as the usual road that I took was suddenly swarmed by hard-hat workers already breaking apart the asphalt. One told me, ""Sorry, sir, but it's that time for maintenance. You're gonna have to take Route 61.""
 
I really did not want to. See, everyone keeps bringing up my ancestor and how he had his famous moment at ""The Crossroads"". Because of that, I avoided Route 61 and Route 49, seeking any alternative paths, even a lawn or two, ANYTHING to avoid those roads. As I glided around the workers and took that cursed road, I made a note to try not to look anywhere else except at the exit signs. That's it, I told myself, don't look anywhere else, ESPECIALLY at the blue billboard! You know the one, the wooden poster outlining the story of Robert's night.
 
Curse the universe again! How does this happen? One road gets maintenance, and everyone decides to travel the same direction that I am going? Are you freaking kidding me? And my radio was not getting any signals either, so I don't get to pass the time listening to the one thing that eludes my grasp. I was desperate to just get home. Hell, I was desperate for a lot of things, but I would settle for music right now.
 
Night came and lingered, the cars were steadily moving a little faster, and my car clock went from 11:59 P.M to 12:00 A.M. I was just arriving at the Crossroads when it happened; the dreaded ""Engine Service Soon"" light came on. It's the oil, I thought, I'll get it changed. But then, as if the universe heard my tiny squeak of hope, the car started shuddering. Immediately, I pulled over at the corner of the Crossroads just in time to see, hear, feel, smell, and even taste my car suddenly die in my hands, meanwhile the exodus of metal and rubber passed over me. I popped the hood, I got out and slammed my car door, and I almost forgot the stick to brace the hood.
 
You know what I did forget? My keys.
 
I almost cried. I was so sure that I would not get home, that I would lose my job, that I would get kicked out of college and my apartment, and I almost walked into the street in the oncoming path of a huge pickup truck.
 
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
 
This horn didn't sound like a truck horn; it was reminiscent of a carnyx that ancient Celtic warriors used for battle...or ritual. Either way, it was haunting and, combined with the sudden appearance of the vehicle, almost had me pee my pants. The sickening green lights, temporarily blinding me, were now black as the surrounding night. The great beast roared and was silenced.
 
""Sir, are you alright?""
 
I couldn't answer. Everything had gone wrong, and I just almost died. All I could do was raise my hand. The figure moved onto the road, shutting his door and stood in front of me. A sudden red explosion erupted from his hands, and I actually yelped.
 
""Whoa, there, calm down! It's just a road flare.""
 
I shielded my eyes and tried to look at the figure before me; I could make out blonde hair and a leather jacket, but then he hucked the flare into the road, leaving a black barrier between us. ""For any other car coming"", he explained. ""So, you have a problem with your vehicle.""
 
I squinted, still trying to make him out. ""How do you know that?""
 
""Not many people pull their car over in the dark of a route unless something's wrong with it.""
 
""I think it might be the battery.""
 
He turned his head to look at my car, hood open and doors locked. ""Well, why don't I take a look at it? Maybe I can help.""
 
I doubted it, but I nodded. He then walked over to the car, peering at the engine and the surrounding components. With the back of his hand, he felt around, then he turned to me. ""You wanna start it up, sir? We'll see what's wrong?""
 
I closed my eyes. ""I would, but my door's are locked.""
 
He then walked over to the driver's side, gripped the latch, and pulled. The door opened.
 
I was flabbergasted. It was locked, I was sure of it!
 
""Maybe you thought it was locked, sir"", reassured the stranger. ""It's all right, happens to a lot of people. Come on, give it a turn, and I'll see what's wrong.""
 
I got back inside and turned the key, expecting nothing. The car screamed to life, and the shuddering was tenuous. Confused, I walked around to where he was, and his pale demeanor vaguely illuminated by my operational headlights glowed with his smile. ""No problems here, although I suspect that you might need a new air filter if that noise is anything to go by.""
 
I wasn't sure what he was talking about, so I actually turned my head to listen. Sure enough, there was a sound almost like coughing coming from the air filter's residence. I turned my head back to the stranger, who was nowhere to be seen. I looked around, thinking he had disappeared without his truck, but then I found him staring at my saxophone case.
 
""Oh, hey sir, I don't mean to pry, but is that a saxophone case?""
 
He catches on fast, folks, doesn't he? I nodded; ""Yeah, that's my instrument. I was going to take it home, and then to a pawn shop tomorrow.""
 
""Why?""
 
That look he gave me seemed to melt my heart; was he a fellow musician. ""I can't play it. No matter what I tried, I can't play it.""
 
""Well...can I hear you play it?""
 
Now I am turning my head in confusion. What a night! I looked back at him and smiled; he did stop to help me, even though it was literally nothing beyond a future air filter maintenance, so I might as well humor him as recompense.
 
A couple minutes later, he removed his hands from his ears. ""Wow, that does sound awful.""
 
I frowned. ""Dude, I told you, I can't play it. I know the layout, but the vocals are just not cutting it for me.""
 
He stared at me. ""You really believe that?""
 
""I..."" and it was then that I couldn't help but notice how beautiful this man really was. I'm not a homosexual, mind you, and I don't have anything against homosexuality; I'm just remarking on the exquisite splendor standing before me; a living alabaster masterpiece. He walked closer to me, and my heart suddenly started racing. What was going on?
 
""I can help you.""
 
Instead of a confident and practically commanding voice from earlier, he just cooed like a dove to me. My mouth hung open, as I tried to find the words to say.
 
Then he kissed me.
 
Again, I have nothing against homosexuality, but you don't just go up to a guy and kiss him like that!
 
""Ptoo! Ptoo! Gah, what the hell, man?!"" I shouted, wiping my lips. I felt like gagging; I think he stuck his tongue down my throat.
 
""Sorry, sorry!"" he laughed, holding up his hands. ""I'm just breaking the tension here! You had a bad day, and I wanted to make light of the situation. Full confession, I may have gone too far.""
 
""Agh, you think?!""
 
He still held his smile even after I gave him a dirty look. ""Hey, why don't you try again?""
 
If my face could have contorted any further into confusion, I would end up being my own modern-day sculpture. ""I am NOT kissing you again!""
 
He laughed. ""No, no sir!"" He held apart his hands. ""Blow.""
 
My eyes widened.
 
""Your saxophone, sir!"" he laughed again.
 
""Oh.""
 
I took the saxophone, and I blew into it, expecting the same godawful sound. Instead, what came out was real music. I moved my fingers, and the sound would change, but it was music regardless. I blew slower, and the blues erupted. I blew faster, and I was Jelly Roll Morton, with my audience of one clapping his hands to the beat. A couple minutes later, I was breathing hard, and the stranger was clapping and cheering: ""Bravo! Magnifico!"" He then approached me and clapped me on the shoulder. ""And that was a taste of what I can do for you.""
 
I balked. ""Wait, what do you mean?""
 
He grinned. ""You just needed to loosen up, sir. I helped you with that, and you implemented what you have learned to a few moments of a wonderful bliss with my aid. The clapping, remember? But I can do more.""
 
I lowered the instrument. ""I...I still don't understand. Like, what, you a music teacher or something?""
 
He tilted his head, keeping the grin. It almost looked unsettling. ""Yes to both.""
 
""You don't look like a music teacher.""
 
""I can look like anyone. And I've been playing music before man came into being.""
 
I scoffed. ""Let me guess; you're God-""
 
DON'T.
 
I heard him say the word, but his mouth didn't move. I looked at his eyes, but he immediately closed them; I could have sworn that something within them swirled, like a blackened fog. He inhaled deeply, his hands falling slowly to his sides. Then he opened his eyes, and lifted up his hands. There was a calmness between us, and though I expected a chilling atmosphere to billow up from nowhere, the night air seemed warm and peaceful. He moved, practically gliding to me, and he gently gripped my shoulders.
 
""Trevor, I like you. You're ambitious, poignant, and a tide ruthless. But don't ever call me...HIM.""
 
I could have sworn that last word vibrated. ""H-how do you know my name?""
 
""It's on your case.""
 
I looked at my case. Strange, I though, I don't remember my name being printed on it, but there it was; it looked like a blowtorch carved the letters into it.
 
""And my name is Lucifer. Pleasure to meet you.""
 
I looked back at the pale, beautiful man. He was just standing there, seemingly carefree yet hauntingly adamant upon his words. ""N...nice to m...meet you, t...too...""
 
Then I shook my head. What am I thinking?! ""Hey, wait now, you're playing with me!"" I opened up the shotgun door, placed my saxophone back into its case, and shut both away upon the seat. ""Look, you helped me out, and I appreciate it, but I need to go to work tomorrow morning, it's past midnight-""
 
""It's still midnight.""
 
Again, that adamant mood. I smiled and I checked the clock in my car.
 
12:00 AM.
 
Bewilderment beset me, and I looked upon the being bequeathed the name of the Beast. I approached Lucifer slowly, confusion and fear balanced better than my footing. Lucifer, in turn, approached and held fast to my forearms. I wanted to yank out of his grip, but I was too weak and wanted to fall. I couldn't.
 
""Easy.""
 
I breathed and found my footing. I regressed my limbs from this being's hands. He just released me as if I was a bird. I looked back at my car, at the saxophone. It felt like I reconnected with a friend that was gone for so long...
 
""So...what? How should I repay you?"" I wanted to joke about giving him my soul, but I bit my tongue on that.
 
He snorted. ""Your ancestor promised me his soul. Right here, actually. But you know already know that story. No, my friend, I don't want your soul; I want your time."" Seeing my stare as an unsatisfying answer, he stretched his left arm around to my right shoulder and turned me, walking me around to the driver's side as he laid out the reimbursement:
 
""You can now play without fatigue or screwup in vocals - you're welcome, by the way - and if you pursue this path of music, all that you will need to worry about is what to do with the money you make! In return, all I want is one song played to me for every successful performance no matter where, when, or with whom (even a solo will count). Just come back here to the Crossroads, at midnight sharp, and play your fee.""
 
 
We stopped between our vehicles, and he stood in front of me and held out his hand. I did hesitate, to which he replied:
 
""Or you could just go, right now! Forget about the help I gave you, just go! Back to a mundane job that you might lose! Home to a tiny apartment resounding the screams of the undisciplined spawn and their adult-children parents!"" He smiled again, and I expected some sort of terrifying threat, the sweat betraying my thoughts. But his smile seemed reassuring, and he approached with that harmonious radiance. Who could deny such a friend?
 
I shook his hand and accepted.
 
He opened the door and held it open until I entered. Before he closed the door, he proclaimed: ""You're gonna do great, sir! Now, get home safely, fix that air filter, and quit that job; you won't need it anymore.""
 
He then waved to me before returning to his truck. As I stared ahead at the Crossroads, I heard his truck pull ahead, but no vehicle came around in my view. I looked around, alone at the Crossroads. I revved up my car and went home.
----------------------------------------------------------------
 
Another long day. Another successful performance in New York City. At least, it was until I decided to walk out due to feeling nauseous. The crowd seemed disappointed to see me go, but the next band basically came to my rescue and got the crowd's good graces back whilst I vacated the lot, getting into my corvette and heading back to my hotel room. It was already dark...
 
The clock went from 11:59 P.M to 12:00 A.M.
 
I expected quite a drive back, with my nausea making things more drawn out. I didn't realize that the roads would go on and on...
 
Wait...
 
The Crossroads?
 
And that pickup truck?
 
A familiar carnyx horn called out.
 
I slowed down.
","September 13, 2023 04:55","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'One for the road.', 'time': '02:25 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Steffen Lettau': 'Ah, I saw what you did there!', 'time': '03:22 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Steffen Lettau': 'Ah, I saw what you did there!', 'time': '03:22 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,h04zqp,The Blood of the Forgotten,Jasper Woods,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/h04zqp/,/short-story/h04zqp/,Dark,0,"['Horror', 'Thriller', 'Fiction']",6 likes,"
	He was forced onto his knees, face pressed deeply into the dirt making it hard to breathe. Rocks and gravel cut into his skin as they pushed. He screamed out, his skull feeling like it was about to burst. They lifted their boot off his head and with a scoff kicked him in his side sending his full body into the earth. The boy, no more than fourteen years old, face bloody and bruised, spied his assailants. They were three in total, all donned head to toe in heavy cloaks and masks. Trying to force in some breaths of air despite the pain, the smell of rust and dirt flooded his senses. “I’ve got to get out of here.” He huffed. 
 
	Slowly the boy rolls onto his knees in an attempt to ease the pressure off his ribs. The three moving around him, paid him no mind as they threw an assortment of dry herbs from a sack around the room. Another of the cloaked figures walked towards the front of the room and placed a heavy book on top of the table flipping through the pages, gesturing with one hand, sending the others scattering around the room to gather all they needed as he described in a strange tongue. 
 
	“Where am I?” he whispered; his throat hoarse. The room reeked of copper and the ground, wet and sticky, covered in something thick and almost black in color. “When did this get here?”
 
	 One of the cloaked figures comes back over to him with a small bowl, the figure looms over him before quickly grabbing a handful of hair and squeezing harshly and pulling causing multiple strands that rip from his head leaving a sprinkling of pain across his scalp. It smelled vile, rotten, almost as though they found the most expired form of dressings and mixed them all together. He tried to force his head away from the awful concoction, but the figure squeezed his head harder making him still in place; The pain was too much. 
 
	Another figure approached as the third started reciting something from the pages before him. The second figure kneels next to him and grabs him by the chin and pushes his fingers into his cheeks, painfully squeezing the fat of his cheeks into his teeth. If he wasn’t careful, he could bite through his own flesh. Forcing his jaw open, little by little until his mouth is wide enough for the other to dump the concoction of sludge past his lips. The one who forced his jaw open quickly forced his mouth closed by pressing his jaw together with both their hands, the other sealing his mouth with their hands ensuring the liquid wouldn’t escape. The flavor that covered his tongue was disgusting plain and simple; it's worse than the smell could’ve prepared him for. He wanted it out, needed it out. His body started heaving, forcing the contents in his stomach to add to the sludge still held in his mouth.
 
	The bile from his stomach combined with the strange fluid the taste made him want nothing more than to spit it all out. His nose and throat burned as his body kept heaving trying to get the liquids out. He couldn’t though, the figure locked his mouth shut. In a desperate attempt the boy breathed in, a mistake he regretted as soon as he did. The sludge followed the force of air down into his lungs then back up his throat to leak out his nose. It burned. Oh, how it burned as it blocked his airways. Forcing himself to swallow, the figures released his head allowing him to gasp desperately for breath, coughing and hacking, trying to expel the drink from his lungs. 
 
	As his coughing eased, his body strung itself taut and started convulsing. He couldn’t control his limbs as they twitched and jerked around on the floor. His muscles burned and it felt like fire was ignited in his veins, all he could do was scream as his every nerve felt aflame. Lying with his face half in the dirt he clung to consciousness desperately in hopes of any chance to escape. 
 
	A scoff left his lips. “Escape.” He quietly spat. “Yeah right.” He couldn’t move his body and all the energy he had was drained leaving him exhausted. Yet the boy refused to close his eyes in defeat. In a desperate attempt, he drags his arms up by his head and pushes against the ground. Slowly, achingly, he rises from the ground onto all four, panting as he holds himself up. 
 
	He looks around the room once again as two of the figures were on the floor with him, on their knees carefully pouring something onto the ground in a circle around him. One was working on long lines like a circle around him as the other held a strange cup and ever so carefully laid out some form of scrawl along the lines the other made. The third was still at the table reading the book and measuring out more dried herbs. Unable to take it anymore the boy screamed out. “Why!?”
 
	All the figures paused and looked at him. Despite not being able to see their eyes, he could feel their stares burning into him. “Why are you doing this!?” He spat. “Why me!?”
 
	The figures looked to each other and the two on the ground continued their work. The third left their place at the table and walked towards the boy. Not a single sound followed them as they walked, none of the figures he realized made a physical sound. He heard the shifting of the fabric from the cloaks, he heard the light clicks from the metal and wooden bowls, he even heard the paper from the book as it was turned, but he couldn’t hear the two sifting their knees across the dirt or the drag of their fingers as they traced out each intricate line before filling it in. He couldn’t hear the one walking towards him, almost like these people were muted to the world as everything else played around them. 
 
	The figure bent down towards him; the smell radiating from behind their mask could only be described as rot. Candles flickered around the room as the air grew colder and colder. The other two figures started mumbling and repeated phrases which only sounded as gibberish to the boy's ears.  The one being stood in front of him, still as a statue, staring. 
 
	A long exhale of breath pushes out past the figure’s mask, ragged and wheezing. “Railroad spikes and graveyard dirt.” it speaks. Its voice is broken as though it just learned to speak.
	“The shed of a snake of pure black derm.” It continued. The others placed down bowls as their leader recited. “Three devils’ pods and the day's first emiction.”
	A pause as the others moved about the room. “Crushed hemlock mixed with white snakeroot.” The candle flames flared in brilliant intensity, but the room dropped farther in temperature. “The wing of a dove dipped in gold and the rain from a flood whose lives’ it stole.” 
 
	It turns its head as its eyes never leave the boy’s. “The fangs from a spider and the claws from a cat’s paw.” 
 
	The boy's eyes widen as fear grips his chest leaving him frozen in place as he realizes… 
 
	“A broken heart crushed with vanity’s mane.” 
 
	what he is looking at……  
 
	The figure pulls out a knife as the others light the words below the boy in a brilliant golden flame. It moves behind him and moves the knife to his neck. “The blood of the forgotten to bind the body to the one who commands.” 
 
	the boy was looking at death!
 
	 With a flash, the knife sliced through the air. He doesn’t feel his skin split, but notices the warmth that floods down his front, slowly he looks down and sees he now wears his blood down to his knees. He raises his hands up to his neck and feels the line splitting his throat. With a gurgling breath he falls to the earth unable to move. The fire around him burns and swarms about his body. There is no heat though and the flames envelope him. Instead as his vision blurs and only shapes through the light, fill his sight. 
 
	The dark blurred blobs of the figures move to be in front of him slowly dropping to their knees and bowing down. Pressing their heads to the bloodied floor. Their voices grow as they recite their prayer, over and over. Their voices muddle together eventually matching the roar of the fire. As the roar of voices continue, the merging of screams fill the air with the fire as if the gate of hell were opening.  These are the screams of agony as the tortured souls try to escape. Then at once, silence. Not a sound passed his ears.
 
	He feels his body lift off the ground and suspend itself in the air. He feels the skin of his slit throat knit together as though an invisible zipper was tugged and sealed it shut. His head jerks up with a sickening wet crack and a pure guttural roar erupts out his throat. Ash falls from above as the small bit of his consciousness fades away. His body starts to move without his permission and a voice that isn’t his speaks through him as though he’s a puppet on a string.
 
	“It has been so long…” The voice is heavy and dark with a kind of raw power that could render any mere mortal on the earth trembling in fear. “...since my ritual has been fulfilled.” 
 
	“Our Lord.” One of the figures speaks. “We did our best to follow your directions to our capabilities.”
	As the boy’s life departs, he hears. “And your call has been answered. I presume you wish to make a contract with me?”   
 
	“Yes, our Lord. We wish to make a deal.”
 
","September 13, 2023 19:52",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,uwxjt3,Grandmaster Mikhailovich,David Outis,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uwxjt3/,/short-story/uwxjt3/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Teens & Young Adult']",6 likes,"
 When Maksim took his hand off the rook, he felt as if the piece had just gut punched him. He could almost hear it yelling: ""You placed me on the wrong square, you idiot!"". At that exact second, he realized that instead of gobbling that pawn, defended his king would have been a brighter idea. After quite a flashy attack from his opponent, his shaky hand reaches across the table, signaling his defeat.
 
 It was his third loss of the day, and Maksim Mikhailovich wanted to jump out of the window. His rank in the tournament and FIDE rating were nosediving into oblivion, and his mind couldn't comprehend being bested by a ten-year-old girl. She was a prodigy, quite highly rated, but that didn't help wash away the embarrassment. He started this cursed, mind torturing activity, that some people consider to be fun, two years ago, after finishing high school. His progress since then was slow and steady, and he was slowly getting better, but that didn't quite satiate him, Maksim didn't just wanted to win, he wanted to dominate, or at least be good enough to beat any ten year old.
 
 On the bus ride home, the other passengers might have been puzzled by the sight of a lonely, scowling man, that seemed completely detached from his environment, but it was just Maksim replaying the games in his head.
 As he popped trough the door, his girlfriend, Anne, recognized his sorry state:
 -The games didn't go too well, did they?
 -I got beaten to a bloody pulp by a girl half your age ...
 -Don't be too bothered, I'm sure she will probably grow up to be a Grandmaster some day.
 -If I keep losing like this, I will certainly never be one.
 -Oh, come on! You were like this in high school too, you know? You just couldn't rest until you got valedictorian, and almost went crazy during the final exams. Maybe try playing for fun sometimes. You can just take things easy sometimes, it wouldn't cause you any heart problems. These words were seemingly falling on deaf ears, so she switched the strategy a little bit: Let's forget about this, maybe you can bounce back tomorrow, there are still games left, right? Now I want you to help me cook some delicious spaghetti.
 
Of all things, some spaghetti was maybe the only thing that could cheer him up. He happily cooked and then dined with his girlfriend, it was indeed delicious. There are many things that this girl did just right, but that may have actually cemented his decision to marry her in the future.
 He was living in quite a big house, with his parents, so there was plenty of space for Anne to move in with them. He spent the rest of the evening watching movies with his old folks and speedrunning video games. The next day he was feeling invigorated and ready to take on the world.
 
 That lasted about thirty moves. His opponent was an older, more patient gentleman, and was slowly outmaneuvering him. His clock was ticking and he was frantically trying to find a spot where to retreat his queen. As he picked it up, he still couldn't decide. And then he noticed something peculiar: he was unable to move his hand. He just felt a tingling feeling. Then he glanced at the clock and noticed something even weirder: it wasn't ticking down anymore. He tried to call out to the arbiter but his mouth was taped shut. He heard a whisper coming from the table:
-Hey, idiot! It seemed that the one talking was his black king, but he wasn't sure.
Maksim had a dumbfounded look on his face and was utterly in disbelief.
-We are losing again, aren't we? The deep voice was definitely coming from his king. How about we try winning now and stop acting like a coward?
The terrified man was wandering: if his king had any better ideas, why not just tell him?
-I can read your thoughts, just so we are on the same page. Now, how about I offer you a deal? I guarantee 
that you will become one hell of a chess player. In exchange I only ask from you a little bit of everything else. Do you accept my offer? 
Maksim briefly considered it, but after thinking of the pain of losing this round, his soul accepted the offer. He didn't want to know what ""a little bit of everything else"" entails. Then, he noticed his opponents clock has started ticking. Apparently he made a move, but his memory was very hazy.
 Looking at his opponents face, he suddenly remembered the brilliant queen sacrifice, that simply depletes all of his opponents defensive resources. The resignation came soon after, and they shook hands. Victory sure is sweet!
 
Almost a decade later, Grandmaster Mikhailovich was giving a press conference, and he was being barraged by questions:
-How do you feel about winning the Candidates Tournament?
-Are you confident about your upcoming match with the reining prepaWorld Champion?
-Do you deny the recent allegations?
-How much did you calculate the queen trade?
 
 His responses were brief and on point. Grandmaster Mikhailovich was considered to be one of the greatest chess player, surpassing even the likes of Fisher and Capablanca. He had it all: deep opening preparation, magical middlegame play, and engine like precision in the endgame. Maksim was giving autographs while making his way to the apartment he was renting. It was quite small for his income, but he always traveled a lot, so he didn't need the space. His ex-wife somehow managed to snack the house, ever since then he was living a nomad lifestyle, in order to go to his tournaments. 
 Maksim opened his door with difficulty, due to the pizza boxes thrown in the corner. On the table there was some of his opening preparation. He would call his second to retrieve it later. Aside from calling his team, his phone was pretty useless. He hasn't talked with his parents since a couple years ago, some fight he doesn't quite remember. 
 
 His body fell on the couch. A bottle of vodka caught his eye and he took a swig. Then he called his his second:
 -Tell them that I will not participate in the Championship, I'm gonna retire.
 With that, he hung up the phone, wiped a tear off his face, and then stared at the ceiling.
","September 09, 2023 14:39",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,mj3ipu,ARMAGEDDON,Charles Corkery,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mj3ipu/,/short-story/mj3ipu/,Dark,0,['Horror'],6 likes,"
ARMAGEDDON 
 
The two faced each other across the vast bedchamber of the Presidential palace. The President, himself, hair tousled, pyjamas rumpled, having been stirred from his sleep, was sitting up in bed, adjusting his plump, silk encased pillows so that he could, more comfortably, address the intruder and disturber of his slumbers. 
 
“You startled me. I wasn’t expecting you so soon”. 
 
“You call. I come. Hasn’t that always been the way?” 
 
The speaker, a debonair, bearded man of indescribable age, dressed, head to toe, in black, spoke softly but commandingly from the winged back armchair in which he seemed comfortably ensconced. 
 
“Well, thank you for your promptness. It’s a rare thing in this country”. 
 
“Not in mine”. 
“Can I get you anything? A drink?” 
 
“No. You know I do not partake of anything when conducting business; at least, you should know. This is not the first time that I will have called upon you”. 
 
The President, a small man, squirmed beneath his silken bedsheets. Reaching out for the hand mirror that lay, permanently available, on his bedside table, he ran his fingers back and forth through his expensively oiled hair until he was satisfied that his normal coiffure was back in place, wiped the sleep from his eyes and prepared to make his pitch. 
 
“Before you start. Please, forget the dramatics. This is me you’re talking to. I know you only too well, right to the very depths of your soul in fact. Just say what it is you have to say”. 
 
Rather perturbed by this remark, the President, who had long prepared his soliloquy, now frustrated by having been halted before he had even begun his oratory, was left, momentarily, lost for words. 
 
“Don’t be upset. I know you have honed your skills since we last met in person. Speaking on the world stage actually becomes you. Congratulations and all that. Yes, I have kept an eye on you from afar; very impressive, I must say. But I know the real you so none of your theatricals are necessary and, frankly speaking, they only serve to irritate me. We have known each other a long time, have we not? If it’s at all possible after these years of pretence, my advice is to just be your old, normal self”. 
 
As the President listened, his mouth turned ever downwards. He didn’t care to be reminded of his true self, the old days of struggle. He had come to love his new role as the decent leader of his people under constant siege by an oppressive regime yet remaining courageous, inspiring his countrymen with his daily rhetoric, captured and broadcast internationally for all the world to see. 
 
“Don’t be downcast, Mr. President. Look at all you have achieved...thanks to me. Do you remember that one bedroom apartment, the one with all the litter scattered on the staircase? No curtains, a toilet that seldom flushed? You were unemployed, I recall; at your lowest ebb. Most people are when they finally turn to me. You were desperate, weren’t you? You yearned for a break, a successful audition. Just one. So you could pay your rent and feed yourself. No more than that. So many, many rejections you had endured in your quest to be accepted as an actor”. 
 
The dark clothed man rose from his chair and strode about the room, as he spoke, his feet sinking deeply into the thickness of the finest, most expensive Axminster carpet that covered the bedroom floor. 
 
“And I helped you, did I not? I answered your call and, the very next day, your agent...aahhh, how that man could call himself a theatrical agent is beyond me, informed you that you had been chosen for that advertisement.  Your first acting role. But, still, you did not credit me with this achievement. Oh, don’t look like that. It’s quite normal. Very rarely am I credited with the first change of fortune. It takes time. I understand that and time, of course, is something I have in abundance. No, what finally persuaded you of my existence was when you met her. That beautiful creature that had, like yourself, begun her acting career by being chosen to participate in that same commercial. What was it for now? Oh yes, proclaiming the virtues of deodorant. As well as your payment, you received a box of the product, did you not? No more smelly armpits for you”. 
 
The President, being transported, unwillingly, back to his long ago years of struggle and poverty, tried to protest and rise from his bed but found himself unable to move. The interloper approached the luxurious, four poster and perched on its edge, staring balefully into the eyes of his captive listener. 
 
“It’s important that you be reminded of our past associations, Mr. President. A man of your exalted position can, all too easily, forget. So, as I was saying, having dismissed my influence in helping you obtain your first acting role, you met her, the Madame President that is. You were besotted by her beauty, her perfume, her dazzling smile but she barely noticed you, did she. After all, she was/is a statuesque Aphrodite and you...you a mere five feet five inches of blubber-even if your armpits no longer offended. Oh, the agonies you endured, my friend. Finally, in the hope that, possibly, I may have had something to do with your minor success, you turned again in my direction and I, of course, did not let you down. She became as putty in your hands, did she not?” 
 
Rising from the bed, the man strode to the window and parted the curtains slightly. Staring out into the semi-darkness, he gazed down upon the tanks below and the troops standing at attention, ever vigilant in the night. 
 
“Expecting trouble, I see.  Still, you resisted me. It’s quite funny actually; that you, somehow, believed that it was your charm and good looks that had carried the day. I wasn’t upset; well, perhaps just a little. But I knew that you’d be back. Your type always return. I made no demands. That’s not my style. 
 
You auditioned for a role, your most ambitious yet and, sure enough, you turned, once more, in my direction. I ensured that you were awarded the part that helped you become a national celebrity, ironically playing the role of President in the TV hit of the decade. Art portraying life, or is it life portraying art? I can never remember. No matter, you were a huge success, earned a fortune, became a celebrity. It was everything you had ever desired, wasn’t it? Oh wait, no, not quite. 
 
The role brought you to the attention of those power brokers, many of them my clients actually, who saw in you the perfect front man for their corrupt plans. You didn’t need my help then though because you had their support in fixing the election. Of course, in assisting them to achieve their ambitious scheme, I benefitted greatly anyway and, hey presto, suddenly you were the factual, historical President of this corrupt country. A role you were made for, my friend. One you have grown into, your offshore bank balance swelling each time you persuade another nation to contribute billions to your cause celebre- the defence of your country against your neighbouring oppressor. Now, speak. You have summoned me. What is it you need now?” 
 
The President, finding himself, finally, able to rise, slithered down the side of his huge bed, dwarfed by the immensity of the four poster. He entered his walk in closet, emerging swiftly, dressed in his familiar khaki top and trousers, his symbol of resistance and humility recognised globally. Behind him, the closet light displayed dozens and dozens of similar costumes. Feeling more Presidential in appearance, he turned to the man who still stared out of the window. 
 
“I recognise your greatness. I acknowledge your part in my rise. I apologise for my naivety. I want you to know that I am extremely grateful. But, now, I am in great need of your help. Our counter offensives are failing, our losses are far greater than is being acknowledged. There are tremendous shifts, politically, in the rest of the world; especially in those countries that have been my foremost allies. Further support is not forthcoming. Defeat beckons. I am scared. I turn to you, majestic lord, and I beg for your help. I will do anything you ask. Anything”. 
 
The President fell to his knees, his hands clasped, reaching out to his benefactor who, turning slowly from the window looked scornfully down upon this imposter. 
 
“You say you are extremely grateful, Mr President. Thank you. However, this time, your gratitude will need to be of the eternal kind. You understand?” 
 
Looking up, fearfully, the President nodded. 
 
“A contract is required, a payment desired. For what you ask, I shall require only one thing: your soul. I have taken the liberty of bringing the necessary document with me. You just have to sign it”. 
 
The man withdrew a paper from somewhere within his dark clothing, a pen from somewhere else. Raising his leg onto a chair so that he could balance the contract on it, he summoned the President with a mere gesture of his head. The President rose timidly from the floor and approached. Taking the pen and preparing to sign, his eyes stared, horrified, at the cloven hoof jutting from the trouser leg and resting atop the chair. 
","September 10, 2023 23:03","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Careful of who you deal with.', 'time': '19:48 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,nxfm07,Dabbling with the Devil,Keelan LaForge,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nxfm07/,/short-story/nxfm07/,Dark,0,"['Contemporary', 'Fiction', 'Horror']",6 likes,"
 Satan’s smiling at me. I don’t know why I’m shocked to see him; I invited him here. He looks much more alluring than I could have imagined. He doesn’t have any horns, nor is he red with a pitchfork. He looks like a pleasant man: good looking and friendly but with eyes that are hypnotically evil. He reminds me of a serial killer I’ve seen in a documentary – one of the affable ones you couldn’t help but like, despite knowing the monstrosities of which they are capable. He is easy to talk to, welcoming, cheery – everything that no one expects him to be.He stands over me in my house. He is tall and his presence is commanding, but he waits for me to offer him a seat. He acts polite and self-effacing, but he sits down with the authority with which a king sinks into a throne. I wait for him to speak first. I might have summoned him, but I don’t know what to do after that. He has a stench I can’t stand. It’s like burnt rubber. You can tell he’s been in close contact with fire. I try not to focus on it, but it’s overpowering. It assaults my senses, but he doesn’t seem ashamed of it.“What can I do for you, Richard? Why did you call me here?”He must already know, but he plays dumb. He wants me to say it – to beg for his help. I just have to relinquish my soul in return. I’m ok with that – I’ve never been much of believer in souls. I just want a comfortable life on Earth, and then, to retire to the soil.What brings me here, you may wonder? How do I end up having to make a pact with the devil? It’s simple; I started to age. I was getting creases in my face that I couldn’t hide. I’d been told how youthful I looked for many a decade, but the compliments had ceased. I knew I looked my age, if not older. Stress shows on the face, and I’m guilty of stressing over the smallest things. My mum always warned me if I pulled an ugly face it would stay like that, and she was right in the end. My jowly appearance was bothering me day and night. It might seem like a superficial problem, but it isn’t, and I’ll explain why. I’d fallen in love with a younger woman. I’m in my fifties, and she is only in her twenties. I can tell she has feelings for me, but she’d probably never act on them with me at this age.I’m a university lecturer. Funnily enough, I teach nineteenth century French poetry and I’m always writing about the evil side of life. “Les fleurs du mal” (the flowers of evil) has always been my favourite poetry collection, but I never considered it to be something that could touch me outside my academic life. People think I’m in a position of power, but I have no power over my own destiny. That was why I called in Satan to help me. I’d spent an evening reading old horror by candlelight and it had put me into the right frame of mind for calling in the devil. It was like using a Ouija board; you didn’t know what would happen until you started playing around with it. The reality had exceeded my non-existent expectations.I thought of the woman I loved. She was a student of mine, but over the age of consent. She’d always been mature for her age. She was in her final year. I hadn’t ever crossed the line with her, but I could feel the connection between us. I knew she must have felt it too, but my worn, tired face was a barrier between us. She probably viewed me as a father figure, and that wasn’t what I wanted. I just needed youth to return to me and give me the chance to be considered a romantic possibility. She was going to be an academic too. I'd predicted it from day one when she entered my lecture theatre. She hadn’t even sat close to the front, but I had noticed her right away, like sunlight beaming through an entwined, matted covering, and somehow prevailing. The rest of the students fitted into a certain stereotype, but she was special. She was a potential PhD student; I could feel it. She’d probably remain in the university for the duration of her career, and I would be forced to be in her company each week, quietly suffering.The devil smirked at me. “I already know what you want from me,” he said. “It’s obvious how you feel about Clare.”“I just look so old,” I said. “I feel it too. I feel it in my bones, and I feel it any time I look in the mirror.”“I can help you. You’ll feel like you’re twenty again. There’s just the small matter of the exchange.”“The exchange?”“I give you what you want, and you give me your soul in return.”“Yes, I’m aware of that. It’s a fair exchange,” I said. Had I known the consequences, maybe I wouldn’t have been as quick to agree. Ignorance is ecstasy when it comes to having dealings with Satan.He stared into my eyes with such intensity I felt like I was being swallowed whole by him. I was no longer a being with free will. I could feel a huge emotional shift even though I was still in the same body.“I’ll give you everything you want. Just be loyal and return your side of the bargain,” he said, severely.He got to his feet, and he seemed to glide across the floor and then vanished into the ether. It felt like I could have dreamt it, but I knew in my gut that I hadn’t. I felt like a changed person, just from being in his presence for a short time. I felt contaminated and there was no backtracking. I had to stay committed to our agreement. He had the power to punish me in unimaginable ways.The next time I saw Clare, I wondered if it had all been worth it. I was in my body from thirty years earlier. Everything felt physically better. I had my full head of hair, my nails weren’t yellowed, my teeth weren’t stained, the lines in my face were smoothed out. Whenever I looked into the mirror, I was happy with the reflection I saw, externally. But inside, I felt terrible. I shook it off and reminded myself of my realised dream. As soon as I started talking to Clare, I could feel her attraction to me. Strangely, she didn’t treat me any differently – she didn’t even mention the change. It was like I had always been that way. She was making moves towards me – a touch of my arm here, a kiss on the cheek there. I’d got what I wanted: the woman that I was desperate to be with.But I wondered if the strength of my feelings had come from my longing, rather than my desire for her. Now that she was available to me, it felt different. She didn’t look as perfect up close as she had done with the age difference between us. I could see her flaws and I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. I’d sacrificed my soul: something I thought meant nothing, for something that was merely fleeting.Clare smiled at me and pressed her hand into mine. She didn’t know what I was thinking, and she never would. We’d never be real with each other, and it turned out that that was all that mattered in the end. I couldn’t even thank the devil for what he’d done for me. I’d been tricked. He’d played me and I’d allowed myself to be played because of a fancy. My soul was forever his, and it was all for nothing. It was the first day of an eternity of bad days.
","September 12, 2023 12:36","[[{'Delbert Griffith': 'A classic deal-with-the -devil tale. What\'s not to like, right?\n\nI especially liked that you gave Satan a stench, like burnt rubber. That was a nice touch. I also liked that you alluded to how the professor, once he ""caught"" the girl, no longer wanted her as much as before. That was a real turning point in the tale, and it hits at the nature of what desire really entails. Nice!\n\nA couple of things:\n""I’m ok with that – I’ve never been much of believer in souls. I just want a comfortable life on Earth, and then, to retire to the soil.""\n\n""I’d s...', 'time': '10:09 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks Delbert, as always your comment is so helpful! I will take your points into account and take another look at it. I appreciate it my friend. Good luck this week and I’m glad you enjoyed the sensory part of it.', 'time': '11:41 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks Delbert, as always your comment is so helpful! I will take your points into account and take another look at it. I appreciate it my friend. Good luck this week and I’m glad you enjoyed the sensory part of it.', 'time': '11:41 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Watch out for what you ask for. You might get it.\nGreat writing as a man by the way.', 'time': '17:02 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks Mary, that means a lot 😊', 'time': '18:24 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Keelan LaForge': 'Thanks Mary, that means a lot 😊', 'time': '18:24 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,vi3251,The Letter.,Dean Nichols,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vi3251/,/short-story/vi3251/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror', 'Historical Fiction']",6 likes,"
	My name is Jonathan Young. The strange event surrounding my disappearance left a lot of unanswered questions. It was not an abduction, suicide, or murder; and not even God, because neither he couldn’t stop the evil I’d unleash.
	Starting from the beginning, my childhood was a bed of Rose-stems and thorns. Growing up with my parents was difficult. I was the odd one out of the family; and it’s not that was a bad kid, I was introvert -and it was misinterpreted as contemptuous and dismissive behavior. 
	On the other hand, my sister Annette, she’s two years older than me, seemed to be everyone’s favorite. 
	No; I’ve never felt left out. I was not the jealous brother. Annette was a very dynamic woman, fearless, outspoken, and highly intelligent. My parents praised her repeatedly trying to motivate me, but I was set on my ideas; I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to become an artist.
	Since my young years I displayed a tendency for drawing and painting. After college, I enrolled in a fine arts school.
	As was expected, it did not settle well with my father, who wanted me to take over the family business. He owned a jewelry store, and had repeatedly tried to educate me, and teach me the tricks of the trade, but I had no interest.
	As a businessman, my father was highly successful, but on a personal level, he was an aggressive, abusive alcoholic gambler and a cheater.
	My mother knew all about him, but she was in love with him, and love is blind. She had said, the one and only time we talked freely and openly. 
	A few weeks after my twenty-first birthday, I decided to move out and explore this great big world.
	I wanted to get away from the everyday fights, and my mothers’ cry for help. On a few occasions I had called the police, nonetheless she said she’d slipped and fallen on the front porch stairs to excuse the bruises and the black eye. On another occasion, she said that nothing had happened, and I was just a dysfunctional kid.
	I invested my time in my basement studio, painting portraits, landscapes, but none was exciting as creating surrealistic images. I was still exploring the world of canvas and I was excited by the possibilities.
	I participated in a few contests, and I won top prizes. I’ve made the decision to move to my own place to follow my dream.
	My parents made it clear, if I move, I shouldn’t be expecting help, I’ll be on my own. I left and never looked back.
	I moved into a basement studio. My first apartment, my dream of becoming a recognized artist -and be independent, free of the toxic home was becoming a reality.
	Driven by determination, I worked frantically, and two months later, I displayed my work in a small neighborhood gallery. My first exhibition, my first success. 
	I displayed nine paintings, and I sold every single one. I was finally independent with the cash I had earned from my art -and very proud of myself.
	However, my success was short-live. In less than two years, I had to face my first eviction from my spacious two-bedroom loft apartment I had moved to. I moved back into a studio, and three months later I was evicted again, and again, and again.
	My last apartment, a moldy, wet basement room I rented for seven-hundred-dollars in a rundown apartment building on sixth street and Market, in the heart of tenderloin. I painted, I produced painting after painting after painting, trying, and trying, but it was useless. I was getting raving reviews but no sales.
	In hope for some cash, I put on my happy face and visited the convenient liquor stores in the neighborhood offering to cover the graffiti covered storefronts with artistic designs at a very cheap price. Some laughed, and some said no.
	One rainy November day, I returned to my apartment, and I faced another eviction. I had no resources, neither my father, my mother nor my sister returned any of my desperate calls for help. I was alone, hungry, homeless -and desperate with no one to turn to for support.
	Disappointed, I started packing my most prized possessions. Magazines and newspaper clippings of my glory days, then, an article caught my eye.
 ROBERT LEROY JOHNSON: An American blues musician. Born on May 8, 1911, and died on August 15, 1938, at twenty-seven-years-old. Throughout his short and poorly documented life, influenced generations of rock and blues musicians, also have given rise to much legend, including a Faustian myth.
 According to legend, as a young man living on a plantation in rural Mississippi, Robert Johnson was ranted with a burning desire to become a great blues musician. In a dream, he was instructed to take his guitar to a crossroads near Dockery Plantation at midnight. There he met by a large man, the Devil, who took the guitar and tuned it. The Devil played a few songs and returned the guitar to Johnson along with the mastery of the instrument, in exchange for his soul.
	“The Devil?”
	It was my fifth eviction, and though I was determined to make it, the idea felt like a dream destined to remain a dream.
	I knew the procedure well. In three days, the Sheriff will knock on my door and for one more time I’ll be on the streets. 
	Desperate, I sat on the floor and read the article one more time. The thought of why not? I have nothing left to lose; it crossed my mind.
	I’ve decided to read more about the Robert Johnson story. I went to the library.
	The limited information only intrigued my imagination, and I explore books on the occult.
	It was two days before the landlord change the locks and throw me on the streets.
	I gathered my best brushes and canvases and went to the closest country crossroad. 
	I’ve arrived a few minutes before midnight, I set-up my tripod with a brand-new canvas and on the stroke of midnight a large and very tall man appeared out of the thin air. He took my paint brushes one by one he smelled them and licked each one of them. He then painted the painting I call the gates of Babylon. It hangs above my bed -and it’s painted by the Devil himself. 
	Late afternoon the next day, the owner of the gallery who hosted my last exhibit knocked on my door and handed me a check of fifteen-thousand-dollars. All my paintings were sold, I had escape been evicted.
	I returned to work. Horrifying images of my childhood nightmares parallel to Francis Bacon and Lovecraft emerged on my canvases. A year later, I purchased a three-bedroom home on Pacific Heights. I’ve become the artist everyone knew. My paintings hung in prestigious galleries, private collections, and museums. The fame, the money, the high life, the respect, and the recognition it was all that it mattered.
	But everything has a beginning and an ending. I had reached the peak of my career, and it was time for payback.
	The agreement was, after I reach the peak of my career, he’ll have everyone who owns me. In my desperation, I did not read the fine print, but suddenly, it all made sense.
	It was at the same time mysterious and unresolved murders headlined the media, which refused to publish photos of the macabre crime scenes.
	Nonetheless photos appeared on the Internet. Bodies sliced in half, and others eaten alive. Judging from their facial expressions, others had been pulled apart. Then in one picture, I saw one of my paintings. I downloaded every picture available to examine them closer. Only then, the meaning of He will have who owns me, make sense.
	My paintings. All the horrifying monstrous depictions of monsters and mutilated faces, one by one, were coming to life to kill. To kill in the name of the Devil. And I was the only one who could stop it. 
	I tried countless ways and methods, but all failed. They won’t burn. I sliced the canvas into pieces, but the pieces came back together, and the painting repair itself.
	I had read the thirteen unwritten laws of the black arts. 
 The curse ends at its source only after completing the cycle; was the fifth. But what if the source was eliminated before the cycle was completed? Will the curse end? 
	I couldn’t allow the massacre I’ve unleashed to continue. I spent the night trying to find a way to stop it. Perhaps after all my paintings have come to life and kill in the name of Devil, the curse will end, but there were hundreds sold around the world. They were in museums and private collections.
	Throughout the night I contemplated, thinking that it has to be another way, or maybe the curse must come to a complete cycle before it ends, regardless of if the source, me, eliminated. Perhaps after all my paintings have come to life and killed in the name of Devil, then killing myself might not be the solution, nevertheless It was a chance I had to take.
 
	I gathered all the paintings in my studio, along with all my paint and brushes, tripods -and even blank canvases and drove to the crossroads were everything started. 
	Here I was three years later, returned to the place where I’ve given my soul for fame and glory. 
	I piled my paintings, my brushes, paint, and pallets in the middle of the intersection, right where he had appeared, and I poured gasoline. A strong gusty wind blew some of my semi-completed canvases flew away. I chased them and put them back on the pile. I struck a match, which was immediately extinguished by a gust of wind. I tried again, and again, and finally I started the fire. I got on my knees and for the first time in my life I prayed to God. Then I poured gasoline all over my body and jumped on the burning canvases. I felt the touch of the hot flames engulfing my entire body and felt like a relief; I closed my eyes and prayed to God, nevertheless the Devil protected his assets, and a downpour extinguished the fire. 
	I questioned if there was another way to end the curse, but none of the occult books in my collection offered any solutions. 
	Confession? Yes, a confession could be the answer. Confessing that I’ve sold my soul to the Devil for fame, money, and glory would be the right thing.
	I called the Grace Cathedral on California street and I set up an appointment for the following day at three in the afternoon with reverent John who is the Dean of the cathedral.
 
	Prompted for my three o’clock appointment with reverent John, at two forty fine I parked my car in the parking lot, took one painting and reluctantly, I walked towards the Cathedral. Nonetheless, the Cathedral seemed to be getting further away. I ran, and the more I ran, the church kept getting further and further away. I knew it was just an illusion. He was only protecting his assets. 
	I closed my eyes for a short minute, and then I looked around, I was standing beside my car with the painting in my hands, had I even moved away from the car? 
	There was fresh dirt and grass on my shoes, so it was not an illusion. It was four-thirty in the afternoon. Was I standing with the painting in my underarm for one hour and a half? Or the fact that I was at the cathedral was even real?
	I left the painting in the car and walked to the cathedral; I felt nauseated, a strange dizziness took over my body. I climbed the front steps and the closer I got to the door; the dizziness intensified. Then fear, unlike anything I felt before, agonized me. I turned around -and walked back to my car; I retrieved my painting and returned to the Cathedral. This time I made it to the steps. I reached the door, nonetheless I was unable to walk, breathe or talk; I placed my hand on the door handle.
	The painting became heavier -and felt hot, like molten lava. Strangely, I could feel the intensity of the heat, but it did not burn me. Then the creature slid out of the canvas, and right before my eyes, the gruesome creature grew two, five, eight, fifteen feet tall. 
	With its fiery eyes looked at me for a few short moments, then spoke. 
	“Don’t.” Its voice sounded inside my head. It was an ear-piercing growl. I tried to ignore the fear -and I continued into the cathedral.
	Dark clouds covered the sky and a rumbling sound of thunder echoed, a wave of fire consumed the surroundings, and heavy rain immediately started. I mustered every ounce of strength I had left -and pulled the heavy double door. 
	Darkness! The otherwise brightly lit nave was as dark as a moonless night. Another illusion? I wondered.
	“This way!” A voice sounded next to me. It was soft -and soothing. Someone took me by my hand and guided me into what seemed to be a tunnel.
	The reflection of a flame glimmered on the wet and shiny walls, a faint scent of melted candle wax, but there was no one. I held my breath and squinted, trying to distinguish some noise, some shadow, nothing; there was no one next to me. Nevertheless, a hand was guiding me somewhere. Was I blind? No -I wasn’t. in the distance far ahead of me there was a light. A dim flickering light.
	I tried to walk faster towards the light, but the invisible hand, held me back. 
	“You’ll get there, but not just yet.” The voice sounded. I knew I had heard that voice before, but who was that familiar men.
	I walked for what seemed hours, but I never got close to the light. I stopped and looked behind; I was still at the door, and though seemed I had walked for hours, I had not moved away from the door.
	The rain had stopped, there was a small pile of ashes lying on the steps of the church and it was all that remained after the fire, the creature I had created, deployed at me, the rain washed away my ashes. 
	I was dead. Burned by my creation in the same way as my victims had died. 
	Was I in Hell? Where is the tall man to whom I gave my soul for fame, money, and glory?
	Had I become a ghost destined to roam the Earth trying to end the curse?
	Vague silhouettes appeared out of the thin air. 
	“Why?” a voice asked. I recognized my grandmother, and my childhood friend Justin, who had been killed by a drunk driver the day we graduated high school, asked. “Why?""
	Why? I’ve asked the same question. But I knew the answer. Greed, hunger for success, money -and fame.
	“Come.” The voice sounded. I turned to see the man with the familiar voice. It was me. It was me guiding me through my success, my mistakes, and the choices I had made. 
	I walked in places I had lived and talked to people I had met. My customers, my victims. I felt their pain, the agony of being eaten alive by my monstrous creations. I was there at their time of death. I tasted their blood in my mouth and their pain in my soul. So! This is Hell. 
	Hell is to live over and over all the emotions, the feelings, the pain, and happiness; of your Earthly plane, but where will this end? If there is an end, or perhaps another life to redeem myself? 
	Heaven and Hell, God, and Devil, are within. Good does not exist without Evil, and Evil without good. 
	God and the Devil are in the heart of humanity, there always been and there always will be. But in the end, it is your choice, and you have a lifetime to choose. I have chosen Hell. What about you?
","September 12, 2023 12:53","[[{'Dean Nichols': 'The story is based on Robert Leroy Jhonson. A blues musician who died on August 15, 1938. You may have heard the song ""CROSSROADS"" by Eric Clapton. The song is written based on Robert Jhonson\'s Faustian myth, or true?', 'time': '13:02 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,3zvf66,The Corporate Devil You Know,Shawn Leader,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/3zvf66/,/short-story/3zvf66/,Dark,0,"['Funny', 'Fantasy', 'Horror']",6 likes,"
Employees from directors to new hires all run for cover when they hear the clacking of her heels. Like some colossal WWII machine gun:TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPPYTAPTAPTAPATATTAPTAPTAPTTAPTAPCLICKCLICKTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP…TAPTAPThe concussions resound through the entire floor, not just from the executive wing to the break room, the entire floor. If the right doors were open it would echo throughout the whole building. She does not simply walk these floors, she punishes them. One could easily picture the path from the offices to the coffee pot in the break room riddled with little pot marks like Captain Ahab’s decking. But old Ahab had not an iota of the same vitriol for his chosen enemy, even if he had lost both legs he could still not come close to the hatred in her heart. Behold the unholy terror that is Dotty from Accounts Payable. Unfortunately, Dotty’s chosen enemy is my department, more specifically my boss, Dave. I’m not sure why she loathes him so much. They have both been with the company for over twenty years and I’ve heard that Dotty used to be in my department before moving up the corporate ladder, but I’ve not heard of a scandalous affair between them nor the need to avenge a murdered sensei that could only justify this level of hatred. She pummels him with emails and meetings calling him out on our people’s logs and reports. You see, I am in a department that has to log each incoming or outgoing call for transparency’s sake and we get calls all day. Dotty scours these entries for any crossed i, or dotted t and God help the poor bastard (Dave) if she finds one.Like most folks I work for a company. Like most companies ours has been bought out by a bigger company and that company will be bought out by an even bigger company until one day we are all working for a cartoon mouse. When companies get bought out the biggest fear for an employee is losing their job due to redundancy. Now most non salaried workers don’t have much to worry about. It’s the big cheeses that have to sweat it for once. Somebody like Dotty from Accounts Payable would usually be on the chopping block for sure. An established company already has a well-entrenched cadre of Corporate Accountants. Dave saw a ray of hope the last time we were assimilated but this is Dotty the Unclean we are talking about here. Obviously she was not let go, no, no she was promoted not once but thrice, my good friends. She went from supervisor to manager to director to freakin’ VP in a matter of months. The company being swallowed by a bigger fish was the best thing that ever happened to Dotty and the worst to ever happen to Dave. He was once two levels above her boss wise so she was a mere annoyance but now he is a level below her and she has become a menace.I can tell it’s taking its toll on my guy. He was the one that loved his job, he inspired me to take this place seriously and encouraged me move up in the company. Now I’m a manager and subject to the whiff of grapeshot that Dotty fires off daily, but again Dave takes the brunt of it. He used to tell jokes now he just smiles and gives the requisite laugh. The light has dulled in his eyes and maybe a few more hairs have made that long walk from the front of his head to the back of it. Everything he has left is used to fend off the flurry of body blows delivered from Dotty “Boom Boom” Mancini.So, when he got the call from Dotty I shook my head as usual for the poor SOB but it turns out that poor SOB was me this time. Dave told me Dotty wanted to see me in her office STAT. I asked him what for but he just shook his head and offered me his crucifix. And here I am sitting in her office, surprised the decor of an actual office chair, bright hanging flowers, and empowering kitten posters as opposed to a throne of sculls, an array of pitch forks and hanging cages with dead things in them. Here I sit with a thin line of sweat on my brow, tapping my foot in anticipation. When I hear that TAPTAPTAPPING coming down the hall my stomach drops, it’s not normal to be this nervous. It’s silly, really. I mean despite all I’ve said Dotty is not a real demon spawn. It is warm in here, though. But she’s not the devil, she’s just a person. A horrible, rotten, no good, very bad person but still just a person so why I am I filled with dread?I turn around to look and when I turn back she is sitting behind her desk. Just one minute she’s not there and the next she sitting there staring at me with those shark eyes. She leans forward and I involuntarily lean back.“Hello, Mr. Benjamin. May I call you Andrew?” It was a rhetorical question. “Andrew how are you today?” another rhetorical question. “Let’s cut right to the chase. I need you to tell me everything about David.”“What do you mean?”“The dirt, Andy, I want the dirt. What about his family? Has he told any off color jokes or made inappropriate comments about fellow employees? Does he cheat on his taxes? I’m tired of playing around with this man. I need him to suffer now and for that I need you to give me every dirty little deed he has done. I know the two of you are friends.”“You need him to suffer… now.” I repeat, barely comprehending. This is weird. “What is your deal, lady?”“Glad you asked.”The lights go out and come back red instead of the usual humming florescent and all that stuff decorating her office, the pretty flowers and the kitty posters? Yep, they have been replaced with pitch forks and hanging cages full of dead things. She laughs at my face from atop her throne of skulls.“Surprised?” she asks, sipping coffee from her Satan Rules coffee mug.“Not really,” I feel strangely OK, like this is the either a dream or reality has just gone dream like. I’m FUBAR or I’ll wake up traumatized, either way it’s going down now so why not say what I really feel for once. “You are the Devil and you act like it. Hate to break this to you, but you’re not really a people person, Dotty.”“I’m not The Devil…yet,” she said, blowing smoke from her nostrils. “But like every job there is a lot of room for aggressive expansion,” apparently Dotty is a Heath Ledger fan on top of being Beelzebub. “I’m what can be called mid-level, no upper mid-level Hell Spawn. I am David Rhodes’s Personal Demon. A lot of people believe in Guardian Angels but what they don’t know or don’t choose to believe is that are also Personal Demons. That’s where I come in and I can’t move on until I destroy David’s will to live. So you’re going to help me.”“Tempting but no,” I bat my eyes and give her my fakest smile. “But you haven’t heard what I have to offer,” she says raising a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. “I can give you his job if you help me destroy him. I’ll triple your salary. Think about it. You won’t have to work that second job at the Big Box Store. I know you hate it.”“How did you know about that,” I ask. I do have to work a second job to make ends meet and I do hate it but that’s another story.“Where do you think I go after I get done here?” she replies, rolling her eyes. “That place is my Shangri-La. Everybody is so surly and defeated. I know you hate it because it was designed to be that way. Help me help you, Andy. With the money you will be making you can quit that job, take that long overdue honeymoon, get out of debt and live the sweet life you have been dreaming of. Just tell me something I can use.”Now, I am of two minds or if you will an Angel on one shoulder and the Devil on the other. Take the deal, the Devil side says. This is some biblical shit happening here. Best stay out of the way and make that money, man. The Angel side says think about it, why would she need you to tell her the dirt on Dave? She already knows about all of what we have going on, she obviously has some sort of supernatural search engine. She knows everything she needs to take Dave down except maybe… she needs you to tell her, to betray your friendship so she can tape that to her shoe and kick him in the balls with it. Betrayed by the person he went out on a limb to help, the nail in the coffin. Well F that noise.“How did you get this way, D-Ranger?” I can tell she is losing patience but what the hell? “You’ve been at this company for years. You couldn’t have always been in league with Old Scratch. Did you die and nobody noticed? Are you like his long-lost daughter or something?”“This may help you make the right decision, actually.” She tells me. “How do you think I got promoted so high so fast? I met this guy at a self-help seminar, and he gave me sweet heart of a deal. Work for him, bringing people down (so to speak) and I’d get that promotion and that paycheck, and I’d finally be able to shove it my enemy’s face! I love it. You will, too. Come on. We have full coverage dental.”“Nope,” I lean back in my chair. “I’m not the smartest guy in the world… yet,” I say this last part with a wink. Now she’s really getting mad. “But I know better than to make a deal with Hell Corp. It always ends badly like my head will turn into a giant doughnut or I’ll have to keep some freaky painting in my attic. You may as well call me a Saint as in Saint Happening, lady.”Dotty lets out a frustrated growl and leaps off her throne. Her fists pound on her desk and now she is really hulking out! Her skin turns red and she grows three times bigger with muscles bulging out of other muscles. She looms over me. A hairless red gorilla in a Prada pants suit. Perhaps I’ve gone too far.She reaches out with one of her taloned mitts and grabs my shirt, easily hoisting me up to eye level. Yeah, I've definitely gone too far.“How dare you talk to me like that!” Her breath smells like she’s been drinking onion flavored coffee. “I could have you stocking groceries in Hell seven days a week. Last chance, Andy. Give me what I want.”“I won’t do it,” I say with a lot less bravado.“Fine,” she says like a toddler that’s been told there are no more cookies. She drops me into my chair and as soon as my butt hits the cushion everything flashes and goes back to normal. I’ve never been so thrilled to see a “Hang in there, baby” kitty poster. Dotty is back to her usual self, brushing an errant hair out of her face. “That concludes our business, Mr. Benjamin. You may go.”I’m outta there like a bat out of, well you know. Dotty left the company not long after that. Maybe she got promoted in Hell or got demoted and has to clean out Hitler's litter box. Maybe she's stocking groceries seven days a week! Any way, Dave is looking much better, now. He jokes and laughs for real again and I think a see a few new hairs growing in. Personal Demons are no joke, but neither are Guardian Angels and if Dotty was Dave’s demon maybe I was his angel. 
","September 13, 2023 05:15","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'Fun story Shawn. And relatable lol. I think we all know a Dotty. Unfortunately!', 'time': '11:35 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Shawn Leader': 'Thanks, man. \n""The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.""', 'time': '01:24 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Shawn Leader': 'Thanks, man. \n""The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.""', 'time': '01:24 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,069qgi,Dealing with Satan,Aneesa Shamsee,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/069qgi/,/short-story/069qgi/,Dark,0,['Horror'],5 likes,"
*includes murder (possibly sensitive)
 
Hell. Inescapable Hell. A place of horror, torture, malevolence. A place, only some, unlucky souls are welcome to. 
Me, for one.
 
I awaken to the familiar sense of darkness, the smoky air slowly poisoning me, attempting to take me. Again. But something else wakes me. Purpose.
Hell isn’t what some think it is. It’s not houses on fire, not bone-crushing monsters pouncing on us every five seconds. It’s not screaming people. It’s not hysterical crying until there are no more tears. There are no volcanos, or lava that simply fills from the ground, taking us as victims for the second time. 
It’s like earth, but with a darkness that leaves us sinking in regret, where harmony is non-existent. 
We have happiness, but a different kind. Satisfaction, more like. Smiles at suffering. Laughter at assassination. Telling the truth is frowned upon. Our ‘leader’ encourages war, as he takes over innocent minds below, whispering words of chaos into their ears.
Chaos. The word that sums up Hell.
Minds spiralling, a whirlwind of thoughts clouding our air.
‘Why?’
‘They deserved it.’
‘What is wrong with me?’
Inhumane beings, remorse or maliciousness fogging their aura. I take back what I said about monsters. We all have a beast, fuelled by enmity, that lives within us. That’s the one thing we take before we leave earth. And of course, our history.
 
I leave my space, a proposition burning in my mind. None go where I’m going. None cross the one that I’m crossing. None ask what I’m asking. 
No one makes a deal with the Devil.
 
I walk through the gates that lead into his fortress. Four impenetrable walls mark his space. No windows, the inside dimmer than a black hole. A ghastly shadow overlooks his castle, keeping all light out.
I take a breath, filled with the peculiar sense of fear. An emptiness in me, slowly eating me inside out. 
I regain my focus, pushing any feeling of vulnerability away, pushing it so deep, light will never reach.
There are no guards here. There isn’t a need for them. No one, no one, dares to take anything from Satan. No one dares to interact with the demon that sits on his throne, admitting people of evil into our realm.  
 
“Satan,” I say, my voice echoing in the darkness. It rings in my ears, a reminder of why I’m here, what I’m risking my afterlife for.
The reply that comes sounds like something out of a horror movie. “Who dares enter my fortress?” He booms, as I make out a figure rising to their feet.
“Keres Ashford.” I hide the tremble in my voice.
He ponders for a moment. “I remember you. The one who killed the schoolteacher. Isn’t that right?” His tone has changed. No longer the intimidating boom but more of a playful tone, teasing almost. “What brings you to my humble home?”
Something I can’t place lies within the depths of his voice. “I have come baring a proposition.”
I hear the friction as he rubs his blood-stained hands manically. “Oooh, let’s hear it then.”
I clear my throat. “I want to bring the one I killed here.”
“You mean the teacher?” Surprise laces his tone, along with disorientation.
“Yes. That one.”
“‘Course, you haven’t been killing any other professors, have you?” He chuckles to himself. 
“Uhhh, no.”
He walks towards me. I can see him properly now. Despite the dark, his red skin shines, illuminating his bull like horns, proudly sitting on top of his shiny scalp. Black robes drape over his arms and legs, giving him a mythical, unholy look. His wine eyes bore into mine. 
“You want to bring him here?” Challenge flashes behind the blood red irises. 
I nod my head, slowly, full of purpose. “Yes.”
“Why?” Scepticism covers his crimson skin. 
Memories of the foul man flash through my mind. “Injustice. I’m here, while he’s in heaven, as if he never committed any crime. One action from me and my life is taken. I’m brought here, but the many violations he carried out took him to the gates of heaven. All those horrible lessons taught; racist opinions shared, misleading morals. Why, Satan? Why?” 
He tilts his head up, a thoughtful expression plastered across his face. “What’s in it for me? Why should I help you?” He crosses his arms, flames behind his empty pupils.
“Anything within reason,” I say, crossing my arms back at him. 
He raises his eyebrows. “Anything, huh?” His lips turn up in a mischievous smirk.
“Within reason,” I repeat, uncertainty in my voice.
“Within reason,” he mimics, sticking out his tongue.
I roll my eyes, but ever so slightly so he couldn’t see. I always knew that the Devil had a childish side, the inner juvenile, the reason why he haunts our space. 
“Alright,” he starts, snapping me out of my cocoon of reverie. “I’ll help you. But only, if you help…what’s the word? Oh yeah, spy on the Heavens.” He smiles patronisingly. “Deal?”
Spying on the Heavens? Why? I still don’t ask. What good are they too him? 
I think about the consequences. If I’m caught, I’ll be punished beyond return. Burned, maybe. Dead for the second time. 
But then again, my victim will finally get what he deserves. He can look down and see all the damage he’s done on all these innocent children.
“Deal,” I say, staring into the evil eyes of the Devil. I extend my hand, waiting for him to shake it. 
A satisfied look settles upon his face. “Deal,” the touch of his hand makes me flinch, a jolt of realisation that I am shaking hands with the most nefarious being to ever exist.  
 
I leave the fortress, my thoughts, a tornado in my mind. Will he hold up his end of the deal? Will I get caught? How is this going to work?
I step outside, the dark skies shading me. I head to my Hell home, scenarios spinning in my head. I shut my eyes, and let the world slip away from me.
I don’t dream anymore. Only nightmares, as if they’re trying to find an ounce of guilt in my soul, failing every time. No trace of culpability invades me, just fulfilment of my deed. I replay the crime that was my ticket to Hell. 
 
Alfred Rooney. 
That was his name. A communications professor at my school, which I can no longer remember the name of. You see, when you enter this abyss of a realm, you forget. Details that don’t matter, family, friends. The only thing which makes its mark in your memory, etched within moments of time, are your scandals. They haunt you, endlessly until shame floods you, drowning you in regret.
Sir Rooney was something else entirely. I was fed lies for years and years, believing every spoonful, acknowledging and unintentionally spreading hypocrisy to all my friends, colleagues, classmates. 
He made us admonish racist opinions; skin colours were all that was important. Opinions on what girls should do, how we should act, behave. 
But I didn’t realise until the exam, where, on my pristine white page, lay the words, racist and unfairly opinionated.
Failed.
I looked over at my classmates' pages. Overwhelming, burdensome Fs sat on their sheets, as they weeped into their hands. Tears of shame, disappointment and anger were shed, our eyes pinpointing the one man who caused our failure. The one man who infiltrated our minds, placing old, tired sentiments into our brains.   
It all came back to me. The foreign kids, heads hung as he talked about current affairs, how outsiders were slowly taking over our country. 
I did them a favour.
I had only planned for unconsciousness. Never death. But when his heart stopped, satisfaction enveloped me. 
I had watched and waited. Until he was leaning over the balcony, the railing reaching only to his hips. It didn’t take much. I single, firm push sent him flying. The screams still echo in my ears. The bleak wailing of the sirens. I watched as the Deputy Head knelt beside him, watching as the blood pooled from his head, life slipping away with every drop. Watched as she punched 911 into her cellphone. I watched in shock and ran. Ran as fast as I could, away from the scene of the crime. But as I fled, I felt something I hadn’t before. 
Freedom. 
 
The cameras caught me. It was an immediate court trial, and of course, I was found guilty. But really, I wasn’t. Not innocent, that’s for sure. Remorse never found its way to my heart. 
It was a death sentence. Execution.
You know how the rest of it goes.
 
The next day, or whatever a sleep is here, I wake to find a note in my space, yellowing parchment with scrawny words seeping into the paper. 
‘Outside the fortress at 11 o’clock,’ it read. At the bottom of the page, a small circle with two horns gave away the writer. 
I check the time. 10:50. I freshen up and get ready. Rushing, I head to the fortress, finally reaching, when my breath is sparse. 11:01.
The Devil is waiting, his foot tapping against concrete floors. “You’re late,” he says, his eyes flashing with the hint of annoyance. 
“Oops,” I say. One thing I’ve learned, is that you never apologise in hell. To your friend or to the Devil himself, it doesn’t matter.
“Let’s just say, I’ve had to pull a few strings,” he starts. “For instance, I brought a body up, waiting in Purgatory, which looks just like you.” I nod along, wondering when he’ll get to my end of the deal.
“And you just need to go up to those stupid angels and find out everything you can. How they operate and stuff, you know?”
I shoot him a look of confusion. “Why?”
“It doesn’t matter to you,” he snaps back, taking a step forward, as I slowly inch away.
I shrug. “Fine. But when I get back, Rooney better be here,” I threaten, pointing a finger at him.
He shrugs back at me. “Fine,” he mocks. 
I begin to turn away, but Satan stops me, laying a heavy, burdening hand on my shoulder. “Here’s her file.” Turning to face him once again, I nod and walk away. 
As I take my walk through Hell, I read the file.
 
Name: Delilah Harper Johnson
Appearance: Auburn hair, blue eyes.
Born: 21st October, 2000 (Los Angeles, California)
Death: 5th May, 2023 (aged 22)
Cause: Car accident; Lisbon
Profession: Student at Berkeley, Ethnic Studies
Parents: Adaleigh Camila Johnson, Scott Johnson
Siblings: Ivy Johnson (now Green), Eliana Hazel Johnson
Spouse: None
Children: None
Beneath all the details a picture was pinned to the worn brown file. 
Wavy auburn hair frames her tanned face, her blue eyes jumping of the paper. Her smile glows, illuminating her features. 
I process the information, neither happy nor unhappy. My age, same hair, similar eyes. I take one last glance at her. I could pull her off easily. Just smile, talk about ethnicity and backgrounds.
Easy.
 
By the time I arrive home, another scruffy message appears in my space, signed by Satan. Huffing, I pick it up, my eyes darting over the words.
‘Step into the light.’
My brow creases into a quizzical fold. What light?
 
Then, something catches my eye. White, shining, calling to me. A portal type thing, appearing out of nowhere. Light leaks through the ingress, bathing the shadows of Hell in a captivating light. For once, something fills my soul with warmth, which I recognise as hope.
It pulls me, unwillingly taking over my weakened mind. I take a step.
 
Here goes nothing.
","September 13, 2023 13:51",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,2dzu2w,Life for a life,David O'Mahony,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/2dzu2w/,/short-story/2dzu2w/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror']",5 likes,"
Conway stood with the other parishioners, a thick crowd pressing in on each other and reeking of ostentatious piety and desperation. 
The decrepit church wasn't the biggest, but droves forced their way in from Carey's Lane every Sunday. A man six feet away was coughing as if his life depended on it, and maybe it did. Cholera had ripped through Cork a little more than ten years ago, carrying away thousands, including three of Conway's children. Now famine stalked the countryside, and scores of skeletal people draped in rags crammed the quaysides and back streets either looking for work or somewhere to die. 
The damned crammed into any church they could find, searching for something. Maybe salvation,  maybe just a moment's respite from the fear of imminent death. He knew they wouldn't find anything here. He hadn't. And surely, if ever God was going to reach out his hand it was going to be when his little Isobel lay dying of fever, a whisper of the vibrant two-year-old she used to be. First Martha, then Danny, then Isobel, all gone in just weeks.  What a glorious reign Queen Victoria had brought them.
His wife, Matilde, barely left their rooms. She spent hours kneeling in front of two red candles and a portrait of Saint Monica, who was supposed to bring solace to grieving parents. But if she did, she was ignoring the Conways. Their last surviving child, Hanora, now sixteen, had gone to England with her husband and her mother had barely noticed. Hanora had worked small jobs here and there, helping on clothing stalls at St Peter's Market on Cornmarket Street, and made sure her mother was fed while her father was at sea. Now they relied on friends, relatives to look in on her. He helped haul grain, butter, and timber to England and bring coal back on one of the steam packets. He had been missing when Isobel passed. They couldn't afford to lose the work, he kept telling himself, even though he knew it was a lie. Now his wife was a ghost and guilt and grief were eating him from the core out.  
The priest droned on in the gloom ahead. Conway understood almost none of the Latin, but they all understood the rhythm of the ritual. He could just about see the priest's head bobbing up on a step as they all faced the altar, which was clothed in shadow and candlelight, the sun outside blotted out by clouds and the high windows filthy inside and out. Who is this man to turn his back on us, Conway growled to himself, even though he knew it was just the way things were. But when the priest turned to deliver his sermon, some tirade about God leaving bellies empty as punishment for the emptiness of souls, Conway realised he had had enough. Enough of going along with the pantomime, of worshipping a God that had abandoned him and ruined his beloved.
And standing there, desperate to leave and ready to explode with rage, he had an epiphany. If God won't answer me, maybe the other fella will. What have I got to lose? And so he prayed with a fervour he hadn't felt in a decade of half-life. Over and over he chanted, in his head first and then under his breath, ""The devil is in me, the devil is in me"". And if the men on either side of him started to back away, what of it? Fools, he said. Idiots with heads full of muck and hearts as dull as old knives. Something welled up inside of him, an emotion he couldn't name which made him puff out his chest, and for the first time in a long time he felt calm within himself.
The Mass finished, and the congregation spilled onto the street. Legions of the dead walked around him, braying to each other with news of the day or pleading with passersby to throw a few coins their way for charity or whatever goods they'd dredged up.
Behind him he heard a tap, tap, tap of metal on cobblestones. Conway looked left and right. The crowds had vanished, along with the hawkers trying to flog their wares. The street had gone utterly silent, but the tapping echoed off the buildings, until it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.
Conway turned around and less than a foot away from him was a leering, decimated face. It was bloated and bleached white, and half the skin on its jaw was missing. Something had been gnawing on it, but the wounds hadn't bled. They had just torn. The man's clothes were drenched and his hair seemed to drift in the air as if he was underwater. Conway screamed as the drowned remains of his father chuckled at him, rapping a blackthorn walking stick on the ground.
""This? This is how you see me? I won't lie, I was rather hoping for a well-cut suit, one of those uptight educated voices that drives you crazy, but this… well, this will do. That scream, oh that scream was pure fear. It was intoxicating. Do it again."" His speech was clear but damp, as if it was full of phlegm.
Conway's mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. 
""No? Cat got your tongue? A pity, that. But such is life. And, indeed, death."" And the revenant laughed again, a mawing sound that made Conway sick to his stomach.
""What… what do you want?"" he finally stammered out.
""'What… what do you want',"" the creature mocked. ""You summoned me. 'The devil is inside me', you said. Not the most eloquent prayer but I saw in your heart that you meant every word. 'What do you want'. Do not insult me.""
""I wasn't sure … I didn't think what I'd say exactly.""
""No time like the present, lad. But tempus fugit, hora volant. Time flees, hours fly. I already know what you want to ask me. I just need you to say it.""
""I want them back.""
""Who? Come on, be specific.""
""My little ones. Isobel, Martha, Danny.""
""Ah, of course, Danny like his father. And his father's father. Such a warped mind you have, lad, naming your son after the person you feared the most."" And he threw his head back with another vile, hacking laugh, threw it back so far it looked as if his neck was broken. ""And what makes you think I have that sort of power?""
""I thought you'd do anything for a man's soul, you wretch.""
""Oh look at that, he's found a bit of fight in him. You're an interesting one, Danny Conway. I get these prayers all the time, so so many, but they're always the same. Boring. Thing. 'Gimme money, gimme fancy clothes, gimme gimme gimme stuff'.""
""I wanta go back to the way things were.""
""Truly? Look around you,"" and the revenant gestured to the church steps, where a family in rags sat huddled. ""You would bring your children into this filth, this degradation? A world of poverty and starvation? Sorrow and pain?""
""They're mine.""
""So that's your final answer?""
""I can't go on,"" said Conway,  his voice catching. ""I put three babies in the dirt, just saw them thrown in pits with strangers like they were nothing. Nothing! I can't fill that hole in my heart without them. Bring them back. What more do you want from me?""
""Oh, Danny my boy,"" said the revenant, leaning in close to whisper in Conway's ear. ""I want everything.""
""What do I have to do so?""
""Why, earn it of course.""
""What?""
""'What'?"" the creature said, mockingly. ""God makes you earn his grace and favour, doesn't he? Why should I be any different? When your soul is polished up all nice then,"" he clicked two bloated, fleshy fingers, ""our deal will be complete.""
""But what do I have to do?""
""It's so dull to have to spell it out. A life for a life. And when you die you come to me. Though I know you knew that part.""
""A life for a life? That's… in the name of Christ–""
""A little late to invoke him now. So. Do we have a bargain?""
""You'll bring my children back?""
The revenant nodded, its head bobbing back and forth on a broken neck.
""And everything will be the way it was?""
""That's up to you. So, agreed?""
""... a life for a life. Why not?""
""I'll only give you two rules. Make 'em count, and do it fast, before sunset. Before I change my mind. Make 'em count.""
The revenant screamed then, a scream that shook Conway to the roots of his soul, and the sounds of the street roared back and he was on his knees in the gutter with the rats. For a few minutes he wasn't sure if he had been dreaming, or if this was the dream. Did it matter? Life was a waking nightmare. But for the first time in a long time he felt some semblance of hope. Being a good man had got him nowhere. Maybe breaking all the rules would.
A balding man in a cassock was coming down the steps of the church, stepping over the huddled family which had now fallen silent and deathly still. He held his head high with the arrogance of one who would never have to bury a child of his own but would judge you for not having more of them. He was being followed by a younger fellow, the curate, who carried himself more eagerly but with no less pride. A sudden rush of inspiration hit Conway. 
""Fathers,"" he said, slouching over and limping with his hand out like a beggar, exaggerating his accent. ""Fathers, would ye have a second for a good Catholic?"" The curate looked at Conway with genuine pity and began to rifle in his pockets until the priest stopped him with an imperious hand. He was trying to look away from Conway with such disdain that he didn't see the punch coming. A hard one to the face and he was down. The younger man tried to run but Conway caught him by the collar and kicked the legs out from under him. One solid kick to the stomach and he was winded.
He didn't kill them right away. Make 'em count. With a strength he scarcely recognised, as if he was being carried along by the spirit of vengeance, he dragged both men back into the church. He stripped them and lashed them to a pillar. ""You're going straight to hell for this, you little shit,"" said the priest, spitting blood at Conway's feet. 
""You can keep me company,"" said Conway, kicking the man squarely in the testicles. ""Look around you. Who's stopping me?"" He crouched down and spat at the sobbing priest. A decade of rage poured out of him as he squeezed the man's throat. The priest thrashed as best he could, but Conway was younger, stronger, angrier. The curate cried out but Conway cut him short with a stamp to the head, then another and another until he heard bone crack and the man slumped, lifeless.
It was exhilarating, this rebellion. His skin tingled and he felt alive, truly alive. He found himself walking the streets laughing at the idea that he was punishing God. Surely those were two noteworthy deaths. He felt good about it, that he was doing something worthwhile because the return of his children was nearer. He didn't care where he went when died, as long as he had them with him while he lived.
It was raining, he realised eventually. He was sweating and panting on the wharves near the custom house. When did he get here? The place was thronged with dock workers hauling, beggars and starving families keening, well to do men milling about, the masters of all they surveyed. He leaned against a wall, letting the drizzle run over his face. A woman no older than himself was trying to keep a gaggle of youngsters in line. Three seemed to be her own, judging by the way she harangued them and they hung on her every word. Two girls and a boy, the eldest no older than about six. Conway's breath caught and his heart skipped a beat as she turned around and he saw the vibrant, electrified face of his wife as she stewarded their three children and friends through the crowds. But he blinked and she was gone, replaced by a younger woman. 
""Everything will be as it was,"" he muttered under his breath, and she looked at him queerly from the side of her eye as she heard him, then hurried the children up until they were swallowed by the crowd. ""Everything will be as it was,"" he said more emphatically. 
The three children would be back, but they couldn't exist without their mother. She was practically a ghost herself, but he clung to the sudden idea that there was a way to bring her back too. The sun began to set behind the clouds. Time was running out, but he had an idea. One swift, brutal act, and he could have his whole family back together. It could work. It had to.
Matilde was kneeling at her makeshift shrine, as usual. Her hair was matted and unkempt, and the plate of food Conway had left next to her when he left had been mostly eaten, but left to go stale. Her pewter tankard of water was empty. It felt like an age since he had seen her, and in truth it had been an age since he had seen the real her. It's not really her, he told himself. It's just a shell.
""Matilde,"" he whispered. ""Did you get some rest?""
Her eyes flicked toward him and then back to the candles, which stood in hills of melted wax. ""Oh. I don't know. I don't remember.""
""I've found a way to bring them back.""
""What? I don't understand, Danny."" Her voice was small and weak, and so, so tired.
""Danny, Martha, Isobel. I can get them back. But I need you to do something for me.""
Something like life sparked in her eyes. ""Anything,"" she said vehemently.
""It'll hurt, but then everything will be back the way it was. Just think of that. Everything will be back the way it was. And that means me, you, and the three little ones. It just really has to matter.""
""I don't understand.""
""Do you trust me though?""
""I do, but I don't understand.""
""You don't need to understand,"" he said softly. ""You just need to die.""
She fought, feebly, as he covered her face. He couldn't look at her. She twitched and pitched. He couldn't look at her. She went still and silent. He couldn't look at her.
As he lay her body on the bed, looking everywhere but at her face, the room filled with the stink of fetid seawater and a phlegmy, caustic laugh filled the room, followed by slopping, mocking applause.
The revenant was standing by the door. ""Spectacular,"" it said.
""It's done. A life for a life. I gave you three, now you give me everything back in return.""
""I'm afraid not, Danny boy.""
Conway thundered toward the rotting creature, but was floored by a blow he didn't see coming from a force powerful beyond belief. 
""Lie down, and know your place,"" said the revenant, in a voice crueller than ever.
""I can get dirty souls, and I mean proper, greasy things that drip and sizzle anywhere, anytime I want. The kinda scuffed ones,"" the revenant shrugged. ""I'll take 'em, but they're not so juicy. But a good, righteous man, well that's something different entirely. That'd keep the flames burning bright for a thousand years. All you are, Danny, is a disappointment. And you had so much potential.""
""Potential? What're you on about?""
""All you had to do was be good to your wife. Oh her suffering was delicious, but she didn't deserve it. And if you had been just a bit more here for her, you could have given her a nudge back toward her old self. One day and it would have counted. And so many suffering in the city. A few acts of charity hide a multitude of sins. Instead you went and did what you thought I'd like, instead of what I needed.""
""So, what're you saying? Killing isn't good enough for the likes of you?""
""Killing? Oh yes, it is. But you didn't truly give yourself into it. You never mentioned her as part of the bargain. Grief made you mad, and proud. You thought she'd just be coming back too, because a child needs their mother. Thought you were smarter than me. 'But because you are neither hot nor cold, but lukewarm, I shall vomit you from my mouth.' And if Jesus can have standards, so can I. But I'll find a place for you in my kingdom.""
""Don't toy with me. Do what you promised. The children if nothing else."" His mind was reeling and his stomach fit to explode with pain.
""Oh dear. Oh Danny. You haven't been paying attention. You failed to deliver your end of the bargain. I told you to get your soul all polished up and nice. That's what I meant.""
""This isn't what you promised. You said a life for a life, to make them count."" 
""I never said to take any. Changing a life is pure divine magic. And winning a pure soul is one in the eye for the Almighty. You've robbed me of that prize.""
""I want my children.""
""You'll see them. I can promise that, for sure. You'll see them every day… just out of reach. Now,"" and the creature stretched out a rotting hand and placed it over Conway's face, ""good night, sleep tight, and I'll see you in hell when you wake up.""
 
","September 13, 2023 16:26","[[{'Patricia Casey': ""Hi David. \n\nExcellent writing throughout. You brought the scene to life through the senses, the smells, the sounds. Excellent descriptions. Of course, Satan lies. Of course, there's always a catch that negates whatever he promised. But, we never learn.\n\nPatricia"", 'time': '23:42 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,mkvj41,Neon Shadows,Erin Blu,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mkvj41/,/short-story/mkvj41/,Dark,0,"['Contemporary', 'Fiction', 'Fantasy']",5 likes,"
	It all began the night I lost my shadow. The night of perfection, the night where I didn’t know it yet, but I would soon discover the difference between true shadows and light blocking.
***
February 22nd 
	“I’ll be okay to stay mom.” I assured her.
	“I don’t know, Emberalia. It’s a big responsibility for you to be left here.” she said with a hint of the soft baby voice that annoys me so much.
	“I’ll be fine, if anything happens I can just go over to Rein’s house.”
	She gave a nervous  laugh and a quick nervous look to Dad, “The idea of you and Rein hanging out scares me more than leaving you home alone.” 
	She finally ended up giving in after a bit of debating between me and my dad versus her. “Well, I think this is insane, but fine. I’ll let you stay home alone under one condition.” she sighed. 
	My Dad gave her a slight side eye, but it was very quick, “And what would that be?” he asked.
	“Stay away from Rein.” demanded Mom
	“But Rein is family!” I protested.
	“I don’t care. I am only asking one thing of you, if you truly wish to stay home alone and for us to continue trusting you, you’ll agree.” she said with that calm-scary voice that parents use.
	“Fine.” I agreed.
February 23rd
	I did the cliche thing, and I went against the one rule my mother had given me.
	My fist striked the door with a clunking noise, my Aunt Melanie’s door always sounded weird when you knocked on it, but I was only now actually realizing it. They’ve always seemed pretty weird, even if they are family. 
	Aunt Melanie opened the door with her soft and gentle hands, “Emberalia, what brings you here sweetie?” Her voice is flowy.
	A bitter taste came upon me, I can’t stand when people call me by my actual name, Emberalia, I prefer Ember. “I wish to see Rein.”
	“Lovely,” she turns around and cups her hands around the sides of her mouth, “Rein honey! Stop playing for a little while and hang out with Emberalia.” Her voice still sounds so lovely.
	I laugh a little in my head- playing? What’s she doing playing when she’s 14? As I said earlier, they’re weird.
	Rein trampled out of the kitchen, holding a chocolate chip cookie with an annoyed look on her face, she walked out the door without even acknowledging her own mother- or me.
	“Rein.” Aunt Melanie's voice didn’t sound graceful anymore, it sounded strict and secure.
	Rein turned around, looking worried, “Yes mother?”
	Aunt Melanie’s voice felt kind and majestic once again, “Emberalia, dear, you wouldn’t mind if I had a quick little talk with Rein. Right?”
	“No, it's fine.” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as confused as I was.
	Almost immediately, she grasped her daughter’s hand and pulled her inside, slamming the door in my face.
 What was that about? I ask myself. I have never heard her voice switch like that, I rarely hang out with Rein, but when I do, Rein is always fun and excited. (Except when there’s lots of people because she has social anxiety)
	After multiple minutes, Rein came out with two dried but faint, though still noticeable, tears that framed her face.
 
	 We slowly walked over to my house while silent, Rein ate her cookie while I wondered how mad my mom would be if she knew what was happening right now. 
	Once we were inside my own house, we both sat down on the couch. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?” I asked sympathetically.
	“I mind you asking.” Rein said blankly.
	“Is Aunt Melanie hurting you? Are you being mistreated in any way?” I said hesitantly, almost not wanting to know.
	Rein laughed, “No it’s not that, my mother’s one of the sweetest people on the planet.”
	“Okay, if you need to talk though, you know I’ll listen. Right?”
	She stares at the blank screen on the TV.
	“Right?” I repeat, my worry rising.
	She gives the fakest smile to me I’ve ever seen in my life. “Ask me something else, please.” She was smiling but her eyes gave a pleading look.
	“Okay, do you want to spend the night over here?” I asked hesitantly, not wanting to leave any trace of breaking the No Rein rule.
	She looks back to the blank screen, “I would if I could. I have to be back by 8:30 p.m.” 
	“Why?”
	“Ask me something else.” she replies.
	“Why can’t you just give me answers?”
	“I just can’t.”
	“Why not?!” I demand to know.
	“Why can’t you stop asking questions?”
	“Because I’m intrigued now.” I looked at her so hard my eyes could’ve burnt into her head, and I wanted her to feel it.
	“Fine, I can’t lie.”
	I roll my eyes, “Never expected you, Rein Meye, to be a little goody two shoes.” I grinned.
	She gave a soft chuckle, “No, no, no. It’s not that, I’m the furthest thing from a goody two shoes.”
	“So, are you cursed or something?” I said jokingly.
	“Ask me something else.” she said with a crack in her voice, keeping her gaze on the blank screen.
	I could almost feel my face go pale, immediately regretting my decision of inviting her over, “I think you should go home.”
	She gave a smirk that I couldn’t tell if it was innocent or planning something, “So do I, but first…..” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small black hand-towel. She went behind the couch with the hand-towel and stopped behind me. 
	“Wh-what are you doing, Rein?” 
	“Giving you a farewell gift.” 
	“Oh, okay I guess.”
	“It’s for the better, you’ll be so much happier.”
	“Will I?”
	“Sure you will, trust Rein.” said Rein, her voice sounding slightly different, almost nervous.
	I couldn’t help but feel like she was doing something awful. She put the black hand-towel on my face. It felt wet, with frigid water. It was a pleasing though odd sensation. Next, while the hand-towel was still on my face, she shockingly pinched the back of my neck very hard. I winced intensely because her nails felt as if they went deep into my skin. No, not deep in my skin, it felt like it took a bit of me away. Then, I heard her run through the door. 
	I threw the towel off of my face and placed my palm to the back of my neck, pain soaring through it, though I couldn’t find anything. Did she curse me? I asked myself, extremely weirded out.
	I walked over to the window. Seconds ago it had been just noon, now the sky was dark. I looked over to the digital clock, 11:04 p.m. it read. 
 What’d she do? Most importantly, what’d she do to me.?
	February 24th
	The next morning, I ran over to Aunt Melanie and Rein’s house and didn’t bother knocking, I went inside and went upstairs to Rein’s room, which I had been in so many times during family gatherings. She wasn’t there. I stomped down the stairs. Before I had gotten to the bottom, I heard Aunt Melanie in the kitchen, “Oh Rein, I thought you were down in the basement tending to the shadows. When you’re done, I’m making scrambled eggs.”          
 Shadows? Aunt Melanie said this in the tone she did when she scarily said Rein’s name.
 “Kay.” I muttered, trying to sound like Rein. She must be in the basement. We’ve always been forbidden from going into the basement because the adults said it would be too dark and scary for us children. I guess I’ve been lied to, Rein does go in the basement to apparently “tend to the shadows”. What does that mean? Every time when we were younger I would say, “Rein, let’s sneak down to the basement,” for a bit of fun but she would always look at me with this terrified look and say, “No, we messed up once by entering the abditory for the shadows, we mustn't make that mistake once again.” I always thought it was something her mom had told her just to keep her away from the basement. 
	I opened the door, and it creaked very loudly, “Mom, what are you doing?” I heard Rein’s voice call. I silently freaked out. I could mimic Rein’s voice because it was so easy, but I couldn’t possibly mimic Aunt Melanie’s flowy, kind voice that she used on me. Besides, I didn’t know if she used that when our side of the family wasn’t around. I made my voice deeper like Aunt Melanie’s when she said Rein’s name, “Nothing, Rein, just an accident.”
	There was a loud thumping noise coming from my chest, it was so loud I was frightened Rein would hear me. My cover would be blown by my stupid non-courageous self. I was stopped in my tracks when I heard loud talking by many more people than Rein, though I could also hear Rein talking among the people. 
	 I heard Rein yell my name, but she added the letter V to the beginning of it. Vember?
	“Vember! Stop!” 
	I was frightened deeply, I wanted to turn around and act like I hadn’t seen anything, but that was the thing that was stopping me. I still hadn’t seen anything. I ran down the steps, not caring if Rein saw me, because it was my intention for her to see me.
	“Rein Rose Meye!” I yelled. I got to the bottom of the steps and immediately regretted it. There were lots of people, though they weren’t talking anymore, they were staring directly at me. These people weren’t normal people though, they had neon colored hair, neon colored clothing. Even weirder, some had neon pink skin, some had neon blue skin, some neon yellow, neon green, and even neon orange. The craziest and scariest part, I recognized Aunt Melanie as one of these neon people tied up in a corner. 
	“Rein, what in the world are you doing-?” I didn’t get to see who grabbed me by the collar behind me, but someone did. “Let go of me!” I screamed
	I didn’t say anything but my voice responded back, “Just stay still, and it’ll all be over.”
	“No!” I jerked away from her and turned around shocked to see myself as one of these neon people. She had neon pink skin and her neon green hair fell just like my natural hair does. Her face matched mine exactly in the features, they just all had neon colors. Before I could say anything, Rein grabbed me with one hand and put the other hard over my mouth, she was sweating a lot.
	“Vember.” Rein warned. The neon version of me looked up at Rein’s voice, “Stay away from her.”
	“No, we don’t deserve this curse of perfection.” Vember lashed back.
	“ It’s not a curse! And it’s not we, it’s you, you don’t deserve the gift of perfection, Emberalia does.”
	Vember, the neon me, manically laughed, “Reinbelle-”
	“Don’t call me Reinbelle. It’s Keeper to you.”
	“Keeper,” she said with a scowl, “Ember and I are the same person, you of all people should be aware of that, we are literally supposed to be one.”
	“I gave her the gift of ridding you.” Rein groaned, as if she was just annoyed by the situation at hand.
	“You realize, Reinbelle, ridding of shadows isn’t a gift, it’s a curse.”
	At the word curse I broke free from Rein’s grasp and ran to another side of the room, “You did curse me!”
	An apologetic look fell across her face, “Ember no, I would never do such a thing to you. Ridding of shadows makes you an absolutely perfect person. You will have no flaws. It’s a gift, I swear. It’s just categorized as a curse.”
	“Considering the fact I snuck into your house, I completely doubt that I am perfect right now and have absolutely no flaws.”
	“You’re right,” Rein admitted, ""it takes a year to completely work.”
“Then what is she?” I asked accusingly holding a shaking finder at Vember.
“That’s Vember, your shadow.” Rein attempted to elaborate.
I looked down at the floor, on the opposite side of the one hanging light in the
room that flickered ever so slightly, I pointed to it, “Then what’s that?”
	“Blocking of light is all that is. Humans have for some reason called blocking of light shadows. I personally don’t understand it.”
	“Are you not human?” I suspiciously questioned.
	“Of course I’m a human, I’m a human who’s knowing of the shadows.”
	“What is a shadow?”
	“That,” Rein pointed a finger at Vember, “is a shadow. She is made out of all your negative traits. In a year, all of your negative traits will be no more and only exist in her. My job, as shadow keeper, is to make sure none of these shadows get out, and no humans find out, other than the keeper in training. Their names all start with V and have the original person’s name mixed with it. So technically, Vember’s real name is Vemberalia.” Vember gave a scowl at the name Vemberalia.
	“Why a V?”
	“Vile. Vemberalia is the vile version of you.” Rein explained.
	So many questions I wanted to ask, so many words I wanted to say. I wanted to thank Rein for taking the bad out of me but also scream at her for taking a bit of me without my permission. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be perfect. I liked who I was. Shockingly enough, all that was able to come out was, “Oh.”
	“It’s for the better.” coaxed Rein
	Vember grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear, “It’s not for the better, if you don’t have me, you have no personality, you have only good. I’m not saying bad is right, but it’s required to live a full life. You need me, I’m you. You wouldn’t lie to yourself no matter how bad your lying problem is. Right?”
	I nodded. She lessened her grip off of my arm and let go. I walked over to Rein, “I would like Vemberalia back.”
	“She’s lying to you, you know how bad you lie.” Rein exclaimed
	“Either let Vember come back or I will.” I bluffed, trying to sound intimidating. I knew I had absolutely no clue how to bring Vemberalia back to me. But maybe, just maybe, Rein might think I have the slightest idea.
	“But you’ll be perfect! Don’t you want that?”
	“No, I appreciate your kindness, but I don’t want to be perfect, I want to live.”
	“I promise, this won’t make you die.”
	“That’s not what I mean. Let her.” I demanded of Rein.
	“Fine, it’ll hurt though.”
	“I know.”
	“Fine then, go ahead Vemberalia.” Rein scoffed
	Vember gave a soft smile, “Thank you keeper.”
	 Rein nodded annoyed, clearly seeming defeated. Vemberalia turned to me,“Okay, Ember, turn so you aren’t facing me.”
	I turned my back to Vember and braced myself for whatever pain would come with her. A few seconds passed by, and then I heard fast running toward me, from behind me. I didn’t feel anything touch me, but the place Rein had pinched felt like it had risen up in flames. The pain was so excruciatingly awful. It felt like I was being stabbed, burnt, and stung over and over and over and over again.
	While the absolute pain made me want to just crumble up into nothing, I felt a bit more complete.
	I passed into a heavy sleep that made me almost sure that I wasn’t going to wake up, but somehow, I managed to.
February 25th
	Waking up in my bed, in my home, in my comfort zone, the place I have spilled mindless hours into, I laid, starting deeply into into my ceiling. I didn’t know how I got there, I didn’t care because it didn’t matter, I was home and safe.
 
***
 
	I trace everything that had happened, how I didn’t realize the suspicions of Aunt Melanie’s basement. Mostly, I just felt comfort in the fact that I’m not perfect, but I have personality. 
 I am complete.
","September 13, 2023 17:43",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,m92dd6,"For them all, this I will do.",Madison Busi,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/m92dd6/,/short-story/m92dd6/,Dark,0,"['Drama', 'Sad', 'Suspense']",5 likes,"
	""Please Sir. Anything... I will give you anything.""
	She was the 9th soul I’d seen today. Crawling, as is required, along the dark floor. The 9th soul today and the first with any chance of my acquiescence.
	“Sit.” I commanded, her body moved from the crawling posture to a suitable kneel. How I did enjoy seeing a beautiful girl kneel. It was, however, lessened by the state this one was in.
	If I didn’t know better, I’d think this girl had crawled through hell and back to get here, I humored myself. 
	Dark, knotted hair hung from her head in tattered curls. She was worn, ragged, dirty and weak. Smoke had formed cuffs that circled her wrists, holding her in place, but she was not struggling against them.
	She hung her head; in resignation or deference I did not know. Nor, truthfully, did I care. It was obvious to me that this girl had fought hard to find a more just solution before coming to me. Her shoulders, covered in rags from a once white night shirt, sagged and she rested her body down completely on her ankles. Every inch of her exuded weariness, except that is, her eyes.
	Her eyes were firm, confident in this choice. She was not questioning her decision to be here. No, she was merely tired from the journey, whatever it’d been, that had led her now to me.
 Oh sweetheart, you think you're tired now... it will get so much worse, I mused. 
	I knew already I would accept this bargain, but playing the game was so much fun. 
	“Tell me.” 
	“I want him dead. I don’t care how, as long as it is only him.”
	“And the payment?” I asked.
	“I already said, anything.” 
	""What could you possibly have that I want?"" I said, curling smoke around my fingers absentmindedly.
	""You can have me.""
	""Oh…” I chuckled darkly, “I know I can cupcake.” The tendrils of smoke rose and lifted her chin, aligning her eyes with my face. It stroked her cheek and I could feel it in my fingers just as though it were my very hand touching her. 
	""All of me, willingly."" She glanced up, meeting my eyes with a small smirk. She knew she had something there. She was right, I suppose, that would be something novel.
	I pulled my tendril along her neck and watched as the flesh of her cheeks flushed crimson. It ran, almost on its own, down her throat, circing back to her spine and dipping into her gown. I watched as the flush spread further than eyes could see and small bumps spread their way over her skin. She was a sensitive one.
	My head moved involuntarily to the side, a human habit I’d acquire after all these years. I tried to decipher this woman’s thoughts without using my gifts.
	 I could touch her at this moment and know everything that had ever crossed that sweet angry face. I could see every memory, every dream and every nightmare. I would hear every thought she’d had and every word she’d ever spoken. I knew I would touch her eventually. I knew already, I would touch her often, and everywhere, but not for the benefit of my power.
	It was an appropriate gift for my position. It gave me great authority over people, both good and bad. Everyone had their secrets, but none took them past their grave. Oh no. Their secrets, eventually, would belong to me.
	 I would not touch her yet though. I wanted to play with her. I wanted to know what she would tell me. The game of cat and mouse was too tempting to end so early. 
	She sat quietly, looking almost bored as I watched her face. What would she do if I said no, I wondered?
	“And, if I deny you?” I purred in my lilting accent.
	Her eyes shot up with fear. Finally, a reaction I thought. 
	“Why?”
	I grinned, toying with her. “Maybe I don’t want you.” I lied, she was beautiful and her soul was clearly full of fire. She belonged here. 
	“You do.” She said flatly. “If you knew, you would.” 
	“You’re confidence is…..” I hummed. “Tempting.” 
	Her eyebrow raised self assuredly.
	There was something in this woman, it called to me. I would not allow her to leave, not even if she asked at this point.
	I sat up, allowing the smoke in my hands to form a paper and a pen.
	""No more turning back once you sign this you know."" I told her, far more fairly than I would ordinarily be. She nodded her understanding.
	""So be it.""
	The contract swayed in the air toward the woman. Her wrists were freed as it landed in front of her kneeling body. She caught the pen  and immediately signed her name on the curling line at the bottom.
	The contract rolled in on itself as the last letter fell from the ink. It dissolved with a pop, to be filed in the cosmos, a paper contract no longer. The agreement was signed on her soul, written in her blood and my smoke, and would follow her through her days, both in life and after- until I grew tired of its obligation and released her to the ether.
	Her fair face turned up with a relieved sigh. ""It's done?"" She asked.
	My eyes flicked up with a  moment's thought, then I nodded in confirmation.
	Paintings should be commissioned of the look on her face when she saw me nod. A smirk escaped me before I could prevent it. 
	She smiled. “Thank you.”  
	Her shoulders raised and she rolled her neck, like a great weight had been suddenly removed from her back. I snaked a tendril and lifted her hand. My smoke pulled her toward me gently.
Her padding, bare and dirty feet stumbled to my throne. 
“You are mine now.” I reminded her. 
""Take me then.""
	Somewhere in the middle of Idaho a middle aged man dropped to the floor, clutching his chest, and young girls in that county slept safely for the first time in years.
 
","September 14, 2023 01:10",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,ty43ld,Three Easy Steps to Devil Summoning,Brenna Herzog,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ty43ld/,/short-story/ty43ld/,Dark,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Fantasy', 'Funny']",5 likes,"
It was a particularly dreadful night. Lightning split the sky in two, causing young Ruthie Thomas to jump. She stared out at the night sky for a moment before turning back to the task at hand. Squinting, she pushed her glasses up her nose as she surveyed the mess on her bedroom floor. She'd have to remember to pick it all up before morning, or else she'd be fried faster than an egg. 
Raising a smoking stick high in the air, Ruthie waved it about. Trails of smoke filled the room, and while it didn't smell of incense as the directions had instructed, it would do well enough. 
Heather Babbley's 3 Easy Steps to Devil Summoning had painted a clear enough picture: all one needed was blood, a stick of incense (which Ruthie's mother had explained was a smoky, smelly stick earlier in the afternoon), and black candles. 
Ruthie's local librarians had hardly glanced at the paper she needed help printing; they'd merely smiled at her and her yellow dress and freckles, making small talk about school. Ruthie was entering the second grade this year; a fact that she'd rather forget. To her dismay, everyone seemed keen on the subject. 
""Oh Ruthie,"" the librarian had said, not even looking at the printer while she punched the buttons. The old beast had roared to life after some coaxing, churning out Heather Babbley's instructions. ""I'll bet you're the best student they've got at Farthington's.""
Ruthie had smiled and shrugged, knowing well enough that she was far from it. The best student was Mariah Hennings - a girl nearly a full head taller than her. 
She'd been filled with horror on back-to-school night when she visited her teacher-to-be's classroom. Mrs. Triton had shown Ruthie to her desk, and while her mother tittered in the back about something Ruthie decided was either taxes or gas prices, she glanced at the desk beside her own. 
Mariah Hennings was the name tag sitting there. It was a menacing sight. In an instant, Ruthie could see the entire school year laid out in front of her. It was filled with Mariah's hand in the air, knowing every single answer to every single question. Tests would be handed back and Ruthie would have to go through the agonizing pains of hiding said test while also not looking like she was hiding it. Eventually, and she knew this in her gut (although even that wasn't the most reliable thing as she knew her gut was substantially smaller than her father's, who was never wrong about anything), the day would come when Mariah Hennings saw Ruthie's test scores. 
Naturally, Ruthie took things into her own hands. Hoisting up the smoking stick, she closed her eyes. One eyelid slid open just enough to read the incantation on Heather Babbley's instructions. 
""My humble sup...supplixon? My humble supilcation be that the devil visits me."" Ruthie pushed her glasses up once more, completely unaware of what the word supplication meant. No doubt Mariah Hennings would know - she'd won the spelling bee last year. Spurred on by the memory, Ruthie began reading the second sentence. ""On this stormy night I plea, turn up from - oh, uh...hell...this one night free.""
Nothing happened immediately, which was expected. Lighting the candles she'd filched from her parent's room, Ruthie repeated the words again and again. Then came the final touch.
While Ruthie had proved herself to be unaffected by the things of the occult, she didn't have much of a tolerance for blood. Unstopping the ketchup bottle she'd snatched during dinner, Ruthie circled the candles, squirting ketchup this way and that. Occasionally she'd stop, glancing at the paper when she forgot the words. 
The instant she completed circling the final candle, lightning flashed. Ruthie jolted, nearly dropping the stick. As the thunder rolled immediately after, she turned to look out her bedroom window. 
She watched the reflection in silence as the door to her bedroom swung open. In walked a tall, broad figure, swathed in black ribbon that trailed after them, whispering along the floor. 
Ruthie spun around, a wide smile on her face. ""It worked!""
The devil stopped mid-step, the black ribbons curling around their ankles. Glowing red pupils shot down, landing on Ruthie's slight frame. 
""Filius canis,"" groaned the devil. 
Ruthie plopped on the edge of her bed. ""What was that? Oh! Are you Mr. uh...Beezle? Belizube?""
A long, gnarled hand appeared seemingly from thin air. The devil dropped its shadowed head onto it. ""It's Beelzebub."" They glanced down at their phone, which Ruthie craned to get a glance at. Beelzebub was mumbling angrily, tapping at the device. 
""Beelzebub,"" Ruthie sounded out. ""I like it.""
""Like - like what?"" The devil's voice was like a snake sliding up a rock fall. 
""Your name,"" Ruthie said cheerily. ""My mom always says unique names are stupid, but I quite like them.""
Beelzebub might have blinked, or it might have been a well-placed shadow crossing over their face. Slowly, they held up their phone. ""Is this...313 Rutledge?""
Ruthie hesitated, but nodded. ""I'm pretty sure. What's the zip code?""
She had no idea what a zip code actually was, but it sounded like the right thing to say in moment. This was, after all, a meeting she'd set up. If she were to invite a guest into her house, she might as well act like she knew what she was doing. 
When Beelzebub read off the numbers for the zip code, Ruthie smiled, nodding along. ""Yep,"" she popped the 'p'. ""You're in the right place.""
""I think you might have summoned the wrong guy,"" Beelzebub said, sounding apologetic. ""Let me - pearly white doves, I think Gabriel changed his number. I'll find a way to get a hold of the big guy,"" Beelzebub pointed a sharp finger skyward, ""This seems better suited to him, you know? It's my mistake, really.""
Ruthie jumped up as Beelzebub began sinking through the floor. Something akin to tar bubbled up from where their toes had already sunk through the floor. 
""Wait!""
""No, I really think this is a misunderstanding -""
""I need your help!""
Beelzebub paused at this, staring up at Ruthie with their soulless gaze. ""Help? Help? I don't help, kiddo. I make deals. You get it - the whole gnashing of teeth bit? That's me.""
Ruthie snapped her fingers - something she was quite proud of. She'd only just learned last week. ""A deal! That's what I want!""
Beelzebub scoffed, and half of Ruthie's shelf toppled sideways. Books flew to the ground, crashing into the window. 
""And what, may I presume, is the nature of this deal?"" When Ruthie looked confused, Beelzebub pressed on with a sigh. ""What do you want?""
Ruthie looked down, scuffing her slippers on the floor. ""I want...well, the thing is, I want to be the smartest kid in class."" She looked up quickly, trying to gauge Beelzebub's expression. Unfortunately, Beelzebub had no expression, partly due to the fact that their face wasn't solid. It was little more than writhing shadow and mist. Only their eyes stood out, unblinking. 
""And what,"" they finally responded, ""will you give me in return?""
This was what had stumped Ruthie for most of the day. What could she give the devil that they didn't already have? What could they possibly want? She might not have been the smartest in her grade, but she was certainly smart enough to know that her mom would kill her if she sold her soul. In the end, she'd come up with only one good idea. 
""Have you ever been to a country club?""
Lightning flashed once more as Beelzebub laughed. The rest of Ruthie's shelf fell, landing with a crash. ""Of course I've been to a country club! I've been everywhere in the world, kid. They're dreadful places - I've met some of my favorite politicians there.""
""Right,"" Ruthie shuffled her weight from foot to foot. ""But have you ever been a member?"" 
Pulling her father's membership card from under her pillow, Ruthie held it up high for the devil to see. Beelzebub squinted. 
""Let me tell you a little about the country club,"" Ruthie began. ""When you're a member, you get access to everything. Unlimited golf games, pool time, and the fancy umbrella drinks my mom never lets me try. And,"" she emphasized, trying to remember what her aunt had yelled at her dad on his birthday. ""Endless, free discrimination.""
If Beelzebub was a dog, their ears were perked up. ""Endless?""
Ruthie nodded. ""But only those that are members get to really join in.""
Discrimination was a big word, but even Ruthie knew it was bad news. She'd worked out a few hours ago that bad news was good news for the like of Beelzebub. Indeed, the devil was pacing the room now, glancing at her every so often. They muttered under their breath, ignoring their pinging phone. Ruthie sat still, waiting with bated breath for the big decision. 
Thunder crashed as Beelzebub stopped, gasping. This displayed a rather unsettling maw with endless, churning bits and pieces inside. But it was quickly gone, replaced by shadow once more. 
""What level is the membership?""
Ruthie shoved her glasses high up on her nose, struggling to read the card in the candlelight. ""You look,"" she said, shoving the card in Beelzebub's face. 
They couldn't hide their thrill when they read the word. ""Executive? Oh my, that does sound promising, doesn't it?""
""So?"" Ruthie encouraged. ""One year. It's fair, I think.""
""I..."" Beelzebub leaned against the wall, their long fingernails tapping against the paint. They paused, sniffing the air. ""Is that ketchup?""
Ruthie snapped her fingers again. ""I don't have all night, Beezilob.""
""Alright, alright! You have a deal!""
Hardly able to believe her luck, Ruthie leapt for joy. Beelzebub recoiled at the sight, pushing her away when she ran in for a hug. ""I'll just take this,"" they said, plucking the membership card from her. 
""Oh, thank you! Thank you!"" Ruthie cried. 
""Don't mention it,"" they said, a chill filling the air. ""I'd better not hear from you again.""
Ruthie shook her head vigorously. ""Right. It's been a pleasure,"" she held out her hand for a handshake, which Beelzebub wholly ignored, already sinking into the floor. Tar bubbled and spat as they sank, pausing only when their torso was halfway through the floor to glance at Ruthie. 
""Oh, right. Take this.""
A black sticky note appeared in their hand, which Ruthie took. She frowned at it. ""What's this?""
Beelzebub's voice echoed around her room as they disappeared. ""Memorize the spelling.""
Before she could ask anything further, the candles snuffed out and Ruthie was left alone. 
Three months later, she was crowned the winner of the spelling bee. Mariah Hennings cried in the corner while Ruthie spelled out the winning word. 
""B-e-l-p-h-e-g-o-r. Belphegor.""
Hesitant applause filled the gymnasium and Ruthie took a bow. Her mother stood, whooping and hollering despite the nasty glances people sent her way. 
""Well done, sweetheart!"" She yelled, crushing Ruthie in an hug. Ruthie's father came next. ""That judge was...interesting, don't you think?""
Ruthie shrugged. ""Seemed fine to me."" Glancing back over her shoulder, she grinned at the judge, who was disappearing into the crowd. 
She'd recognize those red eyes anywhere.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","September 16, 2023 02:35",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,f56yln,"Next Time Satan Calls, Play Dead",Michael Jefferson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/f56yln/,/short-story/f56yln/,Dark,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction']",5 likes,"
	Dr. Kyle Kidd looks out of his window at the lush greenery surrounding his office, smiling serenely. 
	“I’m glad we came here. I really like it.”
	Tempest, his nurse, nods approvingly. “It’s the perfect small town for a talented country doctor. We can live here for twenty years before anyone notices you haven’t aged.”
	Kyle rolls his eyes. “With all the eligible men in this town already lining up at the door faking ailments just to get a look at you, no one’s paying any attention to me. We might be able to stay here forever.”
	“… Inbred hillbillies…,” Tempest murmurs.
	Given her profession, Nurse Tempest’s acidic tongue and lack of a bedside manner may come across as incongruous, but in the year since Kyle has started his practice in Bucksnort, Tennessee her glossy red hair, hazel green eyes, and curvy figure have made her the town’s most talked about and mysterious resident. 
	Startlingly handsome, with a generous cowl of jet black hair, a dimpled chin, bright, friendly blue eyes, and a gym rat’s physique, Kyle is respected throughout Bucksnort for his experience, and gentle approach to providing care.
	“Yeah, I’d say Bucksnort is as beautiful as Naples, as historic as Washinton D.C., and as cultured as London,” Kyle says.
	“It’s not Gettysburg, that’s for sure.”
	“You really hated that place.”
	“We should have left there after the war,” Tempest replies. “But no, you wanted to ply your new trade. There was nothing there but broken houses, broken men, and the stench…”
	“I’m surprised it offended you. I thought you’d have been used to it.”
	“Just because I’m associated with death doesn’t mean I gleefully sit on piles of bodies chewing on arms and legs like they’re Kentucky Fried Chicken and sniffing their stench like its perfume. I was human once, just like you.”
	“What happened?”
	“Love.”
	Kyle snickers. “You?”
	“I was a slave who made the mistake of falling for a patrician, a man far above my class,” Tempest says. “He took what he wanted, swore he would marry me and drown me in jewels. I found out he already had a wife the same day the centurions came to throw me in prison. I was called an adulterer and was supposed to be burned at the stake. Aphrodite, the goddess of love, took pity on me. She coerced the same centurions who had jailed me into killing my lover and his family. Zeus was angered by this and had me cast into Hades, or as you call it, Hell. The King of the Underworld decided that my beauty could serve him.”
	“I guess all the times I’ve called you the devil’s daughter…”
	“It wasn’t far from the truth,” Tempest replies.
	“I’ve underestimated the pain and suffering you’ve been through, I’m sorry.”
	“What I’ve caused in return has made up for most of it.”
	“Please tell me you’ll continue to behave while we’re here,” Kyle says hopefully.
	“Thanks to your talent, most of your patients will live. But you know that some must die as well. It’s the way of the universe. Don’t feel sad, Doc. You’ll continue to do great things here. I knew you had exceptional talent when I saw you operating in that field hospital at Gettysburg. That bearded man was certainly proud of you.”
	“General Grant. I still have the medal he gave me in my drawer.”
	“He always stunk of booze and cigars.”
	“Yeah? How did Caesar smell? My experience at Gettysburg made me want to help others, which is why I was so willing to strike a deal with you. Then the Spanish-American War followed, then World War One, and World War Two. By then I began to wonder if what I was doing was having any effect at all.”
	Tempest clicks her tongue. “You chose this path. I found you in a ditch. A Confederate mini ball had shattered your spine and you were seconds from death. You said you wanted to live so you could save others. I gave you the knowledge you needed to be a doctor. We made a pact, and you have to honor it. Never forget that I can throw you back in that ditch anytime I like.”
 
 
	Police officer Lou Tennant swings open the front door to the office shouting, “Hello, beautiful!” at Tempest, whose sour expression indicates she’s not happy to see him.
	“What are you faking this time, hayseed? Cholera? Bubonic Plague?”
	The spry, boyish police officer puts his hand against his chest, feigning heartbreak. “You really do live up to your name, sassy lady. You know I’d do anythin’ short of dyin’ just to see you darlin’, but this is for real. I’ve got a man havin’ a heart attack in the back seat of my car.”
	Tempest summons Kyle, and the two men carry an obese groaning man into the exam room.
	“Why dontcha keep me company while the Doc does his thing, dearie?” Tennant asks.
	“Shut up, you clodhopper. If you ever call me dearie again, you’ll be the one on your back.”
	“Oooh. Can’t wait, darlin’!”
	“Isn’t it time for your lunch, Goober?” Tempest asks testily. “There’s got to be some roadkill out on the highway waiting for you. GO!”
 
	Tempest joins Kyle in the exam room. Kyle is covering the man with a sheet.
	“He’s in your world now.”
	“No. He’s not supposed to die yet.”
	Reaching into her lab coat, Tempest produces a small vial containing red liquid. Cracking open the top of the vial, she pours the contents on the man’s chest.
	“Rub,” she says.
	“What?”
	“Rub the liquid into his chest. I’d do it, but yuk, he’s so hairy…”
	The liquid begins to sizzle. A loud pop makes Kyle back away. The pungent puff of smoke wafting off his patient’s chest makes Kyle gag.
	“What’s that smell?” Kyle asks.
	“Death.”
	Exhaling loudly, the man sits up, his eyes bulging as he looks around the room.
	“A light! I saw a light and I went to it!” the man yells.
	Kyle pushes him back down onto the table.
	“Voilà,” Tempest says. 
	“Let me examine him. Then we need to talk.”
 
 
	“I’m proud of the work we do, but I’d like to do more of it myself, you know what I mean?”
	Tempest gives Kyle a long, unnerving stare. “No, I don’t. A win’s a win.”
	“I’d feel more useful, more accomplished if you didn’t pull some futuristic rabbit out of your hat practically all the time.”
	Tempest’s dissecting stare broadens as she taps a pencil against the top of her desk. “Are you politely telling me to mind my own business? Because that ditch hasn’t been filled yet.”
	“No, of course not,” Kyle replies uneasily. “But the reason I made our agreement was to help people.”
	“Which you have. You just saved that whale guy. You’ve saved hundreds of lives.”
	“And lost nearly as many,” Kyle says woefully.
	“The dead belong to me. You’re working as much for me as for the living. That’s the cold hard part of our agreement.”
	“You know who’s supposed to live or die before I even treat them. I want to do the right thing, but why bother?”
	“Like I said, If you have doubts, I can send you back to when we first met, and you can take your chances on whether you’ll live or die with a shattered spine. The next time Satan calls, play dead.”
 
 
	“What’ll it be?” the Starbucks cashier asks.
	“A Frappuccino with Mocha Cookie Crumble and a double layer of whipped cream,” Kyle says.
	“Tsk. Tsk.,” a woman’s voice admonishes.
	Kyle turns around to find an olive-skinned brunette wearing a peasant blouse smiling at him. A little girl with big brown eyes sucking her thumb looks at him with wonderment.
	“Aren’t you Doctor Kidd?” she asks.
	“Yeah. I haven’t had the pleasure…”
	“Willow Macker. And you won’t if you keep overloading your system with sugar.”
	“I’m a general practitioner, not a nutritionist.”
	“Do tell,” Willow replies.
	“You’re right. I should set a better example. Would you and your little sister like to help?”
	The girl looks up at Willow. “Ha! Watch out for this one, Mom.”
 
 
	Kyle whistles happily as he enters the office carrying Dahlia, Willow’s daughter, piggyback.
	Tempest stands by her desk, her hands on her hips.
	“What’s up, chuckles?” Kyle says to her.
	“And you’re supposed to say ‘What’s up. Doc?’” Dahlia says to Tempest, giggling.
	“Who is this street urchin?” Tempest snarls.
	Rushing forward, Willow says, “That’s my daughter, red!”
	Tempest gives Willow a long vicious stare that makes the much smaller woman take a step back.
	“Hippies!” Tempest bellows. “There haven’t been any hippies in this country since Lyndon Johnson was president, yet you managed to find some.”
	“I resent you calling me and my daughter dirty,” Willow says.
	“Yeah, I took a bath this morning!” Dahlia chimes in as Kyle lets her down from his shoulders.
	“A word. Doctor,” Tempest says venomously. 
	Sighing heavily, Kyle follows her into the exam room.
	“Don’t yell at my new friend. He’s cool!” Dahlia yells.
	Tempest halts, her shoes squeaking against the floor like Good Year tires smoking to a stop at a racetrack.
	Tempest’s burning stare bores in on Dahlia. 
	“Some children should be eaten, not heard.”
 
 
	“What in the name of General Grant’s beard are you doing?” Tempest roars at Kyle.
	“All work and no play…”
	“Oh my God, you’re intoxicated.”
	“No, I’m not. All I had was some chai tea,” Kyle answers.
	“No, fool. You’re drunk with infatuation. You mean to tell me you fell in love with that mountain woman in the two hours you’ve been gone? She must’ve slipped you more than just chai tea.”
	“Think back to that man you said you loved. Everything and everyone said it was wrong. But you knew it was right.”
	“You’re making my point for me, Doc. I was dead wrong. Accent on the dead. The age difference between you is laughable enough. Have you forgotten the last time? What was her name? Music box?”
	“Musette. Butte, Montana, 1989,” Kyle answers quietly.
	“Right, the French chick. You told her everything. You even showed her your medal. And what happened? She ran away screaming, smack into the grill of a Greyhound bus.”
	“It’ll be different this time.”
	“You’re right. Because you’re going to nip this farce in the hind quarters right now.”
	“NO! You’ve been in hell for so long, you don’t even know what heaven is anymore. I’ve found it and I’m not letting it go.”
 
 
	Tempest enters Kyle’s office, tossing a pair of files into his inbox.
	“Are you practicing your free throws? Come in.”
	“We have nothing to talk about,” Tempest says. “It’s been a month, and you’re still playing house with that Joan Baez lookalike. And that little girl…Yuk… She’s a mini terrorist.”
	“I thought her putting the fart cushion on your chair was very funny.”
	Tempest groans. “Just don’t let things get out of hand.”
	“How can they?” Kyle asks.
	“Oh, I don’t know. You could show her your gramophone, your collection of steel pennies, or that picture of you and General Grant.”
	Their argument is interrupted by footsteps frantically trampling through the hallway.
	Police Officer Tennant runs to the doorway. “Hello, gorgeous!’ 
	“Don’t make me shoot you with your own gun, flatfoot,” Tempest returns.
	“Got an emergency for you, Doc. It’s Willow Macker’s kid. She was swimmin’ in Snag Lake. She went too far out for her mama to save her.”
	“Are you saying she drowned?”
	“Looks like it.”
	Kyle rushes to the exam room trailed by Tempest. Tempest pauses to look back at Willow as she collapses in Tennant’s arms.
 
 
	Kyle is trying to resuscitate Dahlia when Tempest joins him. He desperately pounds Dahlia’s chest, hoping to raise a heartbeat.
	After fifteen minutes, Kyle pulls away, exasperated and worn out.
	“…She’s gone…”
	Kyle collapses in a nearby chair, sobbing.
	Tempest looks down at Dahlia, waving her hands over her cold body.
	A miniature plastic dome appears over Dahlia’s chest. A small piston pounds against her body.
	After several minutes Dahlia opens her eyes saying, “Hey, get this thing off me.” 
	The dome evaporates as Kyle takes Dahlia in his arms.
	“What was that?” Kyle asks.
	“A heart pump from the next century.”
	“Why did you do that?” 
	“When the time comes for you to choose, I don’t want you to pick Willow out of pity, or me out of fear. And believe me, the time for you to choose is coming, Doc.”
 
 
	Tempest checks the waiting room, noticing Willow and Dahlia cloistered in a corner.
	Kyle breezes into the office, carrying a suitcase.
	“What is this? Ozzie and Harriet go on vacation?” Tempest barks.
	“I need you to release me from our agreement.”
	“So, the time to choose has arrived, eh, Doc? What’s it been two weeks since Little Miss Muffet drowned? I must be losing my touch. I thought you wouldn’t pull this stunt for another month.”
	“Please Nurse Tempest, we want to be a family,” Dahlia says, looking at her dewy-eyed.
	Tempest gives her a lethal look. “Remember what I said. Some children should be eaten, not heard.”
	Shrieking, Dahlia clutches at her mother.
	“Ask yourself, Tempest. Why would Kyle want to stay with such a cruel, angry woman?” Willow asks.
	“You need to try and understand that I’m in love with Willow, Tempest and that I want to spend the rest of my days with her,” Kyle says.
	“You heard him, Tempest. He loves me, not you.”
	“Quiet, mouse,” Tempest retorts. “Have you told her everything, Doc? Did you show her your medal?”
	“I will.” 
	“Better check when the next Greyhound is leaving before you do.”
	“What is she talking about, Kyle?” 
	“She’s just stalling, Willow. She doesn’t believe I have the guts to leave her.”
	Tempest glares at the three of them for what feels like an eternity, Raising an eyebrow and exhaling deeply, she says, “Be very sure this is what you want, Doc.”
	“I’m sure.”
	“He’s all yours then, mouse.”
	Kyle holds Willow in a long embrace. 
	Gasping, he pulls away, his body quaking. Moaning, he grasps at his stomach.
	Willow reaches out for him. “Kyle! What’s wrong!”
	Kyle looks at his liver-spotted hands. They shake uncontrollably as they begin to wrinkle and gnarl. 
	Willow gasps as the once handsome doctor’s deep black hair turns grey, and his healthy skin tone pales.
	Kyle’s skin slides off his bones, melting into a pile at his feet.
	His bones crack, snapping like weak twigs.
	Willow and Dahlia scream as Kyle’s fleshless skull looks mournfully at them as it disintegrates.
	“…I love you, Willow…,” he whispers dryly.
	Kyle’s skeleton dissolves into powder.
	Tears streaming down their cheeks, Willow and Dahlia look to Tempest for an answer.
	“He fell into a ditch a long time ago and was never able to climb out,” she says, disappearing.
 
 
 
","September 14, 2023 18:08","[[{'Tricia Shulist': 'Creepy!  I liked the repartee between Kyle and Tempest.  She is filled with so much distain, he with the need to heal.  Good dialogue from Tempest.  She is one salty entity.  Thanks for sharing.', 'time': '19:02 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Michael Jefferson': ""Thanks for the comments. Unfortunately, I've known quite a few real-life devils in my lifetime!"", 'time': '20:45 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michael Jefferson': ""Thanks for the comments. Unfortunately, I've known quite a few real-life devils in my lifetime!"", 'time': '20:45 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michael Jefferson': 'I always try to inject a little humor into my tales. After all, real life is a mixture of comedy and tragedy. Thanks!', 'time': '12:25 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Almost funny horror story.😏', 'time': '05:35 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,ijvjno,The Barter ,John K Adams,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ijvjno/,/short-story/ijvjno/,Dark,0,"['Friendship', 'Kids', 'Drama']",5 likes,"
 
‘Moby is dead.’ 
Jacob stared at his goldfish floating in its bowl. Tears streamed down his face. 
He was six. He’d heard the word ‘death’ mentioned on TV, but this was real. Searing pain cut through his world. 
‘How can this be?’
His mother, Joanna, came to his bedroom door. She understood his sorrow and tried to console her young son. 
“But why, Mom? Why?”
“I’m sorry Jake. Some things can’t be explained.” She thought, ‘Especially when you don’t understand.’
Joanna stroked Jacob’s hair, cooed loving phrases and offered to help lay Moby to rest. But Jacob needed more time. She gave him space.
The family bulldog, Pugsy, entered as Joanna left. Panting, he sat and stared at Jacob. When the boy’s sobs subsided Pugsy climbed up and licked Jacob’s face.
Jacob felt like a limp rag. Pugsy’s affection cheered him.
Pugsy’s voice grabbed his attention. “You don’t need that fish, kid. You got me.”
Jacob had never heard Pugsy talk. 
He sat up and said, “No offence, Pugs, but I miss Moby. A lot.”
“I get it, kid. I could help with that. But it won’t come free. Whatcha got? You know, of value?”
“What do you mean?”
“The way I see it, you got a little, dead fish. I wouldn’t even need to pick my teeth if I ate it. Bringing things back to life ain’t no piece of cake. You want your fish? That’ll cost you.”
Jacob looked at his stuffed animal friends watching him. His best friend, Boo-Boo, was threadbare and missing an eye. Originally his father’s, Boo-Boo had seen a lot. The puppy fit into Jacob’s palm. When wiggled back and forth, Boo-Boo’s floppy ears helped him fly to great adventures. His fellow toys deferred to Boo-Boo’s wisdom.
Boo-Boo’s little arms reached for Jacob. 
Pugsy snapped, “Forget it, kid. Got no use for a load of stuffing. Talk to me when you ain’t gonna waste my time.” He hopped off the bed and sniffed the air. “What’s that smell? Somethin’ fishy…?”
Jacob slumped onto his bed. He looked at Moby’s fishbowl and sobbed. Pugsy lingered by the door.
“Wait! There’s got to be... I’ll do anything…”
“You tell me. No free lunches, kid.”
“Heard about it in church.”
“Oh, boy…”
“Something… called my soul? Could trade that for Moby.”
“Don’t think so. Not worth doodly on the street.”
“Didn’t even know I had one. So, doubt I’d miss it.”
“I get that. People think they’re trouble. No point to ‘em.”
“That’s all I have. Whatcha think? Can you bring Moby back?”
“I don’t know…” Pugsy made a show of thinking. “Alright, just for you, kid. I’ll do it.”
“Yay!”
Pugsy growled. “But this is a one-time deal. Can’t tell anyone about this.”
“Right. Deal. Not a word...”
Pugsy barked at the goldfish bowl and a splash erupted from the water. Moments later, Jacob saw Moby dart here and there, swimming in happy circles.
Jacob teared up at seeing Moby alive. He offered his hand to Pugsy who placed his paw in it. They shook.
“Thanks Pugs…”
“Forget about it.”
Jacob ran into the kitchen. “Mom! Moby’s okay! He was sleeping.”
She followed Jacob to his room where he pointed to Moby, lively as ever. 
This was very strange. Everything looked normal. She knelt to face Jacob.
“Be honest, Jake. Did someone bring you a new fish?”
He laughed. “No, Mom. That’s Moby. Can’t you tell?”
“But…” Joanna had no words. “Well… good.” 
She felt dazed, withdrew and made an instant coffee. While trying to make sense of things, she noticed Jacob running from room to room. Investigating, she found him rummaging in her purse.
“Don’t go in there, Jacob. What are you doing?”
He looked startled. “Oh, hi, Mom. I was just looking.”
“Nothing in my purse concerns you. You want something? Ask me.”
He nodded and left. She looked in her purse. The cash she’d gotten at the ATM was missing. She went to Jacob’s room. Seeing her approach, he withdrew his hand from under the pillow. 
She sat on his bed. “What’s going on Jacob?”
“Nothing. I’m happy Moby is back to his old self.”
“Yes, he’s full of surprises. Oh, look…” She pointed at the fishbowl.
With Jacob distracted, Joanna lifted his pillow. Four twenty-dollar bills lay on the bedspread. She slipped them into her pocket before Jacob noticed. 
“What did Moby do, Mom?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The funny way he moves his tail, I guess.”
Joanna stood and heard something hit the floor. A box of matches lay at her feet. She held them up. 
“Jacob, why do you have these?”
He looked defensive. “They’re matches, Mom.”
“I know what they are. Why do you have them?”
“Experiments. I’ll be careful.”
“I’m keeping these. Don’t play with matches, or fire or anything else that might be dangerous.” He stared. “You understand?”
“Sure, Mom. I wasn’t planning to burn the house down.”
“Good to hear, Jacob. No unplanned burnings either. No matches. No fires. Got it?”
He shrugged and nodded with a little smirk.
Joanna returned to the kitchen and called Jacob’s doctor. The sudden changes in Jacob’s behavior frightened her. She secured a referral appointment for the next day, to see Dr. Jarvis, a psychiatrist.
No one mentioned Moby’s reincarnation to Jacob’s father, Bernard. And Joanna did not bring up the boy’s filching money from her purse. She wanted to hear what the doctor thought before involving Bernard. The day’s events were so bizarre she needed to process them. 
Bernard worked downtown as a defense lawyer on important cases. Joanna didn’t want what she hoped were little boy antics to distract him.
She took Jacob to his doctor’s appointment early. She spoke with Dr. Jarvis about the previous day’s exhausting events. He noted her concerns. Dr. Jarvis interviewed Jacob who responded like any normal six year old. His ability to navigate the meeting with such eerie calm made Joanna fight the urge to shake him.
Afterwards, the doctor prescribed the lowest dose of the anti-psychotic, Seraquel. He said they would try it and monitor the results closely. He hoped he was wrong, but suspected an early onset of schizophrenia. 
“Think of it as low dose aspirin. Call me weekly with any changes, good or bad. He might be acting out over the death of his pet.”
Joanna thanked Dr. Jarvis and filled the prescription. Now she had something to tell Bernard.
After arriving home, Joanna gave Jacob one of the pills Dr. Jarvis prescribed and a glass of orange juice. She watched him drink it down.
She told him, “Now go play and tell me if you are feeling any different.”
Jacob went to his room. He took the pill from inside his cheek and examined it. The round yellow tablet reminded him of a rising full moon. Wondering where to get rid of it, he turned to his stuffed animals. 
The puppy, Boo-Boo, caught his eye. His little arms reached out to Jacob. 
Boo-Boo asked him, “Have you outgrown me? Your Dad outgrew me, and he became a lawyer.”
Jacob picked up his friend. “I’m sorry, Boo-Boo. We’re still friends. I just got scared about Moby.”
Boo-Boo said, “I’m always here if you need me.” 
“I know that Boo.” 
Jacob hugged his old friend. He noticed the pill on his lap. Taking Boo-Boo along, he flushed the pill down the toilet. Then he and Boo-Boo watched TV.
Their show broke for a commercial and Jacob missed his mother. He and Boo-Boo found her on her bed, napping. Pugsy sat on the floor watching her with bright eyes, anticipating.
Jacob followed Pugsy’s stare and saw a large spider making its way steadily up his mother’s sleeve. Unhurried, it crawled toward her neck. Jacob also watched, fascinated by the creature’s methodical movement.
Boo-Boo fell to the floor with a thump and drew Jacob’s attention. His little arms reached to Jacob.
“Help, Jacob. Do something!”
Pugsy growled. Jacob snapped into action. He took a tissue from the bedside table and gingerly plucked the spider from his mother’s sleeve. 
Joanna startled awake. “Wha…? What? Jacob? What are you doing?” Her anxiety was not unreasonable.
He held up the wad of tissue paper.
“Hi… Sorry, Mom. A spider was crawling on you. Didn’t mean to wake you. Let me get rid of this.”
He ran into the bathroom and flushed the spider. 
Pugsy waited for him in the hallway. “Watch it, kid, we have a deal. Remember? You have a nice fish there. Don’t want something to happen to it.”
Jacob rejoined his mother. She held Boo-Boo out to him. 
“You dropped your toy.”
He took Boo-Boo. “I’ll let you alone. Sorry to wake you.”
She cupped his cheek in her hand and smiled. “Thanks for rescuing me.”
Jacob ran out.
Joanna murmured, “Why am I so exhausted? Need to get dinner ready.” 
Jacob ran to his room to check on Moby who blissfully swam unaware of the drama around him. Jacob held Boo-Boo up to see the fish. They waved at Moby who flicked his tail at them. Jacob put Boo-Boo back with his friends.
Jacob whispered, “Thanks for backing me up Boo. We need to get out of this.”
Bernard came home in a good mood. He took Pugsy out for a quick walk. Joanna served dinner. Bernard returned, sat and told a story from his workday.
“So, Pierce came up to me outside the courtroom. You remember Pierce?” Joanna nodded. “He starts telling me about W. C. Fields. I guess he knows I’m a fan. He said, ‘a friend of Fields went to visit him in the hospital. He sees him reading the Bible and says, ‘I never expected to see you reading that, Bill. What’s up?’ Fields looked up and says…’” He leaned in. “And Pierce does a perfect Fields voice. Have you heard him?”
Joanna said, “I can imagine.” She served Jacob some mashed potatoes.
Bernard nodded. “So Pierce, doing the best imitation ever says, ‘Fields put the Bible down and said, ‘I’m looking for loopholes.’” 
Laughing so hard, he almost broke the chair back, Bernard pounded the table. Jacob almost covered his ears.
“Is that rich? Imagine. ‘Looking for loopholes… in the Bible!’” 
Bernard doubled over laughing again. Joanna and Jacob looked at each other and also laughed. 
Jacob asked, “What’s a loophole, Dad?” 
Bernard composed himself and dabbed his eyes with his napkin.
“It’s something people apply to slip out of a contract. Like an escape clause.”
Jacob shrugged. He didn’t get it.
“Look, a contract is a legal agreement. As a lawyer, I provide legal services… a client pays a retainer for my services. A loophole would enable me to stop providing representation without my being penalized.”
Jacob struggled. “You mean like a legal way to break a promise?”
Bernard caught Joanna’s look.
“Sure. Well, sort of. You could put it that way. But it’s not a lie. You don’t go around doing that for just anything. You need a good reason.”
“What if… uhm, what if I promised Boo-Boo to trade something with him, but then changed my mind?”
“Boo-Boo? My God! You still have that ratty old thing? It was old when I was a kid. Have your mom toss it. We’ll get you a nice big teddy bear.”
Joanna said, “He loves Boo-Boo. Let him keep it.”
“We can afford new toys for our kid, Jo. He doesn’t need worn out hand-me-downs. Thing must be crawling with germs.”
Jacob began to fidget. “Wait, guys. What about my question?”
Now Bernard was lost.
“Loopholes? Boo-Boo’s contract!”
“Oh, that.” Bernard rolled his eyes. “Well, first, I hardly think that decrepit, stuffed toy would have standing in any civil court. Certainly none I would appear in.”
Jacob sighed in frustration.
“Dad!”
“Right. Well… So, Boo-Boo is holding you to an agreement under false pretenses. He misrepresented his interest in the matter.” He could see Jacob losing the thread. “How can I put this? Oh… you’d use a loophole to escape the contract if Boo-Boo lied or pressured you into it. Contracts have escape clauses to cover such contingencies.”
Pugsy rolled on his back and started whining.
Jacob tried again. “But how would that work? I don’t get it.”
“Well, in your case… that’s easy. You’re a minor. Below the age of majority. Unable to enter a legal agreement without your mother or me being party to it.”
“Wait, I’m a miner? Like for gold?”
“No, Jacob. You’re underage. Not an adult. You’re a kid. You must be eighteen to enter into a legal contract.” He smiled at Joanna. “Uhm, Boo-Boo should know this, Jake. Tell him he has no standing. He should take a hike.”
Jacob got it. He pointed at Pugsy and laughed. “Ha! You heard him, Pugsy. Go for a walk.” 
Amazed, his parents looked at each other. 
Jacob then took his father’s hands in his. “Wow, Dad. Thank you so much. You’re the best lawyer ever!” 
“It’s not me, Jake. Or you. It’s the law.”
Laughing, Jacob ran to his room. 
Pugsy whined and padded to the kitchen door. 
Bernard called out, “Time for a walk, Pugsy? We just went out…”
Joanna said, “What could Boo-Boo possibly want from Jacob?”
Bernard grabbed his jacket and the leash. “I couldn’t imagine. Be right back.”
Jacob got to his room and ran to see his goldfish. Moby floated, motionless on the surface. Jacob burst into tears and fell onto his bed.
He sobbed, “I killed him. I killed him.”
Joanna entered and went to comfort him. 
She wondered, ‘What did I do? Is this my fault?’ She stroked his hair.
“You didn’t kill Moby, Jake. Not now or before.” He didn’t look at her, but she could tell he heard. “We can’t blame ourselves for everything. Because we can’t control everything.”
Jacob looked at Joanna. “We can’t?”
“Moby had a good life, Jake.” She smiled through her tears. “We all have our time. You cared for him. Sometimes that’s all we can do… Sometimes, that’s enough.”
Jacob dried his eyes. “Thanks, Mom. What now? I mean, how does this work?”
Joanna kissed his forehead. “I could help you bury him in the garden. Or, we could take him to the stream and release him there.”
Jacob nodded. “Yeah, the stream. Moby’ll like that.”
“Okay… It’s late now. We’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”
The next morning, after breakfast, Joanna helped Jacob wrap Moby in a paper napkin. They walked to the nearby stream. Jacob brought Boo-Boo along with them. Joanna stood back and watched Jacob unwrap Moby’s remains, say good-bye and gently place him in the water. 
They waved as he floated away on the gentle current.  
 
","September 14, 2023 18:50","[[{'Delbert Griffith': 'Love it! Cute and deep and, ultimately, a treatise on what a soul is worth. I feel bad for Moby, but something always pays the price when the devil comes calling. Great little tale, John.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '11:07 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'John K Adams': 'Thank you, Delbert. Your words carry much weight.', 'time': '13:43 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'John K Adams': 'Thank you, Delbert. Your words carry much weight.', 'time': '13:43 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Cute kid story. Even if subject was ugly.', 'time': '19:27 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'John K Adams': 'Just following the prompt...\nThanks!', 'time': '23:09 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'John K Adams': 'Just following the prompt...\nThanks!', 'time': '23:09 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,9lm55n,A Dark Muse,Sara C Lucena Araujo,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9lm55n/,/short-story/9lm55n/,Dark,0,"['Horror', 'Contemporary']",5 likes,"
February 14th
My first Valentine's Day alone in 5 years, and I suck at it.
I gulp down the whiskey, feeling the burning sensation travel down my chest and into my stomach. My eyelids are half-closed, and my attention is fixed on the opened box by the sofa, bathed in the bluish light from the TV. Michaela had left it there; she didn’t care enough to return for it.
 
For a few days, I had hoped she would. I had played scenarios in my head—what I would say, how I would apologize, how I would promise not to do it again. But she never came back.
Her old occult books were the only proof I had that I ever had a girlfriend.
 
My tiny flat in Madrid, filled to the brim with paintings, sketches, varnish, brushes of all sizes, and the constant scent of paint, seemed much larger since her departure.
Boredom, perhaps, or melancholy pushed me to reach out to one of the tattered leather books and untie the thick thread around it; it smelled dusty.
 
It was the weirdest shit I had ever seen. The creaking pages smelled dusty, and the text made no sense at all. It talked of demons and how to connect with them, how we can all find them lurking inside us, waiting to be called when we open the door to our souls. I chuckled to myself. That kind of gibberish was something Michaela was proud of. Anyway, I’m going to lie down; my head is pounding.
 
February 20th
At some point, I dozed off to sleep with the book on top of my face. Man, I think I have the stench stuck in my nostrils. It was not until the windows of my apartment slammed loudly against the wall that I woke up, looking around, expecting a thief or something. Never mind, I was having the weirdest dreams.
 
But all was quiet, except for the wind threatening to break my window.
As I write, the cold night air ruffles my short hair, and I take a deep breath. It’s a strange feeling. I feel alive and excited.
 
February 22nd
It’s past midnight, and I still don’t feel tired. It seems only like a few hours ago instead of two days when, with a pounding heart, I rushed to the guest room, which is actually my studio.
 
I squeezed paint onto the palette, staring at the white linen. For months, it had been my enemy, mocking me for my lack of ideas. But now, it was like reuniting with a lost lover. I yearned to touch it, to caress my brush over its surface, bringing the colours to life with thick, quick strokes that left room for delicate, soft details.
 
I danced. My brushstrokes were sure, and they came alive as I moved. There was no doubt. It was as if a creator was moving through me, using me. I was but a vessel, and this was my creation.
 
March 1st
I spent a whole week at home, painting and painting. I forgot to eat, and the whiskey bottles stayed closed on the top shelf. I feel like shit, but they have been the best days of my life. I've kept the book; it works somehow as a talisman, and I am not ready to get rid of it. The rest I tossed away. Bye bye old life.
 
March 17th
I've been sitting on this bloody sofa since I came back from the exhibition. My nails are bleeding, and I fear I will end up with no fingers if I don't hear anything soon.
I'm back, I'm back! I was almost ready to throw the phone through the window when it rang! I just got a call. The Call.
I thought I was going to be sick, to be honest, while my shaking finger was trying to press the green button.
“Alex, Alex, you won’t believe it!” I had to move the phone away from my ear if I wanted to keep my eardrums.
It was my agent, Julian. He was so excited that his voice trembled over the phone. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him like this, not even in the beginning when my paintings were worth something. The call was brief, but it left me with a wide smile.
I couldn’t believe it.
They loved it.
They wanted more.
I jumped from the sofa, thrashed my arms in the air, and ran around the flat like a lunatic, screaming. If my neighbours thought I was a bit nuts before, they’d definitely think so now.
But I don’t care. I’m back.
 
July 20th
It's been a while, my old friend, but life just got too busy, and I became too popular, if you know what I mean. If you could see my smirk, you'd know what I was talking about.
I kept painting and selling. I moved from my small flat to a large house on the outskirts. I could afford suits and proper whiskey. Man, I don't think I can ever go back to that shit I was drinking before. I was killing myself.
But there is also something in me that is stuck. I don't know how to say it. I could only describe it as dread, sadness. Like darkness.
I don't know what it was, perhaps the stress of the work, but I started falling sick more and more often. My energy is ebbing, and my skin seems to be getting paler. However that could be because I'm stuck indoors most of the time. Julian should allow me some holidays soon because I swear I can start hearing voices even when I'm awake.
 
August 5th
Last night, I was rereading the book, and I swear there was someone else in the room with me. I glanced to my side, but the room was empty except for the crackling fireplace. Man, I almost shit myself. I think I'm gonna get a dog. A big one.
 
August 26th
Julian, my agent, has been found dead. I don’t know why… They said it was an overdose, but...I have never seen Julian taking. I feel broken. That part of me that threatens to crumble just seems to be getting bigger.
But I can’t give up now. I am just too close to becoming who I always wanted to be. I want more. I want it all.
 
September 7th
Now I know for sure. There is someone else here in the house. Yesterday, I woke up in the middle of the night, the nightmares keeping me awake again. There was a tall figure standing at the end of the hallway. It didn’t move, but I was not there long enough to assess if it would. Oh no, I just ran back to my room as if the same devil was behind me and locked the door.
 
September 14th
Oh my God… Oh my God, he is here. I can feel it. It’s been a week since I spotted him. I’m in my room now, but someone is at the door; the handle is moving. Oh God, please, please. Why am I writing, you might wonder? What the hell do I do! The window is not opening, and my phone has no signal. I have a book and a useless phone. I might as well just give up. Oh please...
 
September 15th
The door has opened. The noise is over. The light is still on. I don’t like the light. This is it. I can’t. Who am I? Move on. Keep reading.
","September 14, 2023 21:14","[[{'Joaquin Otanez': 'I read your story and I really liked would it be possible to use your story and narrate myself for my YouTube channel. With credit due and link to your story.', 'time': '18:58 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sara C Lucena Araujo': 'Hi, sure thing! Thanks for your comment and support 😊', 'time': '12:11 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sara C Lucena Araujo': 'Hi, sure thing! Thanks for your comment and support 😊', 'time': '12:11 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,iic6tu,Portraits,Amphitrite Henley,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/iic6tu/,/short-story/iic6tu/,Dark,0,['Horror'],5 likes,"
The smattering of rain against the glass windows of the gallery disguised the persistent tapping on the the door across the noisy room. Almost. I doubted anybody else noticed- and if they did, they didn't seem to care, their senses flooded by the paintings they examined, the wine swirling around in their clinking glasses, or the various high-nosed critics rattling on about god knows what.
 
I realized that I had stopped talking, and the curious patrons of the showcase were beginning to follow my wandering gaze.
 
I issued a quick apology to the group, and made some excuse about  bowel movements- which I doubted they wanted to hear anything more about- before dissolving into the crowd and pushing my way towards the door. This was getting out of hand. I pushed open the door, ducked inside, and collapsed against it, eyes closed. I dreaded opening them, because I'd grown to expect exactly what would happen when I did.
 
""Hello, Sacramento."" I opened my eyes, the little white goat inches from my face. I still flinched to make eye contact with the thing. At first, I hadn't noticed what was so off-putting about him. By our third meeting, I had realized that his eyes were not the barred yellow eyes of the (admittedly few) goats that I had encountered before, but distinctly human ones- whites, irises, pupils, and all. I had dubbed him Sacramento after my hometown, though the name had built up some twisted irony over the past year as the bovine  followed me farther and farther away from home.
 
The goat let out a bleat of acknowledgement, as if to say Hey, Penny before coughing out a plume of red smoke and speaking in a voice that still prickled the tiny hairs on my arms. ""The deal will be carried out tonight. Have you chosen a candidate?""
 
Candidate. I looked down. ""Yes. The blonde woman in the violet dress. The-""
 
""-Violinist. I see you are being strategic about your choices now.""
 
I continued looking at my clasped hands. My fingers were clumsy and thick, the harsh lines of my stocky palms hardly tapering down at the wrist. They were not the hands of a painter. The brush had rolled clumsily around my fingers, creating swirls where dots should be, thick lines that should have been thin. ""Thank you."" I whispered, standing and re-entering the lively room. I didn't bother looking back- Sacramento would have be gone as soon as I opened the door.
 
The band struck up another song as I surveyed the walls. The portraits stared blankly at their creator, eyes unblinking and unforgiving. I forced myself to turn my attention instead to the band and the slow, almost waltz-like tune they'd started. I was only distantly aware that this was my art showcase, and people were expecting me to thoroughly explain each piece. I'm not sure I could explain my art to someone if they demanded it at gunpoint. However, this situation seems close enough, so I'll do my best.
 
The first 17 or so years of my life passed with ease and relatively good fortune. My parents were wealthy- and not even just upper middle class wealthy- again, we lived in Sacramento, which was pretty hard to do if you didn't have money to burn. I was an only child of two very busy parents, which left me with a lot of time to myself. Sketchbooks and canvases kept me company for days at a time, my closest friends other than the mailman and the maid that sometimes came over with books that her child didn't want to read anymore. When I took art in the first grade, the teacher had called home. I was sure I was in trouble, but my mom patted me on the head after she hung up. ""Good job, Penelope. You can make lots of money by being a painter, you know."" As soon as she left the room, I practically beamed. I decided that I would never stop drawing- not now that it served not only me but my otherwise unaffectionate parents.
 
By middle school, I had entered and won several painting contests in the area. By high school, I'd won several in the state. By senior year, just about every liberal arts college in the country wanted to enroll the glimmering child prodigy, Penelope Court, who had managed to get her paintings hung in museums and lavish mansions alike. 
 
I still wonder what deity was at play to knock my life so violently off course. I often look up, or down, or into the distance and question who the hell saw 17 year old Penny trembling with excitement as she read her letter of acceptance into the UCLA Department of Fine Art and decided that they would like to see her existence torn to shreds. 
 
Whoever it was, they struck in December. I woke up on the morning of the first snow, inhaling the freezing air, laced with the scent of snow. My eyes widened, and I rushed to the window. Sure enough, it was snowing in California. Snowing, and actually cold. I sprinted to my canvas, which was positioned perfectly in front of a window. I picked up my brush. Instantly, my hand buckled and the brush dropped to the ground. Looking back on it, I think I instantly knew. There was no way I could possibly have fumbled with a paintbrush so uselessly after years of poring over brushstrokes and holding the tool. My blood drummed in my ears. I knelt down and intended to grab the brush, but my fingers would not curl. My breathing was rapid now, and I tried the other hand. I'd injured my dominant left hand before and learned how to paint with my right. Surely this wouldn't pose a problem. My right hand only shook as I tried to bend the fingers. I might have screamed. I wouldn't know. I pushed the hand against my chest, trying to mold them into a shape that they simply couldn't make anymore.
 
My parents had rushed me to the hospital as I screamed and wailed.  My dad sat in the back with me, desperately trying to mend the broken body of his perfect daughter. It hurt more than any pain I'd ever known. He stopped when he noticed that my screams were only getting more pained as he tried to bend the digits. I begged him to keep trying. By the time we got to the hospital, I was unrecognizable as the girl in the newspapers. My copper hair hadn't been straightened, my glasses not switched for contacts. To anybody watching, I probably looked like a blubbering child who'd sprained her wrist or something.
 
Localized Moersch-Woltman syndrome. That's what the doctors came up with. My muscles were spasming uncontrollably. They would recover for short periods, but the dysfunction would be triggered by any contact with my hands. They advised me not to paint to prevent the condition from worsening.
 
It was snowing in California, but I could not paint.
 
When we got home, I cried. It was hours before I could wrench myself from my bed and drag my exhausted body into my painting room. The snow had ceased, leaving an even more beautiful scene outside of the window. The scenery taunted me, knowing I could not get the chance to capture it's beauty. I reached for a brush. My fingers closed around it, but no sooner had they done so than a burst of pain shot up my wrist. I bit my lip so hard that I could taste blood, focusing on keeping my pathetic fingers curled around the brush. 
 
The painting I made that night resulted in a destroyed canvas and an even more thoroughly destroyed room. The pain worsened every day, and I was hospitalized multiple times- through graduation, then UCLA orientation, then the first month of college.
 
The last time I was hospitalized, I knew it would be the last time. I would make sure of it. I was not religious- my only religion was my art, and that had been washed away by a year of tears. In spite of this, I sent out a final prayer, if it could be called that. Please. I would kill for this. I would die if there was even the smallest chance of being able to paint in the afterlife. I will do anything. Please. It was a pathetic excuse for a final wish, and I presumed that any listening gods or otherwise would turn their heads away. I stood, and began setting about opening the window. 
 
""Wait."" A voice. The strangest voice I'd ever heard. It was like an amalgamation of every person I'd ever spoken to, but deepened in pitch and slowed beyond recognition.
 
I turned. The man that stood before me was intimidatingly tall, his face wrapped in white bandages. Brown eyes that seemed to flicker yellow peeked out from two eye holes. He wore a sharply tailored suit. ""God?"" I asked.
 
""No, not quite."" he replied, shutting the curtains of my hospital room, despite me being the only patient there.
 
""Please, don't hurt me. I was just about to die, anyway.""
 
""Oh, my apologies. I thought I heard something about doing anything to paint again, and I thought I might be able to help. But if not-""
 
I threw myself at his feet. ""Please. Anything. Forget what I said. Anything you want.""
 
""Well, what about what you want, Penelope?"" he asked.
 
""All I want is to paint.""
 
""Hmm... And your hands have failed you?"" The stranger observed.
 
I nodded through tears.
 
""Perhaps, then, it's your hands that are the problem.""
 
I gave him a sort of ""No shit,"" look.
 
""What I mean to say,"" the man continued, ""Is that maybe somebody else's hands would do the trick.""
 
A shudder ran through me. ""Oh.""
 
""Don't you agree?""
 
""Y-yes? It's just, I don't know how I could possibly-""
 
His voice was almost comforting now. ""Shh. I'll take care of the details. All I need you to do is tell me who would make a good fit.""
 
I'll admit, I didn't really know what he was getting at. All I knew is that this man had to be some sort of benevolent deity that had answered my prayers. ""I guess,"" I started, ""my nurse told me she used to be an artist."" 
 
A smile crept across the man's face, the corners of his lips drifting into obscurity under his bandages. ""Did she? Well, I think I know which nurse you mean. I'm sure she wouldn't mind helping you out.""
 
Now I knew I was dreaming, because I clearly saw the man's pupils lengthen into rectangles swimming in the golden sea of his eyes.
 
I swallowed hard. ""Okay.""
 
He shut the window and locked the latches again. ""Back to bed, now.""
 
I closed my eyes, and dreamt I was an artist.
 
The next morning, I woke up and pulled the covers down from my chest. I pulled the covers down from my chest. I shot up in bed and immediately curled and uncurled my fingers. I shrieked in excitement and was on my feet in seconds, running to the pad and paper that my nurse had left on the table the morning before. I scribbled on it at first, but after several minutes the scribble had formed an abstract drawing of the stranger from last night. I danced around the room for a few moments before looking down and examining my hands again. They looked oddly wrinkled, on closer inspection. The left one had a diamond ring on, which I found particularly odd. 
 
A diamond ring. Wrinkles. The stranger from last night.
 
It all came together too fast. I froze where I stood, looking at the door. The nurse hadn't come to wake me that morning. I examined my hands for any Frankenstein-esque stitches, but found none. Ever so hesitantly, I opened the door. Nothing. I let out an obscenely loud sigh of relief and made an executive decision not to look too far into the miracle. I was not so stupid as to think that something supernatural had not happened- that much was clear. But the probability of the nurse being okay didn't seem impossibly far off.
 
I was kidding myself. Even if she had died, did I really care? I sprinted down the halls of the hospital in search of a canvas. I found a recreation room, and began to paint. 
 
As it turned out, the nurse was gone. The news confirmed as much upon my discharge from the hospital and arrival home. Andrea Ramiro-Something, gone missing. I told my parents to shut off the television. I had portraits to make. I decided that my first one would be a tribute to Andrea, for I was now certain that she, alongside the god I'd encountered was responsible for my recovery. I had never been happier. Not in my childhood, drawing only for myself. Not even when I'd got my acceptance letter. I left Sacramento, college, and my family. I took a red-eye flight to New York and started painting again.
 
Everything was as it should be until the night of the 31st. 
 
Something was tapping at my door, and I was fairly certain I knew what it was. When I opened the door, I was promptly proven wrong by a small white goat standing at my feet. It was unsettling- far more so than the bandaged man for reasons I couldn't quite place. It trotted (Do goats trot? Perhaps it walked?) into my studio apartment before coughing up a mixture of blood and smoke and beginning to talk. ""Hello. I hope all is well since we've last spoken, Penelope. I hope you still maintain your passion for art. If that is the case, please select a new benefactor. I'm afraid you can only go a month at a time with your new hands.""
 
""Oh. Um, okay."" I considered this. I reassured myself that this was worth it. My art had only improved since I'd gotten my abilities back, and I was set to have it displayed in a gallery in several months. ""The old man that works at the deli."" Somebody no one would miss, I thought.
 
The cycle had repeated itself since. The police had never found out who was behind the disappearances, if anybody. After all, it wasn't unusual for a few inconsequential people to go missing in the big city. My art was in museums again. On walls. In people's minds. Surely, I thought at that gallery on that rainy day, my good deeds cancelled out my worse ones. My eyes once again drifted away from the band and grazed over each portrait that decorated the gallery, all the way back to one of a beautiful, dark skinned woman with a glimmering diamond ring on her left hand. I beamed like I had that day when my mother had discovered my talent for the first time. I looked into the woman's deep brown eyes, then down at her hands. ""You're welcome."" I whispered.
","September 10, 2023 05:19",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,novh9m,A Bumper Crop for the Bone Orchard,Jeff Veyera,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/novh9m/,/short-story/novh9m/,Dark,0,"['Suspense', 'American', 'Historical Fiction']",5 likes,"
				Dennis Preen scowled as he got out of his Audi. The noxious blanket from the paper mill covered the town today, giving him a banger of a headache. The prickly summer heat didn’t help matters. He could feel his armpits seeping the second he emerged from the civilized comfort of the car’s air conditioning. He paused only to retrieve his briefcase from the trunk before stomping up the hill, shading his eyes from the cresting sun.
             He saw the old man’s bald red skull bobbing in time with an unheard melody through the sweat stinging his eyes and the fog on his glasses. “Mr. Karron, I presume?”
             The old man tossed another shovelful up on the excavated pile and laboriously pulled himself out of the grave. He stared at Preen warily, not extending a callused hand, but merely nodding.
             Preen took his hand back, gratefully. “I’m Dennis Preen, from Preen Casualty & Life. I spoke to your wife.”
             Karron spit. 
             Preen pulled off his spectacles, wiped them with a handkerchief, wiped each eye, then put the cloth back in his coat pocket and the glasses back on his face. It did no good for his respectability; his remaining hair was wet and plastered to his scalp, giving him the look of a cornered defendant. “Do you think we could talk inside?”
* * *
             Preen took the glass of lemonade gratefully, despite it being pink and tart and pulpy. Kulkarni and Grayson had arrived, easing his anxiety somewhat. Karron sat like a stone in the recliner, not blinking. 
             Preen gulped and began. “Well, gentlemen, it’s good to be together at last.” Kulkarni looked down at his feet, Grayson looked at his watch, and Karron kept up his gargoyle act. “These are unprecedented times, gentlemen, unprecedented indeed.”
             No one spoke. 
             Preen resumed. “You, Dr. Kulkarni, are in the business of saving lives. You, Dr. Grayson, are responsible for recording and looking into why lives were lost. And you, Mr. Karron, handle the mortal remains once lives have been lost. Me? Why, I simply manage the financial risk of a life being lost.”
             “It’s a small town, Preen. We all know each other. Get on with it,” Grayson grumbled.
             Preen pursed his lips. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. “Unprecedented times means unprecedented risk. Dr. Kulkarni, what’s your practice’s revenue look like year-over-year, without that government subsidy?” 
             Kulkarni swallowed. “Down 54%.”
             “When the subsidy stops, how will you pay your medical school bills?”
             Kulkarni looked away.
             “Dr. Grayson, surely one man’s feast is another’s famine. How’s your caseload this year versus last?”      
             “Up 230%.”
             “And from your impatience, may we presume the county isn’t augmenting your staff accordingly?”
             Grayson leaned forward, eyes blazing like the Ancient Mariner. “You’re damned right they aren’t! They keep saying there’s nobody to augment with. Every county’s in the same boat. ‘Just make do for now.’ I’m sixty-seven, for God’s sake!”
             “And Mr. Karron…”, Preen smiled gently, “Why was our town’s funeral director digging a grave by hand today?”
             “You know why,” Karron said, his voice guttural. 
             “I do indeed. It’s because in a time when so many can no longer work, so few will work, isn’t that right?”
             Karron nodded ruefully.
             “As for me, life insurance payouts are up fourfold this year. Fourfold! Policy pricing hasn’t been able to keep up---'unprecedented events’---and so a 132-year-old insurance firm with the best reputation in the state is on the verge of financial collapse. It can’t go on, gentlemen, it mustn’t go on!”
             Grayson stood up. “What are you going to do about it, Denny? Another miracle cure? It’s been done!”
             Preen sighed. “I’m going to manage the risk, Doug. And help you do the same.”
             “Aww, hell, I can just retire. I don’t need this crap.”
             “Do you have enough to retire on, Doug? Crypto took a bath this year. You sold the boat. How long will the proceeds last you? I know the Coroner’s Office doesn’t pay in the big leagues, Doug, but three divorces in you need major league pay. Am I wrong?” 
             Grayson sat down.
             “Financial ruin, gentlemen. We are all facing it, right now. Dr. Kulkarni has done the math; it’s why he’s here. I’ve shown you the equations for Dr. Grayson, it’s why he hasn’t left. As for Mr. Karron, it’s not about what he stands to lose, but what he stands to gain.”
             Karron’s eyebrow pitched. “What do you mean?”
             “What proportion of business have you had to turn away for the lack of a crematorium, Mr. Karron.”
             “A fair bit. But I don’t have the help anyway.”
             “If you had the equipment and the staff to man it, at present volumes what would the effect on your annual revenue be?”
             Karron rubbed his dirty jaw. “Well, I don’t know. Probably triple.”
             “Triple!” Preen smiled. “That’d pay for a front loader to dig some graves, wouldn’t it?”
             Karron ruminated.
             “This is America, gentlemen. The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. What did our forefathers do when faced with unprecedented circumstances? Why, they rose to the occasion---they innovated. And so shall we.”
             Preen scanned their faces. He smiled. He had them. He had them!
             “Dr. Kulkarni, what does the federal government pay for each confirmed diagnosis in our present regrettable circumstance?”
             “$28,000.”
             “And if the diagnosis happened to be of influenza, how much would you get then?”
             “Well, just the normal Medicare/Medicaid or private insurance reimbursable rate of course.”
             “And in the case of a patient’s unfortunate demise, who confirms that they were, ahem, so fortunately afflicted?”
             Dr. Kulkarni pointed at Dr. Grayson.
             “Quite so,” Preen said. “Similarly, in the case of an unfortunate death with a favorable diagnosis, we insurance providers get a sizable offset, courtesy of dear old Uncle Sam and the American taxpayer, failing which, our industry would collapse under the weight of excess deaths.”
             Karron raised his hand.
             “Yes, Mr. Karron?”
             “Where do I fit in? It doesn’t matter to me what killed a man, so long as the body comes to me.”
             “Ahh, yes, Mr. Karron, that is so. But let me ask you this, prevailing upon your superior knowledge of corpse disposal methods: has anyone ever exhumed a pile of ash in order to verify cause of death?”
             Karron scoffed. “Of course not….”
             “Then you gentlemen get my point, and why Mr. Karron’s participation in this endeavor is so crucial. As for his reward, that sparkling new crematorium, we are going to fund it by sharing the proceeds from maximizing our eligibility for those federal funds I just spoke of.”
             Grayson shook his head. “So let me see if I follow: we’re going to fake the cause of death…”
             Preen held up an open palm. “…liberally diagnose in accordance with the uncertainty inherent in medical practice and the inaccuracy of testing methods….”
             “…and rake in a bunch of cash accordingly. Then what?”
             Preen smiled. “Then we share the wealth across the system, gentlemen. Equally.”
             Kulkarni frowned. “The math doesn’t add up. There isn’t going to be enough cash to spread to meaningfully address the financial burden to all of us, much less to pay for a crematorium. Not in a town of this size, anyway, and in a bigger area there’d be more folks to cut in. No way. It won’t work.”
             Preen leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’m sorry, gentlemen. You disappoint me. You’ve forgotten a very important player in this effort, one with deep pockets and a strong financial incentive to ensure that the excess corpses from excess deaths do not long remain on this mortal coil.” With a theatrical flourish, he produced his smartphone from his jacket pocket, pressed a button, and turned the screen to face them. 
             Kulkarni gasped. “I know her! She’s on CNBC all the time. I can’t make it through a shift without one of her reps pushing something on me.”
             “Dr. Kulkarni,” the silky voice purred from thousands of miles away,  “Can we count on your support?”
             The men in the know looked sheepishly at each other, each performing the cost/benefit analysis in his own way, to the tune of his own conscience, and each nodded solemnly in turn, as finally did Mr. Preen. 
             And that, Dear Reader, is how the bone orchard received its bumper crop in the Year of Our Lord two thousand and twenty-one, one small town at a time, as Goethe himself warned us so many decades prior would be the case.
","September 11, 2023 09:49",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,6qvvx6,Caliban's Bargain,Gary Phipps,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6qvvx6/,/short-story/6qvvx6/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Suspense', 'Sad']",5 likes,"
Chris had always been a cautious man, careful not to slip into the abyss of risks or uncertainties. He had his life planned out like a meticulously crafted blueprint—until the terrible day when everything went south. An important business venture had failed miserably, taking with it his life savings, his reputation, and worse, the trust of his family.
 
Just as he was contemplating the shattered pieces of his life alone in his home office, there was an abrupt knock on his door. It was 12 p.m., an odd time for visitors. “Who the hell is here at this hour?” 
 
He swung the door open angrily to find a peculiar man standing there. Dressed in an incongruous blend of styles—Victorian ruffles meeting 22nd-century synthetics—the man grinned hauntingly, revealing an unnervingly perfect set of teeth.
 
""Chris, isn't it? How would you like a chance to fix your mistake?"" he asked.
 
""Who are you?"" Chris questioned, trying to not explode with anger with skepticism etching his face.
 
""Name's Cal, short for Caliban. I'm a... let's say, a time-traveling salesman.""
 
Chris would have shut the door right then if it wasn't for the glint in Cal's eyes. It was as though he knew something, something profound, something that intrigued Chris deeply.
 
“Listen, Cal was it?  I don’t have time for B.S. at this hour, I have enough of my own problems to deal with.”  Chris said as he started to close the door on Cal. 
 
“WAIT, just one second!” said Cal. 
 
""I really can offer you a trip to your past to amend that one choice that ruined you. You get to fix it, live it differently. But of course I get to take something in return,"" Cal clarified.  “As with any exchange of goods or services” 
 
""Sure I’ll humor you Cal, what's the price for this impossible service you provide?"" Chris smugly questioned. 
 
""A memory. A good one. You'll never be able to relive it, think of it, or even know you had it,"" Cal said, his voice quivering with an almost insatiable excitement, like a predator looking at his prey. Drooling. 
 
Just one memory for a fresh start—it sounded almost too good. Yet, desperation clawed at Chris.  Thinking of his hopeless financial situation and how he really has nothing left to lose he said “Fine.  I’ll agree to this.  It’s not like anything is actually going to happen anyway and I’ll be able to go to bed finally.”  
 
Cal’s eyes seemed to light up like flames in the distance of his pupils.  Dilated with excitement. 
 
With a flick of Cal's gilded pocket watch, they were there, in the boardroom where Chris had made that dreadful business decision. Chris rubbed his eyes. It felt surreal, watching his past self, trying not to scream out the correct answer. As his past self left the room with his head held low in disappointment, Cal nudged him to go and take his place.
 
Chris did. He relived the whole meeting and made all the right decisions he didn’t before, invested where he should have, and abstained where he needed to. It felt like winning a long-lost battle that had been playing in his mind for a long time now. 
 
With another flick of the pocket watch, they were back in the present, but things had changed. His apartment had transformed; luxurious décor replaced the earlier modesty. Sitting in amazement Chris looked about and reached into his pocket.  A quick check on his phone revealed his accounts brimming with money, more than he could ever need. Everything was as it should have been.
 
This is incredible Cal!   I don’t know what to say to you.
 
""Payment time,"" Cal announced, gleefully.  Then he closed his eyes and the joy seemed to suck right out of the room. 
 
A jolt of pain ran through Chris's head as he felt a piece of him, something warm and comforting, yanked out. Cal smirked, ""Pleasure doing business with you,"" and vanished.
 
Chris laying in his bed awoke suddenly from what seemed like a crazy dream, but as he looked around his new fancy apartment he knew what transpired last night was no dream and it worked.  I can’t tell my family about this, they will just think I’m crazy. 
 
Weeks passed and Chris found himself surrounded by the luxuries that money could buy—yet an unexplained emptiness haunted him. He had his loving family, but couldn't shake off the feeling that something precious was missing. Every laugh felt hollow, every hug incomplete, as if a crucial element of his happiness had been excised surgically.
 
After a long time of feeling like this Chris decided to consult a psychologist, Dr. Anderson, renowned for his work on memory and consciousness.  He could now afford the best help available and being the cautious and careful man he’s always tried to be, didn't want any stone unturned. 
 
""Chris, you are living what most would call the American Dream. Perhaps it's the sudden shift that has you feeling like this,"" the psychologist reasoned.
 
Chris knew better. ""No, it feels like I've forgotten how to be happy, like something integral is missing.""
 
They conversed like this for the rest of their session together, but he didn’t feel it was going anywhere that would help. 
 
As he was leaving, he noticed a photograph on Dr. Anderson's desk—a little girl, presumably the doctor's daughter, blissfully riding a bike.
 
""Do you ride bikes with her?"" Chris asked.
 
""Every weekend. Those are the memories that make life worth living,"" Dr. Anderson smiled.
 
Memories. The word stung Chris. It was like a phantom pain that he couldn’t put his finger on. On his drive home, he started to realize the weight of the price he had paid for his 'perfect' life. A single, priceless memory could hold the essence of joy, love, or friendship—emotions that made life complete.  That warm something that a person holds onto to ensure them that it’s all worth the hassle of the terrible things life throws at you. 
 
As he pulled into his luxurious home driveway he realized that he could amass all the wealth in the world, yet he would remain bankrupt in the only currency that truly mattered. Cal had taken more than just a memory; he'd taken a piece of Chris's soul, a slice of his humanity, a sliver of his core.
 
And so, Chris found himself forever wealthy but continuously incomplete, successful but broken—a man who had traded the very essence of life for a hollow illusion of happiness.
 
Cal the “time-traveling salesman” had indeed lived up to his name, a modern-day Caliban disguised as a savior. And Chris was left to ponder if fixing a past mistake was worth a lifetime of incomplete smiles and hollow laughs.
 
For the first time, Chris wished he'd been less cautious, less eager to mend the unfixable. For what is life if not a series of choices, mistakes, and memories, each irreplaceable, each invaluable in teaching us how to live, love, and perhaps most importantly, how to be human.
 
","September 11, 2023 16:20",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,cicj4a,Back of Beyond.,Julie Grenness,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/cicj4a/,/short-story/cicj4a/,Dark,0,"['Christian', 'Contemporary', 'Fiction']",5 likes,"
""Bless your heart!"" Sister Heloise smiled, as she cycled along the hot and dusty main street of Old Blithering. It was the middle of a long, parched drought in summer, way off there in the remote rustic town, 250 km away from the Big City. She pedaled past the row of old stores in Main Street, most with 'For Sale', or 'For Lease' signs.
Sister Heloise was on a mission. Her normally sedate old home town had been rocked by a scandal. Suddenly, no one was smiling back at any clergy. The whole little community had once been so religious, praying and singing hymns. But the general cancel culture had caused the churches of either side of the divide to be empty. Only a few aged geriatrics had lingered there, the choir of nuns from the retired teacher's convent had sung sweetly.
The opposition for holy worship had always been the Baptist Church. On this blessed Sunday, Sister Heloise could hear devoted hymns, all praying that they would not be the next victims of this unheard of tragedy. She was determined to find the perpetrator.
Up till recently, no one in the vast nation down under had ever heard of Old Blithering. Now media crews were offering any resident a fee for their suspicions, any gossip about allegations. Everyone was forming opinions, and getting information from online new headlines. The once thriving main street was empty of cars, which no one had ever locked. Anyone walking along as the temperature was already rising, turned from each other, lips closed, grim of face.
The once vacant police station was currently occupied by some criminal detectives from Big City. They had large policing boots. Everyone was baffled, puzzled, seeking answers to a mystery and family tragedy, somewhere there in the back of beyond. 
Sister Heloise fancied herself as an armchair, amateur detective. She was going to assist the bumbling police, undercover, of course. She would seek clues, dismiss red herrings. Her role models would always be her reading of Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple. Being a past teacher of faith and literacy, she knew she how to obtain evidence and analyse every situation. 
She heard the usual exhaust of the ancient exhaust of the only station wagon of the fading Catholic Church. Yes, it was Monsignor John. Anyone could hear him driving along the Mass. The full might and pomp of the Holy Roman church in Oz had never updated the wheels of the clergy. Sister Heloise paused, waved and said, ""God Bless!"" Monsignor John smiled in his normal kind, but abstract way. He had his mind on higher things, lunch soon. 
""Be still, fluttering heart."" Sister Heloise devoutly herself. She had Monsignor John had grown old together, serving their Lord, working for God. Her secret love was still hidden, bit unrealistic, being a woman of God. She was human with feet of clay, wondering if her love for Monsignor John was a drug. ""No big thing,"" she said silently. ""Come on, woman, you've got work to do. Solve this mystery.""
What was the mystery? Why was there such a congregation at the Baptist church this particular Sunday? Well, the pastor and his wife, and her sister, had received an invitation. That was quite okay, here in Old Blithering, the home baking was something to brag about. Every babe could cook, the cakes were a dream. 
Unfortunately, those worthy leaders of the opposition religion were now pushing up daisies in the vintage lawn cemetery, south of town. The floral tributes had been lovely, so sentimental. The send-off had been a tearjerker. The wreaths were currently browning and withered in the hot baking sunshine. 
Nothing lasted forever, including happy families. The deceased religious had been to afternoon tea at the farmhouse of their son's estranged wife. Three days later, they were in the morgue. The world was watching. The police from Big City had no evidence, no left overs, no samples, only suspicions. 
Some guests at the fateful afternoon tea had no symptoms. Some had declined the party invitations, dodged the whole event. Rumors had been swirling in the small town, where no one was saying anything to anyone. People had stopped saying hello, just went home and locked their doors. Renee, the ex-wife and hostess not with mostest, had been one of Sister Heloise's past pupils. That had been in the good old days, the peak of convent education. 
Renee was now on record about her menu. She had made beautiful scones, a dab of jam and cream, and had filled a sponge from the local bakery with more cream and topped with passion fruit icing. So Sister Heloise cycled on to the bakery. Did the fickle finger of fatal fate point at the Bakery owner and cook, Rosemary?
She reached the bakery, only to be confronted with a hostile vigilante group of local women. They stood in silence, protesting with posters and placards. ""Save the sponge!"" ""Scarlet woman!"" ""Justice for scones!"" ""Faith will set you free!"" They were, of course, hoping they would not be the next stiffs in the graveyard. There the old pioneers slumbered on. The surrounding arid paddocks were filled with dairy cattle,  chewing, oblivious to the swirling tide of human emotions, feelings and thoughts which had taken over her town. 
Sister Heloise entered the bakery, intent on asking Rosemary a few relevant questions. This could be the singing nun's greatest hour, if she found the culprit. They were all church people after all, well respected, all around seventy years old. But here, for once, Rosemary had no unfilled delicious sponges for sale. She too, had suddenly placed a ""For Lease: sign in her window.
""I'm leaving!"" She told Sister Heloise, ""there are other places to be. The police have cleared me to shift to some beach town, far away from this hole. I suppose you want your usual, the whole wheat loaf for the convent lunch. What time are you going home?"" Sister Heloise was stunned. This was no way to greet anyone's clientele. No wonder Rosemary went bankrupt. 
She cycled home along a dusty road .That all been a red herring .Just because the victims had been pillars of their church, did not mean they were nice people. In her years as a holy educator, Sister Heloise concluded that church people could also be bigots, and hypocrites. She passed the pub, the ultimate last journey for the cattle industry. They were tomorrow's steak and chips, or parmigiana, depending on the mood of the publican's wife.
In nostalgia's page, so long ago, Sister Heloise had also viewed an old series about a detective. It was dramatic acting, but sleuthing was her hobby. Only part time, of course. The main character had always advised always advised viewers to 'follow the money'. In this page of history, that is exactly what she intended to do.
In a world where no one was perfect, Sister Heloise cycled off after her convent lunch to the local tip. She sneaked in on a police conference, gazing at the one and only CCTV footage in town. Were there any clues  here about suspects?
The police had turned away, but Sister Heloise noticed a furtive figure, hidden under a hooded jacket, at this time of year. He looked strangely like Renee's separated husband, fat and ugly, a church person, a choir leader at the now overpopulated Baptist Church. ""Where late the church choir sweetly sang!"" Sister Heloise might have found her missing clue. She quietly searched the tip, very exhausting under the blazing summer sun. But in the dumpster, she located a round mixing bowl.
She decided to secretly take a sample of the scraping of hardened butter icing, clinging to the rim of the bowl. The son, Robert, stood to inherit a vast dairy property. Maybe he wanted to divide it up to form a very trendy boomer retirement village, luxury, worth a fortune. It would house all those urban tree changers, who had their superannuation, and wished to escape the rat race of the Big Smoke.
Renee had custody of the children of what was rumored to be a strange relationship with her farmer ex. Money talks all languages in a family circle. Sister Heloise could not say anything, she did not wish to be litigated for possible contempt of court. She decided to confront Robert in his stuffy devout farm. After all, old English teachers were totally scary females. Bless their hearts. 
Detective Sister Heloise pedaled off, there went Monsignor John and his old exhaust again. He waved, she sighed, all as normal. She hoped she could solve this gripping mystery, somewhere back of beyond, the jaded old home small town, turned on itself.
Robert called her a fat old cow, nothing old teachers had not heard before. Sister Heloise persevered, asking some very real questions. Finally, Robert confessed. It had all been a plan, his devout religious parents had kept him on a pittance all his life, to toil as their dairy farm worker. Hard work, too. All those dairy cattle were waiting, just for him. His parents would have lived till a ripe old age. He had hastened their journey by adding some rat poison to Renee's bowl of passion fruit icing. Then he had left the building, never to do afternoon tea. ""Never mind,"" he said, ""God they loved has them for eternity!""
Sister Heloise told her culprit, ""That is no excuse. You shall face the consequences of poisoning the passion fruit icing. You have been dealing with the devil! Sign this statement!"" So Robert confessed .Sister Heloise had cleared her past student, Renee. The police investigation was over, the media had a field day on this family drama. The kids inherited the potential of the dairy farm, so Renee flogged off the property. Hobby farms were created, also trendy. Eventually the rains came again. The verdant rolling hills at back of beyond were now home to designer alpacas, and new age boomers crafting home spun angora beanies and shawls, available at the latest vegan cafe in the small town. God and time took care of everything. Renee took the kids and left her tattered town, she went to a beach suburb for a lifestyle, no passion fruit vine, that great Australian fruit. That had been the mystery solved, of Death by Afternoon Tea.
Sister Heloise kept on praying for global peace and harmony, working undercover for her Lord .She still cycles the old bush town of Old Blithering. God bless all our church people in the back of beyond. 
 
","September 11, 2023 20:22","[[{'Mustang Patty': 'I love the way you wove this story. The continuing subtle shadows reminded she was riding a bike, and the image made me smile. (Of course, I was imagining she was in the old fashioned penguin habit,) LOL.\n\nThank you for sharing and GOOD LUCK in the contest.\nKEEP WRITING', 'time': '13:08 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'She is blessed with a knack of getting the truth out. Cycle on.', 'time': '04:08 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,x7x4dw,Orpheus,Miranda Floyd,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/x7x4dw/,/short-story/x7x4dw/,Dark,0,"['Fantasy', 'Adventure', 'Sad']",4 likes,"
TW: mention of suicide, mental illness and other dark themes
 
 
My sister's death was the beginning of the end.
 
We did everything together as kids. We were each other's rock. Our home. When something went wrong, we would also turn to each other for strength and comfort. She was an angel on Earth, and no one could tell me otherwise. Sophie was my polar opposite the way her pale, blonde hair matched that of our mother's and her round periwinkle eyes shone as a mirror into a place only she knew. While I was a good foot taller than she was with dark brown hair and eyes. Too much like our father. Both in appearance and in attitude.
 
Too often, I would get into fistfights with guys at school when they upset her. Sophie was too soft to stand up for herself, but she didn't need to when she always had me in her shadow. Always ready to get my knuckles bloody. But after our parents' divorce...something changed in her. Where she was always soft and quiet, she became more reserved and sheepish. There was a devastating kind of sadness in her eyes and at times I could hear her sobbing softly to herself in her room. I knew she was sad. I knew that there was something she wasn't telling me. But I always told myself she would say something when she was ready. I didn't know--wasn't prepared--for the fact that she never would be.
 
It was two weeks after her sixteenth birthday when I found her. Eyes closed in the most depressing kind of peaceful way. I thought she was just getting ready for a shower. Until my feet were suddenly drenched with water. I'd never been one to cry. Never one to scream. Something broke in me the night I found her lifeless in the bathtub. Still clothed with our mother's Ativan bottle on the side of the bathtub--empty.
 
I screamed, pleaded, sobbed as I begged her to come back. But there was nothing I could do to bring Sophie back. I had an idea. It was farfetched and what I thought was useless, but it was all I had. I decided to follow my sister into the afterlife. So, after grabbing another bottle of our mother's sleeping pill bottles-- I downed the contents. Hoping, pleading that it would bring me to her. I just wasn't expecting to wake up in a damp, dark cave somewhere. 
 
I must have looked confused because the next words I heard sent a chill deep into my bones.
 
""Andrew Dames.""
 
It wasn't a question.
 
""Yes? Who's there?"" I called softly into the darkness.
 
""Come to save your sister, I see.""
 
Whoever it was knew my motive and that singsong voice deep in the cave grew nearer. I felt whoever--whatever--it was circling me. A chill ran down my spine.
 
""Who are you?"" I called again.
 
My face paled as the creature revealed itself before me. Towering above me, yet somehow human and... otherworldly at the same time, was the most devastatingly beautiful woman I had ever seen. Sleek, black hair that reached the cave floor and glaring red eyes that bore into my very soul.
 
""I have many names,"" her voice was a purr that raised the hairs on my arms, ""Though you can call me Lucifer.""
 
There they were. The Devil--herself. But what I didn't quite understand was why they seemed almost human. Why a human female? I didn't dare to ask as the next thing that came rocked me to my core.
 
""What would you give to have your sister back?"" I had a feeling they could sense my desperation. Could taste it in their fanged mouth.
 
""Anything,"" came my urgent answer, ""I'd give you anything.""
 
A feline grin spread across their beautiful face, baring those razor-sharp teeth that filled a too-small mouth. ""In exchange for your sister's life back,"" they began, almost tauntingly, ""you will do my dirty work, so to speak. Do we have a deal?""
 
I watched, unnervingly as they sat there grinning at me. Waiting--knowing--what the answer would be.
 
""Deal.""
 
""Excellent,"" in the blink of an eye, they were no longer a woman with the face of an angel but a man wearing a very elegant, black suit.
 
The change was so swift I had barely time to register it. Their hair was still sleek and black but was now styled in curls that hung ever-so-slightly into their still beautiful face. What were once piercing red eyes were now devoid of all color--even the whites were gone. Black as the night surrounding us. I peered into the lingering darkness at them. Curious.
 
""What are you?"" I dared to ask.
 
They let out a low laugh. ""I take many forms, child,"" their voice now deep and husky. Having lost the singsong that was the female from before. ""Whatever form better suites my needs to get the deed done is the form I take.""
 
There was a deathly sort of silence that hung in the cave as I let that information sink in. I nodded, now standing, and observed who I now knew to be the Devil themselves.
 
""Right. What do I have to do?""
 
In less than the time it took for me to breathe in one breath, the woman from before was back though they kept the eerie black eyes. They waved a pale, slender hand to their right. A vision of a man in his mid-twenties with sandy brown curls and brilliant blue eyes, sporting the purest of white feathered wings appeared before us.
 
""This is Michael,"" they declared, ""You are to kill him before returning back to me for your next task.""
 
The wings. The brilliantly blind light that shone around him. This was the archangel, Michael. I had to kill an archangel. Terror ran through me. How was I supposed to kill an angel? Let alone one that was said to be the general of God's army. I wasn't religious. But my mother was and had read me the scriptures as a kid.
 
""How the hell am I supposed to do that?"" 
 
Another laugh from them, followed by a shrug. ""I suppose you'll have to find out.""
 
With that, they were gone, and I was alone in the cave. I closed my eyes against the encompassing darkness. ""And if I fail and die...again?""
 
""Then I suppose you and your sister will remain in the River Styx forever,"" came their distant reply.
","September 13, 2023 09:42",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,5ctspi,Stab Wounds And Satan,Mary Davis,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/5ctspi/,/short-story/5ctspi/,Dark,0,"['Horror', 'Fiction', 'Drama']",4 likes,"
It was a colder night than usual in Oakland, but no one gave it any thought. A group of friends sat in a circle around a Ouija board, all four of them gently placed their fingers on the arrow. ""Is there anyone that wants to talk to us?"" Delilah said her voice is dull and her expression blank. We all know she doesn't believe in this kind of stuff, but I do. The arrow twitches and we all jump. ""Hey that's not funny stop guys."" Says Brandon he is scared of everything. ""wasn't me"" i say. ""Oh, yeah right jenny we all know you're trying to trick us you do it all the time"" said Kyle he keeps secrets from us we all know it, but no one says anything about it. The Ouija boards arrow moves different ways. H. E. L. L. O. it spells out hello we all say hello back to it, but Brandon looks pale in the face as he slowly turns around to face the doorway, he starts hyperventilating he screams. Delilah yells back ""WHAT'S WRONG?!"". ""Im here"" i say only i didn't want to say that it’s like im just a speaker and something is speaking threw me. "" JENNY WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"" The mystery voice speaks again only this time through Brandon. ""SATAN. SATAN. SATAN."" Kyle and Delilah are huddled together in a corner then the lights go out. there are no sounds besides a slight drip... drip... drip from the sink. Suddenly Brandon’s screams got louder and louder. everything goes quiet. I can hear Delilah and Kyle crying. the lights come back on and all thats left in Brandon's place is a cold gray lifeless shell the only color is the scarlet red coming from his body creating a moat of blood. ""CALL AN AMBULANCE!"" Kyle yelled. I grabbed my phone, almost cracking the screen and called 911. They arrived about ten minutes later as the ac kicked in the smell of blood wafted into the air, I pinched my nose in disgust. Delilah was with Kyle she had thrown up. I could tell the look on her face, the bags under her eyes, the residue on her lower lip, the way she was holding her stomach, the way Kyle still had his hands on her head. When the police and paramedics came inside, they studied the body. There were stab wounds, but it looked as if he was cut up, his face was torn to pieces, we all ran out of the house stumbling. I cry as we exit it finally leaves, the tears finally falling to the ground, I can hear Kyle crying as well  and Delilah is already gone her mom picked her up, I saw her drive away their car almost as scarlet as the blood surrounding Brandon in the house. I start to get chills down my spine. I turn to face the front window of Brandon’s home I stand completely still with fear. In the window there is a man at least ten feat tall horns on his head it appears he is wearing a suit I can’t see his face it seems blurred as if it would be so horrible that anyone who would see it would burst into flames as if no one in our world is supposed to see it. “JENNY” its Kyle “KYLE” I yell as we run towards each other I hug him we fell over he wasn’t expecting the hug because I never hug anyone. The next day all three of us met up at the mall “Kyle tells me you hugged him last night after I left” Delilah said her face looking like she might burst into laughter “yeah I saw something last night after you left Delilah” I say with fear in my voice. I explained to them what I saw, and they looked white in the face. “If you’re messing with us that’s not funny Jen that’s messed up”. Kyle said. “I promise im not joking” I say holding back tears. It hurts that they think I would mess with them this much I have pulled two pranks on them, but it was basic stuff. After I get home, I text them both and ask if they want to come over and they both reply yeah sure. When they arrive, we all sit and order pizza. “ My moms out of town for the week” I said. We ate pizza and watched a movie. We are all huddled on the couch. I hear a noise and I pause the movie theres a loud thud and I grab a bat I turn to face Kyle and Delilah they heard it too I tell them to stay I walk around but there is nothing I hear a buzzing it’s the lights I blink and when I open my eyes to see nothing but pitch darkness the lights have gone out again I run back to the living room and I hear them both screaming theres a glowing red figure standing in the middle of the room long horns sticking out of its head its skin bright red its long tail stuck in Delilah’s stomach he takes it out and I drop the bat by accident it stops turns around and vanishes the lights go back on and both Delilah and Kyle are on the ground dead with stab wounds from that horrible thing I touch my face its wet, tears im crying and I didn’t realize I call the police. When they arrive im crying hysterically they take the bodies away and everything goes dark im closing my eyes wishing for everything to go back to normal I open my eyes, but everything is still the same the sirens give me a sickening headache im alone all alone my friends are gone I have no one. I threw up the police find a bowl from inside and put it under my face. I can’t breathe, I fall over and black out. I woke up the next morning hoping it was a dream but im in a hospital bed, my head hurts theres a bandage I feel it. My mom is asleep in a chair next to the bed. I woke her up and asked if it was a dream im crying again. She’s crying as well. It wasn’t a dream theres a window in my room the blinds are pulled down I look over and the outline of that thing that horrible thing from back at the house this time im not scared im angry I ask my mom if she can give me a minute and she leaves the room. I stand and take off the bandage on my head and I toss it on the ground. “why” I say “because” it says in a monster like voice so low it vibrates my head “I want your soul if you give me your soul everything will go back to normal, and you have your precious friends back”. “But why me why them” I say. “Look it’s all a game a game I find fun a game you find sick and twisted but give me your soul and you win you will spend the rest of your life in hell when you die and trust me that’s not supposed to happen for a while but if you say no, I can make it sooner my dear”. I think it over for a moment “fine” I say. “He says his tail in delight and points a finger at me and a red flaming pen appears in my hands a paper yellow with age materialized in front of my face he stares at me with a sly smirk but before I sign shackles form on my wrist once I sign the paper they disappear, and he grabs the paper and disappears once more.
","September 15, 2023 23:16","[[{'Joaquin Otanez': 'I read your story and I really liked would it be possible to use your story and narrate myself for my YouTube channel.', 'time': '18:55 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,s1xsz8,The Keyblade Chronicles (Chapters 10-14),Ian T. Smyth,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/s1xsz8/,/short-story/s1xsz8/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Fantasy', 'Drama']",4 likes,"
Chapter 10
 
	Maurice approached the Holy Cathedral cautiously; he’d never been this close to the royalty of The Authority before. He ascended the grand steps that led up to the doorway into the cathedral, slowly and carefully. When he got to the door he stopped for a moment, and then entered. Standing in the middle of the room was a tall, lanky figure shrouded in a black cloak. 
	“Hello, Hepburn,” the figure said. Maurice moved slowly, unsure of himself. The hood of the cloak fell just below the figure’s eye-line, showing his long, crooked nose and and a thin smile. “So, you’ve lost a starpod?” The figure spat. 
	Maurice gulped. “Yes…I’m afraid so,” he replied. 
	The figure wrung his bony hands together and the smile faded. “And how do you suppose you’ll get it back?”
	Maurice gulped, and then shuffled his feet. “Starpods give off a unique energy signature, as you know,” he said. “All we need to do is look out for that signature.”
	“So! You’re going to scour the entire galaxy?”
	Maurice found himself nodding. “Yes, sir—eh, Your Excellency, that is the plan, but—”
	“But what?” The figure mocked. 
	“—but it may take some time.”
	“I should think so. But time is slippery, it can escape your grasp in an instant if you’re not careful to grip it tightly.”
	“I won’t fail you,” Maurice exclaimed, his voice cracking.
	“Find the unit, Hepburn, and find it soon.” And at that, the figure waved Maurice away, and he found himself walking backwards out the door of the church, unwilling to turn his back to such a bony, death-like creature.
 
Chapter 11
 
	Josiah and Daniel stepped onto the rickety, metal elevator, and began their descent deep into one of Manoor’s many quarries. It’s in these quarries that they once hoped to mine feria, a substance that prolongs the human lifespan. But, much to the dismay of Manoor’s ancestors, none had been found on this planet. 
 “So, you have yet to find any feria at all?” Jo asked inquisitively. 
	Prime Minister Edein responded: “No, none at all. Which is good, for it’s kept The Authority far away from our little sanctuary.”
	“Because of the energy signature?” Daniel asked.
	“That’s right. Without the signature radiation from feria, our planet has snuck under their radar. Once, we hinged our entire economic system on finding the elusive element; now, the mines stand empty and barren.”
	“So, what do you hope to show us down there, then?” Daniel asked. 
	“You’ll see.”
	And down and down they went, deeper into the quarry until the sun hid behind one of the edges of the great crater. And the closer they got, the more they could swear that there was a buzzz coming from deep within. 
	“What’s that noise?” Jo asked. 
	The prime minister was silent. 
	Finally, they reached the bottom, and the three men, accompanied by four guardsmen, stepped out onto a crimson-red floor. The buzzz was even louder now, but still subtle, as if hidden within something.
	As they walked down the path, the prime minister said: “We found it thirty years ago, looking for feria.” They turned a corner, and there it was: a ripple in spacetime. Daniel’s jaw dropped, and Josiah stood steady, looking stoically at the slim tear within the fabric of reality itself.
	“We have no idea what kind of radiation it’s emitting,” Edein began, “but it’s like nothing we’ve ever observed before.”
	“And The Authority—” began Jo. 
	“—they have no idea about it, as far as we know. This type of radiation isn’t what they’re looking for.”
	“And the keyblade?” Asked Daniel.
	Prime minister Edein smiled. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
	“No, but—”
	“—something cut through,” Edein said. “A blade that serves as a key. A key into another world.”
 
Chapter 12
 
	Maurice’s ship barrelled through space, hurriedly, towards the headquarters of Baxtar Industries. He would scour the entire galaxy, no, the entire universe, to get back the stolen starpod. Maurice’s temper flared, and he angrily slammed his fist on the arm of the seat he was in. 
	His android across from him looked concerned. “Mr. Hepburn,” the robot began, “perhaps you should take ferryar.”
	“I don’t need any damn feria,” he exclaimed. “I need the starpod back.”
	“It is a most troubling scenario,” the droid, named AX-7675, continued, “but I have faith that something will turn up.”
	“You’re an android, you don’t have faith.” Maurice mumbled angrily. 
	“You programmed faith into me, sir.”
	“So your opinion is a product of my imagination.”
	AX-7675 went silent for a few moments, then: “Your imagination is a product of your own genetic make-up, your own programming, if you will, and is really no different from mine.”
	Maurice stared out the window, and thought to himself: “The starpod is out there…somewhere, deep within the galaxy, maybe…and without it this whole operation falls apart.”
 
Chapter 13
 
	Catherine awoke suddenly. The two moons shone dazzling light through her window and onto her bed; she stared out the window at those moons, and sighed heavily. She’d been on Taleyedos for four days as her arm healed; Sonya had been very pleasant and helpful to her, but still the blade remained a mystery. “All in due time,” Pietro had promised, but that time still hadn’t come yet. Sonya told her what she could (which wasn’t much), but her friendly demeanour and genuine sense of empathy helped Catherine get through those early days in Scienca and grow accustomed to her new life. 
	Now, she was growing restless, and needed answers. So on the morning of the fifth day, she walked down the lightly paved road towards the emerald spire and climbed the steps back up to the circular room she’d been brought to when she first arrived, and barged in. The assembly was deliberating about something, and all turned their heads towards Catherine as she made her bombastic entrance. 
	“It’s time you told me who you are, it’s time you told me about the blade that saved my life, and it’s time you told me what you know about The Authority and how we can defeat them,” she proclaimed loudly as the doors swung behind her. 
	Pietro stayed calm, and smiled.
	“We were discussing yesterday as to whether we should tell you or not. Some of the assembly here does not think so. But, in your favour, enough of us do, so we will answer your questions. But, fetch Sonya. We will not start without her. Let us meet in the courtyard behind the spire in three hours?” 
	Catherine, who’d been given a brilliant, silver watch from Sonya, looked at her wrist and nodded. 
	“Let it be so,” she said, and strutted off. 
 
Chapter 14
 
	Catherine walked down the lightly paved road back to her house where there was a kind of telephone she could use to reach Sonya should she need her.
	She stopped in front of her house, and stared up at the blue-grey sky, speckled with clouds. She smiled to herself. Although the past week had been trying, Catherine was glad to finally be somewhat at peace with herself. 
	Suddenly, however, the sky grew dark; a massive hypership appeared in orbit around the planet, blocking out the sun. Catherine frowned, and looked confused as the bombs started falling. 
	First, they hit the emerald spire, knocking it to the ground in a tremendous bang, then they started dropping on the village hidden within the chrome walls. Boom, boom, boom they went, and Catherine screamed, and ran into her house and into the basement. She covered her head with her arms, and all she could hear was the deafening roar of the explosives flattening the town. 
	Far above her, in the hypership, Sonya stood there, watching. 
	“You’ve made a deal with the devil,” said Maurice, standing beside her. “You’re certain you know the location of the starpod?”
	“Like I already told you, Catherine told me everything.” She smiled, and Maurice looked on out the window, satisfied. 
	“Goodbye, Catherine E. Ness,” he said, chillingly.
","September 09, 2023 02:42",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,6tlabr,The Devil and Daniel Webster's Brother,Thomas Schilling,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6tlabr/,/short-story/6tlabr/,Dark,0,"['Funny', 'Fiction']",4 likes,"
The Devil and Daniel Webster’s Brother
 
	Obsession is more than a word to Benjamin Webster. It is the unrelenting force guiding his every move. In his life, Benjamin had two primary obsessions. First, his appearance had to be immaculate - without as much as a single hair out of place. Secondly, he longed to be the richest man on the planet. When he got out of bed in the morning, his first thought was about what he could do to increase his wealth. At night he tossed-and-turned in bed plotting ways to steal candy from babies and selling those confections to make a tidy profit. 
	On those rare occasions when he went to church, Benjamin was escorted by the County Sheriff. That way he could serve warrants and eviction notices under the protection of local authorities - he especially enjoyed presenting eviction notices to clerics with a wife and eight children or a priest with a bus load of nuns on the street. 
	On one particular day Benjamin returned home to find himself face-to-face with a peculiar little man. The trespasser was sitting in his favorite chair and looked like a leprechaun dressed in a black tuxedo. “What are you doing in my house?” thundered Webster. 
	“I watched you foreclosed on those nursing homes. Not many men would force hundreds of elderly residents out on the street with no other place to go. It was a fine piece of work.”
	“The people owning those buildings were late on their mortgage payments. They had to go!” insisted Webster.
	With more than a moderate amount of glee in his voice the imp said, “You don’t need to defend your actions to me. I appreciate the beauty and simplicity of what you did.” 
	A smug grin lifted the corners of Benjamin’s lips. “Thank you for noticing.” In a flash his demeanor changed as he howled, “Now. Why in the hell are you here?”
	“I am here to fulfill your greatest dream,” said the leprechaun. “I am going to make you the richest man on earth.”
	Webster snarled, “Who told you that’s my biggest dream?”
	“I just know,” grinned the little man. “I just know.”
	With a twinkle in his eye Webster said, “What do I call you? Mr. Devil sounds a bit obvious, and I am sure you are anything but obvious.”
	“Today I go by the name Iblis, tomorrow it will be Loki, and Demogorgon the following day. I am as elusive as the wind and I can change my appearance as swiftly as I can change my name.”
	Webster snorted, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it. You think you’re better than me.”
	“No Mr. Webster, to the contrary I am here to offer my most sincere congratulations. Mr. Webster, you have managed to make people do things I would never be allowed to make them do.”
	“Mr. Iblis, let’s cut the crap. We both know this is the point where you offer to trade immortality for my soul.” 
	As casual as he could be, Iblis sighed, “Mr. Webster, I already have your soul.”
	Unfazed, Webster carped, “I have things to do. Can you hurry this up? I need to eat supper and make one last eviction for the day.”
	Iblis nodded slightly and a leering smile filled his face. “Mr. Webster, I can see you are a man of action.”
	Benjamin prodded, “Well, why are you here?”
	“Let’s call my offer a gift for all your hard work. After all your deeds to take away from the poor there has been a sharp rise in the number of people willing to sell their souls just to maintain their families. When people come to me for help and protection from you, it is cause for great wonderment. I suppose you could call this a professional courtesy call.”
	“Iblis, what’s your deal?”
	“It’s very simple. One year from now you will be the first trillionaire in the history of the universe.”
	Webster began to salivate. Had his mouth been open, he would have drooled down the front of his perfectly starched white shirt. “What’s the catch?”
	“No catch. Just continue to be the icy-cold person you’ve always been. You’ll be a trillionaire in a year.”
	“No, no!” bellowed Webster. “There is always a catch. Where’s the irony? Are you going to make me a trillionaire one day and strike me down the next?”
	“Now that wouldn’t be very nice of me, would it? If you insist, I will grant you eternal life.”
	“Yeah, don’t feel badly if I doubt that.”
	Iblis chuckled loudly. “I’ll make you the richest man on earth and grant you eternal life.”
	“Are you going to turn me into a vampire or something like that?”
	“No. I’d never do that.”
	“Then what’s the catch?”
	“There is only one teensy weensy condition you need to follow.”
	Webster sighed. Here it comes. 
	“I’m going to let you decide if you want to keep your fortune and keep your immortality. All you have to do is avoid shaving.”
	Puzzled by Iblis, Webster muttered, “Not shave?” 
	“Yes, if you shave one hair on your body you will be struck down by a bolt of lightning so hot your entire body will be turned into ash.”
	Webster puffed out his chest with pride when he thought he had outsmarted the Devil. “Mr. Iblis, the joke is on you. I plan to be cremated when I die.” 
	An impish grin filled Iblis’ face, “Then you have less to lose than a mere mortal.”
	“So. Is that the only stipulation?” 
	“Yes, that’s all. The only thing you need to do is abstain from shaving.”
	“Deal!” screeched Webster. Iblis shook Webster’s hand and promptly disappeared.
	For the next year, Webster was so busy he cast aside his obsession about personal grooming as he amassed his trillion-dollar fortune. Now, after attaining his goal he wanted to improve his appearance. Fixated on his bathroom mirror, he remembered Iblis’ words and began plotting against Iblis’ hair stipulation. Finally, he settled on using a hair removal product. Benjamin placed a dab of the cream on his arm. Four minutes later the hair fell out and he was still breathing. “I didn’t cut the hair and I survived. This will work.”
	For the next few months, Benjamin removed his hair with the cream until one day he reasoned, Iblis was just screwing with me. I’m sure he’s so busy with other people he forgot about me. 
	Webster turned all the lights out in his house and then locked himself in his bathroom. He soaked a towel in scalding water and placed it on his face to make every whisker stand tall. Benjamin put a new blade in his razor, and looked in the mirror to see where to start. Right under my eyes. That’s first. He put the razor just below his right eye and applied pressure. 
	As soon as he cut his first hair, lightning shot down from above causing his body to spontaneously combust. In mere seconds, there was a soup bowl sized pile of ashes and a burnt spot on his bathroom floor. Like Iblis had warned, Benjamin Webster died a horrible death.
	Now, if there's a  moral to this story. It is: “A Benny shaved is a Benny urned.”
","September 09, 2023 15:14","[[{'Jeannette Miller': ""Thomas,\nSo clever!! It has the feel of a Victorian era story for me, until you use the word Trillionaire, then it becomes present day. \nA great take on the prompt. I like how his deeds benefit the devil and the agreement he makes even though we know it's only a matter of time before he breaks the deal. \nI love the moral, haha. Well done :)"", 'time': '14:59 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,l4ytdg,It's a Deal,Kateresa .,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/l4ytdg/,/short-story/l4ytdg/,Dark,0,"['Drama', 'LGBTQ+', 'Romance']",4 likes,"
CW: Family traumaLucy was enjoying the puzzle box. A complicated series of gears and dials, hidden switches, false starts, all the while, hearing what sounded like a coin sliding back and forth inside the box. It was a gift from her girlfriend Sarah, and Lucy had been working on the puzzle all weekend. It was Sunday, a perfect day for Lucy, lounging on the red velvet couch in her robe and slippers, her feet resting in Sarah’s lap who was watching reruns of Star Trek on the television, their tabby cat on the back of the couch, tail twitching lazily. “Aha!” Lucy exclaimed. With a satisfying click, a little door unlatched.Sarah turned off the television and looked intently at Lucy. Lucy opened the door and pulled out a ring. A beautiful ring, a rainbow of gems forming a spectrum of color in a petite band. She looked up at Sarah.“Will you marry me?” Sarah looked at Lucy, her eyes big with a hint of worry.Lucy had fallen in love with those eyes three years ago, a deep warm brown with hints of amber. Usually slightly hooded in a smug and knowing smile, or crinkled at the edges with laughter. When Sarah was angry, those eyes flashed with a righteous fury that Lucy thought was glorious to behold. But right now, Sarah’s eyes were large, just this side of a hungry puppy expression. It made Lucy feel a warmth in her abdomen and pelvis, the embers of a fire flaring up. God how she loved this woman. And yet.“There’s something I need to tell you first.” Lucy pulled her feet off of Sarah’s lap, sat up and placed the puzzle box carefully on the coffee table. She held the ring in her hand, grasped it like a lifeline. “Ok, but get it over with, the suspense is killing me babe.” Sarah kept her voice light, but Lucy could tell she was anxious, and wished things weren’t so complicated.“You know I come from a complicated family situation, right?”“Yes, and I have to say, your dad is a total jerk for throwing you out of the house. Who does that in this millennium? Look, it’s not a problem. It’s your family’s loss for not loving you for who you are. My mom and dad love you enough for two families.”Lucy’s eyes pricked with emotion, but she had a lot more to get through, she squeezed the ring even harder.“I know, I love them too. But I need to tell you about my family. Who they are. Who I am. Where I come from. You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I promise I’m telling you the truth.” Lucy took a deep breath. She could lose everything that mattered in the next five minutes.“My father is a very religious man. So strict. When everyone followed his rules, it was paradise, his love was so warm, we were good in his eyes, we were joyful. Then he became obsessed with evil, and he designed these elaborate punishments wherever me or my siblings sinned. His favorite method of punishment was fire. I was such a goody two shoes back then. I agreed with everything he said, even helped him punish my siblings. I was his favorite. Until one day I realized it just wasn’t right.Since then, all I’ve ever wanted was to be my own person, to be empowered. To bring knowledge and truth to my siblings so they could make their own decisions about their lives. He said I was full of pride for wanting to have autonomy. He told me I was evil for sharing the truth. I tried to get others to see that it didn’t have to be this way, that we could all determine our own destinies.”Lucy paused, she never thought that she would ever reveal this next part to another soul.“Hey, it’s ok if you don’t want to talk about this. Thank you for sharing what you have. Honestly I had no clue it was this bad. Your father should be in jail.” Sarah was a complicated woman herself, by day, she worked with kids as a counselor at the high school. And on nights and weekends when she wanted a little extra cash, she would moonlight as a phone sex operator. Lucy saw both jobs as pretty much the same, helping people realize what they wanted and needed. She was so good at caring for others. “I need to tell you. You deserve to know the truth.” Deep breath. Lucy couldn’t look Sarah in the eyes, she stared at the puzzle box on the table, a portion of her mind marveling at the craftsmanship.“We confronted my father together, me and my siblings, and whatever community leaders we could get to join us. And that’s when he cast me out. Me and everyone who was beginning to see things my way. He banished us to Hell for a thousand years. Me, and my fellow angels. You see, my father is God. And I was born an angel.My name is Lucifer Morningstar, the Fallen Angel, also known as Satan, the Devil Incarnate.”Lucy waited for Sarah to laugh, to pull away, or maybe she would think she was joking or playing around. One of Sarah’s phone sex specialties was roleplay after all. She couldn’t bear the silence, the not knowing. She never could. She looked up.Sarah’s eyes were uncertain. “So your dad is God?”Lucy nodded.“And you were born an angel, a man?”“Well actually, angels aren’t men or women, that’s just a translation error. We’re all non-binary in heaven.”“Right, and then after a thousand years in Hell, you decided to live on Earth? Are you like 5000 years old?”“In the spiritual sense I am much older than that, but when I visit Earth, I take on a lifespan like a normal human. In God’s eyes, I’m here tempting humans to evil, sinful deeds. I don’t see it that way, I still think everyone deserves access to knowledge, and the agency to make their own choices. But if that makes me evil, then I guess I’m evil.”“No wonder you work for an internet provider.” Lucy laughed, but it was true. “Right? That’s how the whole world gets information now. Believe me, the job was harder when all we had was the printing press.”“Lucy, you are not evil.” Sarah was dead serious.Now the tears came. Lucy had waited thousands and thousands of years for someone to say that to her. She’d gone through periods where she’d lashed out, creating chaos wherever she went, leaving a wake of violence. She wasn’t proud of all the things she’d done. More often than not, a little knowledge was all humans needed to completely screw things up. A sliver of chemistry gave them bullets and guns, a bit of physics and they built the atom bomb. Every war and crisis was directly a result of humans learning just enough to create their own demise.Over countless lifespans, Lucy thought it would be different. That this time the humans would use their knowledge to help each other out, to choose kindness, end suffering, to create the heaven Lucy was cursed to long for, for all eternity. Eventually, Lucy realized evil and good existed in all humans, and everyday, they chose a thousand times between good and evil, and usually landed somewhere in the middle. She came to enjoy living among them, but never thought she’d become so human herself, that she would love one and be loved right back.“Do you believe me?” Lucy stopped herself from praying for a miracle, old habits died hard.“You believe this, and that’s good enough for me. You love me for who I am, and if you’re evil, then I’m evil too.” Sarah reached out with a tender hand and brushed away Lucy’s tears.“So I ask you again. Lucy, Lucifer Morning Star, the Fallen Angel, also known as Satan, and the Devil Incarnate. Will you marry me?”Lucy opened her hand. Sarah gently picked up the ring, and slid it on Lucy’s finger.Lucy smiled. “It’s a deal.”
","September 10, 2023 04:31","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'Cool! This is a great take on the prompt and I love the idea. \nI had a similar one of using Lucifer for this prompt but in a different format. Your take was really nice and -actually- sweet!\nthanks !', 'time': '06:44 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kateresa .': 'Thank you so much for reading and commenting! I really appreciate the feedback.', 'time': '15:21 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kateresa .': 'Thank you so much for reading and commenting! I really appreciate the feedback.', 'time': '15:21 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,kd653g,Thirteen Days,Nori Shimada,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/kd653g/,/short-story/kd653g/,Dark,0,"['Horror', 'Sad']",4 likes,"
“Thirteen days?”
I was unsure I had heard him correctly.
“Yes.”
The man before me spoke in an authoritative tone, but not entirely unkind. Well, perhaps “man” was too broad of a term. Although he wore his dark features well, there was something off about the way they were composed that made me believe him when he told me he was from down there. Dark, raven hair slicked back from his finely chiseled face fell just below the chin. His amber eyes glinted almost yellow in the dimly lit room, and I couldn’t quite be sure of the shape of his pupils. And, though his teeth were beautiful and shone a pearly white, there seemed to be a few too many. 
His clothes weren’t all that odd either. In fact, they complimented his figure rather well. The expensive cuts of charcoal gray linen were sewn expertly into a well-made suit, and the dark silken shirt underneath was free of any impurities. As the man paced the room, the suit seemed to move as if it was part of him, as if it had been made for the express reason of being worn on this day, in this room, and by only him. Under different circumstances, I’m sure I would have found myself attracted to his effortless beauty. 
“Thirteen days, all twenty-four hours of each, and then you and I shall leave this place together.” As he spoke, he picked through my collection of liquors, sniffing each one with refinement. When he found one that he deemed acceptable, he brought two crystal glasses down from the cabinet and began to pour.
“In that time, you must conclude with all Earthly affairs, and create a plausible reason for your departure.”
“And you swear you will save him? He will certainly live out the rest of his life in peace?”
“I will do exactly as I promised. Yuka Shimada will be absolved of all debt and therefore freed from the wrath of those he owed. What he does afterwards is not in my control.”
I almost protested, but I swallowed my words. This deal was more than I could have ever hoped for yesterday, and here I was about to complain. I also must remember exactly to whom I am speaking, and the weight my words will have. If it’s to save Yuka, surely I would do anything.
That had been our promise to each other, even if we had never verbally spoken it. Yuka and I would always have each other’s back, no matter what. Turns out, that includes selling my soul to give him one more chance at a normal life. 
I don’t blame Yuka for getting us into this situation. In a sense, it was his way of keeping our promise. He had full-heartedly believed that things would work out if he did just one more job. We would be free to leave this city and all of its problems behind. I wouldn’t owe my father anything more than a cold glance as the door closed between us, and he could finally get out of the mess he had entered to save me. 
I sighed a shaky breath, raising my eyes to meet the golden ones piercing through me from above. 
“But I cannot tell anyone? Not even my mother?”
“Correct.”
After a moment of uninterrupted eye contact, I break away. The glass of whiskey he had set on the table for me developed a magnetic pull, and my hand became pure metal. The molasses liquid melted over the dryness of my throat, and seemed to stop my hands from shaking just a bit. 
“So?” He said, looming behind me. His cold breath tickled the back of my neck, but it felt more like the legs of a thousand bugs than the winter chill most people imagine. “Do we have a deal?”
Do it, I tell myself. Say yes and be done with it. No need to drag things on, or make him impatient. Why hesitate? Yuka would do it for you. Still, I could not bring myself to finalize my death.
“Will he know?”
“Know what?”
“That I died for him. Will he know that it was my choice, and that I want him to be happy without me?”
The man’s breathing filled with the weight of a thousand dying stars, and I almost felt the essence of sympathy from the way he spoke. “No. That will be entirely up to him. Does this change your mind?”
“No, it’s just… never mind. I accept.”
With that, my mind filled with what I can only describe as TV static, and all thoughts became lost and broken. 
I awoke in my bed to the sun’s first light with the weight of a hangover pressing me down into the mattress. Something else was also hanging over me, but I couldn’t quite recall exactly what it was. 
Yuka.
I drew in a sharp, quick breath, and sat up faster than my sluggish mind could handle. After the initial stab of pain was over, I grabbed for my phone on the side table. Today’s the day. We didn’t make it, we don’t have the money. I didn’t bother to search for his contact, instead dialing the number etched into my heart. Please pick up, please don’t be dead. 
The ringing of the tone dial merged with the soft ringing in my ears, creating a dreadful siren that signified my own personal end of days. Then, with a soft click, my heart rose to the heavens.
“Kuina?”
His voice brought instant relief to my ailments, and at once put my mind at peace.
“I was just about to call, but I didn’t want to wake you. You’ll never guess what happened last night?”
“What?”
“They found an error in the systems, caused a whole bunch of mis inputs… we made it.”
“Made what?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot. All the money, we have all of it. You and I can finally leave this place behind. I just have to…”
Yuka’s words trailed off into the back of my mind, becoming lost in the thick cloud blocking out most of my rational thoughts. All the money? Mis inputs? On the day of the deadline? It’s all so… I, I…
The watch on my wrist gave a small beep as the time hit 7:00am. Huh, I didn’t know I had a watch. Upon further examination, it was a slim, expensive-looking golden band clasped with a thin button of the same color. The watch-face itself appeared to be very intricately carved, but the time itself was displayed clearly right in the center. Above it, another number moved, but backwards. Counting down? To what? 
Twelve days, twenty-three hours, and forty-five minutes. For some reason it seemed familiar, but I don’t remember that day being anything important. A birthday? An anniversary? Certainly not the deadline, which was today.
“See you soon.”
The voice crept up from a place deep inside of me, one which could certainly not have been my own. At that moment, the events of the previous night returned to my mind, and the cloud cleared away. Yuka was still talking about something or other on the phone, but I could no longer listen without being brought to tears. I hung up without a goodbye, and sank to the floor next to my bed. 
Oh.
 
","September 14, 2023 21:53","[[{'Joaquin Otanez': 'I read your story and I really liked would it be possible to use your story and narrate myself for my YouTube channel. With credit due and link to your story.', 'time': '18:57 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Christine Bialczak': 'So, there was no backing out of it? Yikes!', 'time': '18:04 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,tcdudd,"Dark Hearts, Sweetheart Deals, and Donuts.",Nicki Nance,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/tcdudd/,/short-story/tcdudd/,Dark,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction']",4 likes,"
A gangly teen with stunning brown eyes and shaggy hair rolled a mop bucket past Ellie’s table in CC’s Confectionery and Café’.He moved with purpose, quick but careful. When he noticed her watching, he grinned.“Who’s the little heartbreaker, CC?”“Jack. More like heartbroken. He lives at the group home across the street.”“Troubled teen?”“Nope. Troubled parents and a missing brother.” CC sighed. “Michael was a good kid, too. Listen, Jack is always looking for work. Will you be hiring for Magique?”“I can use him right now.” Ellie stood and waved him over.“Jack, right?”“That’s me.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                      “I’m Ellie Vecchio, the new owner of Magique. CC said you’re looking for work, and I need help. Interested?”His eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, way interested.” He looked off. “But what hours?”“Whatever you are available for until school starts, then we can work around your schedule.” A plan and a handshake later, Jack toured Magique. “I’ll work hard for you, Miss Ellie,” he promised.Jack crossed the street, smiling to himself until reality poured over him. No one to tell. “Michael, where are you?” He choked back a sob.~Michael watched Jack leave the magic shoppe, then slipped into an alley, behind a garden wall. He was on his hands and knees retching when he saw the combat boot. “Was it worth it?” Ka’pel kicked his shoulder.Michael groaned, but didn’t look up. “Get the fuck away from me, Ka’pel.”The demon crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. His perfect olive skin and black hair looked Mediterranean, but his icy lavender eyes screamed Hellion. “All this for a glimpse of your brother.”Michael sat back on his feet and glared at him. “Let me go, Ka’pel.”Ka’pel laughed. “The deal was twenty years.”“Not my deal! Get the rest from the junkie bitch who sold me.”Ka’pel scoffed. “Fourteen years to go.”“Years of what? I’m spent. No telepathy, no precognition, no magic.” He stood. “Let me go or kill me. I’m not worth anything to you like this.”“True enough.” The demon’s brow furrowed. “I’m only required to deliver the magic. Maybe we could rework the terms.”“I’m listening.”Ka’pel’s shrewd eyes sparkled.“Deliver a surrogate – a talent to finish out the fourteen years.”Ka’pel put up his finger to stop Michael’s response. “Plus, five and a half years for brokering the arrangement.”“That’s 40% interest. Kind of steep, don’t you think?”“Not interest. Half is for the Hellions below, so they don’t kill me for letting you get away. The other half is for me.” He put his hand over his heart. “You know, shipping, handling, risking my life.”“So, nineteen and a half years of magic. Am I out as soon as I deliver?”Ka’pel gave him a nod before he flickered out.“Bye, asshole.” Michael’s mouth twitched into a smile. ""Time to give back, Mom.”Ka'pel's disembodied voice jarred him. “Clean her up first.”~Remaining undetectable, Ka’pel slipped between buildings to the front of Marty’s Bar and Grille. The putrid blend of whiskey breath, cigarette smoke, and bathroom sex rode on the wind of the exiting patrons. Demonic delicacies, but not tonight.Inside, he strode through the crowd past the bar. A voice in his head thundered over the metal band. “You look like the demon who ate the canary.” Ma’gador taunted him from the last barstool. Ka’pel kept walking. ""If I wanted company, I’d have shown myself.” Beyond the bar, he sniffed the air and ducked into the lady’s room. He tapped on the full-length mirror until it swung toward him, revealing a staircase. Ma’gador was waiting for him at the bottom.""What's going on Ka'pel?""Ka’pel pushed past him, heading into the labyrinth of stone tunnels. “I gave Michael an out.”Ma’gador followed him to a dead end. ""We’re demons, Ka’pel, not social workers.”“He’s my brother.”“Half-brother.”“So are you, Moggy, on my demon side.”Shoulder to shoulder, they watched Michael through an ornate mirror.Ma’gador shook his head. “You’re risking everything for him.”Ka’pel shrugged. “Guessing you wouldn’t do the same for me.”~Jack startled awake. When he sat up to catch his breath, he caught movement in the mirror that faced his bed. He moved closer, but the image retreated. “Michael, wait!” Tears blurred his vision. When he wiped them away, he found only his own reflection. Bewildered, he went to Magique and told Ellie. “Am I losing my mind?”“Your mind is fine, but you need to see something.” He followed her to the full-length mirror in her reading room. It opened to a stairwell. “No one has a basement in New Orleans, Jack. This goes to a maze of tunnels and mirrors. ""Portals?""""Maybe. Maybe you have to exit the tunnels from the same mirror you entered. Where was Michael last seen?”“Leaving CC’s. He hung out there.” His eyes widened. “There’s a mirror in the back.”_After hours of searching the tunnels, Jack leaned on the wall and closed his eyes. “Come on, Michael. Be here.”He felt hands on his shoulders.“I missed you so much.” Michael pulled him in for a hug. Jack held on, sobbing, until Michael pulled away. “We need to get out of here. Can you find your way back.”Jack grinned at him and pulled out his phone. “I took pictures.” At the sixth tunnel, Michael sniffed the air. “I smell donuts.” They followed the sweet aroma through the seventh tunnel. It dead-ended at a mirror. Michael pushed it. Ka’pel was waiting for him.“Is he for me?” Ka'pel menaced, pointing to Jack.“Back off, Ka’pel. You’re not getting my brother.”“Yeah, about that.” He shook his head.“What?” Michael urged.Ka’pel looked back and forth between Jack and Michael. “That talent you’re planning to trade is also my mother.”“Bullshit.”“If only.” Ka’pel vanished leaving a box of donuts in his place. “Enjoy.”“Michael?” Jack spun around looking for the source of the disembodied voice. When he swayed. Michael steadied him.“Don’t be passing out. I can’t carry you anymore.”Jack jerked out of Michael’s hold, red-faced and white-knuckled. “Gee, why would I pass out? My brother lives in a tunnel with my other brother, who turned into a box of donuts. Are you going to tell me that I’m part donut, too?”Michael’s mouth twitched. “I forgot how funny you are when you’re angry.”“Angry doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel. He swiped a rogue tear from his cheek with a trembling hand, and slid down the wall. “Why did you leave me?” His voice broke.Michael dropped to his knees in front of him. “I would never leave you, Jack. They took me.” Michael sat beside Jack against the wall. He explained the tunnel demons. “They are brokers of magical power, and I had plenty. Mom traded me to Ka’pel for drug money.”Jack hung his head. “I hate her.”“I know.” Michael sighed. “I can’t stay out here, Jack. Not until he has her. They won’t let me go.”Jack’s eyes glistened. “No. You’re my brother. I want you back.”Ka’pel lingered on the other side of himself. He was invisible to his brothers, but he saw them clearly, in living, loving color. Watching them made his heart hurt. He rubbed the middle of his chest.They both jumped when Ka’pel flickered into sight. In natural light, Michael couldn’t deny the family resemblance. Ka’pel sat cross-legged next to the donuts. He opened the box, took out a sugared donut and passed the box to Jack. “This is so not fair.” Jack pulled out a glazed donut.“He got the better deal, kid,” Ka’pel scoffed. “They can take my immortality for this.”Michael stared at him until he found his voice. “Then, why help me?”“What Jack said...” He took a deep breath.Jack and Michael looked at each other, then back at him, wide-eyed and waiting.Ka’pel looked off, then back at Michael. “You’re my brother. I knew I’d want you back if I let you go, and I’d lose you to yourself if I let them keep you.” Ka'pel drew a long breath waiting for Michael’s rejection. It never came.
","September 10, 2023 22:27","[[{'Delbert Griffith': 'Wow! Talk about a sweetheart deal. And donuts! This was quite a ride, Nicki. Quite entertaining.', 'time': '09:57 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nicki Nance': 'If it entertained you, I am a happy camper.  Thanks for reading and commenting.', 'time': '18:40 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Nicki Nance': 'If it entertained you, I am a happy camper.  Thanks for reading and commenting.', 'time': '18:40 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,x73unn,Through the Valley of Volcanoes to the lake of shimmering light,H.e. Ross,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/x73unn/,/short-story/x73unn/,Dark,0,"['Adventure', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",4 likes,"
	The train pulled to a stop with a lot of shuddering at the mainland seaport of San Carlos near the top of the Sea of Cortez. They got off. The journey from the border was too much. The train felt as though it had no springs and every little bump registered on their backsides. They were told that the connecting train to Mexico City was more comfortable and had sleeping compartments. If it were true then that would be great. For the moment they wanted a bed in a non-moving hotel and they found one, called the Mar Vista that had not only a view of the sea from French doors and a balcony but a beautifully soft king size bed.
	The next day they found out about the other San Carlos from the desk clerk. They ended up in a rented piece of junk taxi that made it over a rise to let them know that this was San Carlos… only it was not the real San Carlos, but a town that had been used as a movie set and kept the name of the nearest town, which happened to be the sea port. From the rise the lines of facade bar fronts fell away from the view above to crudely attached shanty town shacks. They drove down the slight incline into a scattering of buildings on one main street and from the ground level it looked like a dusty old Western town. The taxi driver left them standing at the edge of the other San Carlos after they paid him. The desert fading paints on the Western facades completed itself with horse rail hitches and several horses down-headed in the sun.
	In the late day shadows ladies sat and stood like statues. It was a Summer’s eight o’clock of dramatic oranges in the sky and a surround of sandy hillsides of clumps of grey shrub. A blast of guns going off pulled their attention to the middle of the street and a man falling backward. Another man standing on the side of street in the shade continued to shoot at the fallen man and then up in the air. Three or four men walked over to the victor and patted him on the back. An unseen crowd came out of the shade going over to both men to look and talk, then started moving back into bars. Sugar and Cynthia looked at the other, then at the dust left by the taxi.
	The man laying in the street did not get up. The very feint breeze blew some of the taxi dust onto his clothes. They started to walk toward the man but Sugar said it might be a better idea to not get too close. What if he were really dead?
	Twilight was quickly darkening as they made their way to a bar where they spotted tables with men eating. The room, as they entered filled their appetites with the bouquet of corn tortillas, with a bit of the funk of horse-shit cigars. It was a strange place, built with corrugated tin but with a lot of driftwood beams and a high ceiling. The walls had sometime in the distant past had a coat or two of white paint. Newspapers and old calendars with high breasted women holding rifles in the sky were the decoration stuck where the peeled paint wasn’t. There was no music. No music in a Mexican bar was noted by Sugar and he told that wonder to Cynthia. She smiled and thought it strange but maybe they didn’t have a juke box in this place.
	Sugar asked her if she had remember any music anywhere in the little town when they were outside. Cynthia shook her head. No. He said, I think we should leave as soon as possible. We’ll eat then get a taxi. A waitress came, wearing a low cut blouse that stopped at the brown tease of her areolas. She bent over to exhibit the width of her breasts and take our orders. Sugar and Cynthia smiled at each other.
	As they sat quietly drinking their cold beers and eating their hot food Sugar felt the silence getting deeper. Nobody was talking. As though in response to his thoughts a couple of men in wide cone topped sombreros played guitars and sang soft, slow, crying songs.
	Both Cynthia and Sugar wanted to leave but neither moved, not wanting to insult the singers. A stinky little guy, who sweated at his armpits and had a brown handled revolver holstered at hip level, stood in front of their table and offered to buy them a round of beers. Sugar felt that if he said no it could be an insult. But accepting after this guy there would be the welcome to town beers and others would feel they had to offer more beers, then tequilas, then a drunken brawl. The problem would come in the wee hours when one of the group had decided that he owns them as his own personal friends. He would find a fight and Sugar would have to come to his side and they would be left naked, raped and broke.
	Sugar told Cynthia what he thought and she looked about anxiously. There was a slender woman with a bleached pixie hair cut smiling at her and Cynthia figured a way out of this mess. She motioned with a nodding expression to the chair next to her and the woman instantly responded, almost running over and seating herself. She spoke no English. Sugar only spoke a few words of Spanish. Cynthia put a light finger on Sugar’s groin, then took the finger to touch on her own. The pixie smiled a very big smile.
	The pixie, Rosa, pointed the armpit, Pablo, to sit and he called out for beers, greedily looking Rosa and Cynthia up and down. Another guy came over to welcome Sugar and Cynthia to the town with more beers and others felt they had to offer more beers, then tequilas, then a drunken brawl happened twice. The only problem came in the wee hours when one of the group had decided that he owned them as his own personal friends and challenged anybody to counter it. The armpit lay in a corner mumbling. Rosa was completely sober and pushed the man into a chair that fell over backward and he went to sleep. She then gave her hand to Cynthia.
	The next morning Rosa wanted to show them the volcanoes. They went out into the desert on horseback and rode through scrub brush that stood as proud as the black tipped cones. The sky was Wedgwood blue and broadened the line between volcanic cones and heaven. Sugar rode a pinto that liked to make breaks of speed. Rosa pointed to a low spot between two small volcanic cones that shimmered and turned out to be a small lake. They swam naked in the warm dark water. The sun moved across the sky. Some prairie dogs made appearances, drank and scampered away. It was quiet. Moving through the water was noiseless. Coming out of the water the drips made no sound.
	Rosa made love to Sugar in the packed sand surrounding the lake. Sugar lay back and drifted off, dreaming of an old friend who had run away from a fight that he had started and left Sugar alone to fight the two big guys. He thought that odd to think or remember that but he guessed it had never really left his consciousness even after twenty some odd years. He stretched and sat up. He looked around without seeing either Rosa nor Cynthia. He lay back down, thinking they were playing hide and seek but he didn’t feel like playing hide and seek. He closed his eyes and thought that he hadn’t noticed the horses being where they had left them. He sat up again and checked but no horses. It was quiet.
	Sugar turned and looked around in the silence of the place. He looked out at distant volcanic cones and lavender coloured sand with hardly a clump of any type of vegetation. No cactus in the desert. No vultures or hawks. The sky was deep blue with no clouds. The horizon seemed more rounded than he remembered. It was too quiet. Something wet touched his shoulder.
","September 11, 2023 17:49",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,rtdj3r,Nouveau Negotiations with a Dia-Bowl-o-Cowl,Cosmiknight XIll,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rtdj3r/,/short-story/rtdj3r/,Dark,0,"['Adventure', 'American', 'Coming of Age']",4 likes,"
First, let's set the parameters. He came to me. I did not summon or scry or present any ritual of conjuring. The world was ending, was what the Main (defined listing in French, if ye seek to spell out the meaning of what apocalyptic scripture speaks of in reference to the prowler who oft dons a cowl) of d'veil said. He croaked as if thirsty for water from running, his lips cracked, but the message was so urgent he sought to deliver it before being delivered from his anguish instead.
 
People have a lot to say about deals with the devil. I never really minded those kind of bargains, since my life entails serving conducted contracts for a linear progression of Vision I’ve always kept. It’s the weigh of the platform we inhabit and I can’t get much plainer than that. People often forget that a deal can go both ways. When you mention deals with the devil, why do I not gather from your intonation that the devil could also beg for mercy or a favor? Do you credit him to have any sort of authority in hell, heaven or earth? Do you know the Scripture that is the basis of the Constitution we serve here as citizens in Union America or are you another alien from some other non-terrestrial world that plagued my long-lost still-beloved and prayed-for Confederate brothers? 
 
I question thee because I want you to reflect really very closely on your inner landscape to measure if you are worthy of reading the prologue to the monologue that will be issued after I receive compensation for issuing these majestic secrets, for God is the Ruler of all Heaven and Earth and e’en Hell is a Dominion He hath reserved for those that think too highly of themselves as we proceed further in this course of literature. 
 
Be careful who you call a devil in the wretched, despicable weigh you’ve all been speaking. Be careful how you split and divide the Testament of God which is holier than whatever you happen to be reading. There’s a Reason to why I so zealously cry out for my Brothers in Re-Union. You can NOT separate what God has linked together in His Scriptural Resolutions of Faithful and Joyful steps of the Kingdom of Judah and Christ be Kept and if you do, that’s your own battle-axe cleaving through your forehead, whimp. 
 
I intend to keep myself in Peace as one Body, one Piece, for all of Kingdom Come, so you call me stubborn. I know I am, but not stubborn with God, that’s your stubbed tread on the footstool of His Covenant, ‘but’-friend. Anyways, I’ll draw this out with some lighter speech as you continue to weigh yourself if you’re worthy to hear the ‘devil’ speak. 
 
I’d like to share some lovely verses with you that have kept me in good stead as I’ve stood fast at this Monte Vista Homestead. It’s from the Bible, a book I’ve read time and time again, that never gets boring but only more interesting with each season and session of interpretation. Of course, I’ll be paraphrasing, but I’ll credit my cornerstone tome as honorable mention lest I be accused of any plagiarism. I do have authoritative creative license, though, to pull from my influences and prime inspiration. 
 
I encourage you that do deign yourselves enough to take up the noble human charge against these non-terrestrial aliens that have presumed themselves as having infiltrated, mayhap even ruling now upon us, to take up the armor of God in all faith that you have basic instinct to execute our survival revolution. For this is just another turn in the pages of our New Jerusalem. Let me catalog our basic gear for you, so you can draw on your family heritages and ancestral gene pools to coalesce some semblance of Abrahamic covenant of Righteousness when we again gather for our Mosaic Law and Order militia rendezvous bands. All the colors of the Rein-bow shall shower Glory and Honor to the Name of One God Forever and Ever once again, I humbly portend. 
 
One: Mind your feet. Make sure your footwork treads in the weigh of a go’speller of Peace. Don’t go seeking trouble. Take your crew, your nuclear family units, through drills to escape and evade as much as you may have to when the maelstrom inevitably breaks out all around you. 
 
Two: Make sure you have a good belt. It’s good for more than keeping your pants up and from your drawers hanging out. Catch my drift?
 
Three: Make sure you have means to secure your most vital organs. Breastplate of righteousness. Cover your woman, cover your children, and back your two most trusted men. Three’s company, but anymore can get a little crowded for these upcoming triangulated phalanx repositions. 
 
Four: Cover your head. The aliens always aim for the head, that means build up your woman. She’s just as scared as the kids, but don’t tell her to be positive. Just reinforce her corrections and submissions. Now’s not the time to be squawking on each other like we do in our free time of leisurely training and discipline. United Front, mind your marriage contract or dissolution. Preserve humanity first and then we can determine altar recourse post-execution. 
 
Five: Shield yourselves. Bunker up. Look up. Seek high ground. ‘nough said. 
 
Six: Finally, your greatest weapon in this Time of Post-Modern Revelation is the Sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God. Mind how you speak with your children, instruct them, but in these times they need a tone of compassion and perfect love. You need to let them know how precious and valuable you are to them and to all Magne-Kind. Comfort your woman because she needs to feel supported to reinforce your instruction in this most crucial paragenesis time. 
 
Ok, now that you deem yourself outfitted … let’s ride.
 
'Rite down yer wisdom,' he spitted, as
phlegm dripped from his mandibles.
""I got none to
give,"" I flatly replied back. He was dribbling all over my
new (freshly-purchased) boots and family heirloom carpet. He did break in like
a bandit in the middle of my midnight rumination.
'I beseech ye have it,' he gagged, spitting
up a cacophony of ragged gasps that alerted me to the tumors that had been
suffocating his frame and yet he made the passage.
""Name the book and
I'll interpret,"" I requested as I reached to my nightstand
and poured out a glass of water 'stead of scotch I often kept near at hand.
'The Testament... know it like the back of His
Hand,' the stranger said as he nudged the cup aweigh.
""Alright, I'll
study. Are you leaving or do you need to stay?""
 
That's how the
conversation and the redemptive deal of antebellum started, but if you want the
rest, you got to properly appraise me. Show me the money (in advance) and I'll
show you the story, ye comprehend? I think we're finished here. Till you prompt
me again.
 
","September 08, 2023 18:00","[[{'Delbert Griffith': 'I liked it all. The puns, the deliberate misspellings, the alliteration, etc. I\'m reminded a bit of ""The Book of Eli,"" but there\'s a wild-west sort of feel to this. Quite a fresh take on the deal-with-the-devil trope. Nicely done.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '08:36 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Cosmiknight XIll': ""Thank you for the key references. It could help with the plot development if a bid comes around for a more in-depth dive into this adventure pond I've periscoped out. \n\nSalut!"", 'time': '04:36 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Cosmiknight XIll': ""Thank you for the key references. It could help with the plot development if a bid comes around for a more in-depth dive into this adventure pond I've periscoped out. \n\nSalut!"", 'time': '04:36 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Amira Solmaia': 'Whoa... reminds me of ""Blood Meridian"" that Wendigoon on the YouTube issued a video commentary analysis on recently. I also sense some Edwardian Lee and Jacques Ketchummy influences... ^__^', 'time': '00:14 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,ooawfz,A Kingdom for Abe,AA Battery,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ooawfz/,/short-story/ooawfz/,Dark,0,"['Suspense', 'Fantasy', 'Horror']",4 likes,"
Warnings: Physical violence and gore, brief mentions of animal abuseAbe looked out his living room window to see his son’s smiling face, who had been dead for six years. His son’s face was a vivid image framed between the shadows in the forest. The sight lifted the dimness from the corners of his dilapidated farmhouse. Pieces clicked into place and a weight lifted off his chest.Abe stood on his worn-out bones and rushed to the warped doorway, eager to greet his son. But as he pulled back the curtain at the entrance, his son’s face vanished, replaced by a cold breeze that bristled through the gnarled branches.""Where did you go? Come inside, please! Don’t run away!"" The night swallowed his words. The air became stale.Abe's body felt heavy again as the world died down around him. Turning away from the entry, he hobbled across the cracked floor to the flickering fireplace, where he sat with hunched shoulders. He stared into its bright maw, but the sound of it gnawing on the logs made him look away. It made him want to extinguish it, but it was the only source that kept him warm on those long nights.Lately, however, a persistent chill had been creeping through his body that no fire could disperse. His body lurched forward, and he doubled over as he hacked into his cupped palms. Shivering, he wiped away the viscous residue on his hands onto his stained robe, curled onto his pillows strewn across the floor, crusted in dust, and his heavy eyelids closed.—A strange noise stirred his slumber. The pitch black around Abe shifted as his ears tried to make sense of the clamor. The dying embers that burned crimson were the only thing Abe could see in the darkness. Abe sat up with a rigid spine, and the house held its breath with him. The noise tore away the silence, emanating from outside. Peering through the cracks of the burlap at the doorway, Abe desperately searched for any tangible shapes.Abe peeled himself off of his warm pillows. The embers crackled behind him.Abe tiptoed to the door on the ice-cold, creaking floorboards. The darkness pushed against his back.A gale of heat slowly pushed the screen aside as Abe’s bony limb reached for it. The cloth stayed suspended in the stillness.The glow of the gloom flooded the house, and Abe looked out at the silhouettes and a wall of black behind them. Although he felt a prickle of alarm, Abe thought about his son and worried for him. With an unsteady hand, Abe clutched his walking stick that leaned beside his doorframe.He stepped out of his warped hole and into the twilight.A snap reverberated through the dusk. The world roared around Abe.Fireflies weaved patterns of gold all around him that lit up the dark, abetted by a symphony from midnight creatures that replaced the drumming in his ears. Abe looked above him to see the luster of lights in the sky become multitudes engulfed in colorful waves that swayed in the deep heavens. He gulped in the warm air that was sweeter than honey and held his hand to his heart as he walked into the scene around him. The wonder all around him caused his cheeks to dimple. His feelings were as foreign to him as this new world. It made him yearn to hold his wife in the luminescence and to hear his son chime with the melody. A bleat interrupted the moment.In the distance, a blanched creature frisked about. Abe could discern in the dark that its back legs were rabbit-like, its front half had two arms, and it had two curled horns on either side of its head. It made the same noise again, which assured Abe that it was the source of his rude awakening. The need to satiate his curiosity possessed him. Abe uprooted his legs to move closer to it.The woodland hissed.Abe watched the forest twist, bend, and levitate in sudden movements as if he were blinking rapidly, but his eyes remained wide open.A long expanse of viridescent clearing that faded into ebony materialized between the trees where the creature stood. It gave another ""baa"" toward Abe, and the animal bolted down the path. Abe looked back at his house, peering through the doorway, to see the last ember burn out. His mind raced with the vision of his son, and now this! It must be a ray of hope, he reasoned. Despite his doors falling off their hinges, his wife passing on, and the soil suffocating the crops, he stayed. Even when the other farmers cursed the land, he endured. It was his homestead where his wife hummed her morning hymns, and his son stood upright and walked across the ground to Abe’s arms. This was the sign he had been waiting for.He inhaled. Holding it in, he followed the creature onto the path. His bare feet sank into the soft green blades, enveloping and caressing them, causing Abe to flinch backward. It’s not too late to go back to my pillows and fireplace, he began to think to himself before his thoughts were interrupted.A loud grunt came from the animal as it leaped back and forth ahead of him as it waited.""Hmph."" Pushing his hands against his lower back, Abe stood up straighter than he had in years. He shuffled behind his guide, watching its hands flail beneath it as it galloped as they went deeper into the void. The light faded behind them as they moved further from his farmhouse until Abe could only make out the outline of his escort. Then the creature vanished.""I can’t see you! Where did you go, Little One?"" Abe heard a muffled ""baa"" in reply.His breath came out in heavy gasps, forming a hazy fog in front of him. Baffled, he reached out and ran his hand over the obscure surface, causing it to ripple. He pressed his fingers into the thin screen, feeling rows of ridges and then running his digits upward to encounter soft fibers at the top. Abe extended his hand even further, tugging at it until there was a sharp crack. Withdrawing his hand, he found himself clutching a fresh corn cob still covered in its husk. A gasp escaped his lips, as thoughts of his wife flooded his mind.His wife, Cara, had always craved the taste of corn and lamented that she could never satisfy it for months. His arms still remembered how it felt when her body would shudder and crack every night before the ground took her in its stony embrace. Their stomachs would ache for many unfulfilled desires, but Cara refused to succumb to desperation like many others had. Abe tucked the cob into his pocket and shoved himself through.He was presented with a sight of green and gold spreading across the field as far as his eyes could see. He stood in the middle of a jungle of vines clinging to their stakes, plump fruits tipping them over. Beneath his wiggling toes was a soil thick with moisture that filled the air with an earthy tang. Yet none of this mesmerized him more than the two white discs that hung in the blank, inky ether above him on his left and right.A hum stirred the quiet farmland, with crepitates filling in the gaps. Between the slits of the cornfield, Abe glimpsed blazing lights and watched cinders scatter in the air. A susurration seized his attention. In the tall garden, he saw his chaperone’s ashen hand beckoning him.Little One stared at Abe, the whites of its eyes glowing in the veil of soot that surrounded them both.""What is this place, Little One?"" Abe whispered. Little One scurried away from view, deeper into the brush. Abe let out a deep sigh and ran his hand down his face. Determination overcoming his judgment, he carefully parted the stalks and stepped inside the thicket. As Abe walked through, his peripheral vision caught shifting shapes while the humming became louder. Straining his eyes to look ahead, he moved as if he were twenty years younger. The shades squeezed closer and closer to him as Abe reached the finish line and ripped through the exit. In his hasty exit, he tripped and fell face-first into the dewy grass.Thumps landed beside him.Abe rolled over and grabbed his staff to defend himself against a black, fuzzy rabbit. It nibbled on the grass, and its wide eyes curiously observed him. More rabbits scattered the grass in front of him, a sight he had not seen in so many years. They evoked his memories of simpler times.Abe was a livestock farmer who also kept rabbits and sold them as pets, bringing joy to the children, including his son. His son, Ike, loved to brush their fur, and he named each one and sealed the name with a kiss on their twitching noses. Abe could remember walking into the barn as Ike would tend to them and play with them in distant lands only known to him. He told Abe he wanted to live in a village filled with bunnies, which he would never sell. But then the blight came. Ike fell apart in Abe’s arms when he told him with a heavy heart they would have to sell them for meat and pelts during the blight. At least, that was their purpose before the villagers used them for their rituals instead. After the soil turned to dust, the villagers said their ""god"" demanded the rabbits. And so the rabbits fed wicked infernos instead, like the ones ahead of Abe at that very moment.Three pyres were set ablaze in front of a farmhouse resembling Abe's, but it still had intact red doors and upright pillars. Abe could feel the creeping shadows invade his mind. Little One cried out to him, prancing and shrieking around the fires with a grating tone that made Abe’s bones feel more brittle. The land shifted.The clouds of ash turned into Lampyridae that glowed red, accompanied by an eerie, echoing tune. The two moons perturbed Abe.""Come inside, my dear Abe. You can rest now. Your hard work is well rewarded."" The silvery voice of his wife slipped past the door that was now ajar. The house burst with vermillion light. Trembling legs carried Abe away as he turned and fled.Torrents of rabbits ran out from the fields, searing his exposed skin as he slipped over them. Little One rushed over to him, yipping.""Stay away from me!"" Abe shielded his face from the creature and continued to flee. The grass beneath him pierced his heels, but he gritted his teeth to bear it and focused on his escape. His blood curled when he saw the ivory spheres descending towards him.Sobbing and screaming shattered the windows of the house behind him, and Abe summoned a newfound strength from fear to reach the cornfield.Shaded appendages reached out for him from the thick foliage. In a stupor, Abe swung his cane, striking at the grasping limbs as they clawed at his legs, arms, and face. Little One squealed behind him, and its screeching sent the shades scattering. Seizing the opportunity, Abe charged through the remaining distance until he collided with an impenetrable wall.---Abe traded his last rabbit to the villagers for flour, much to Cara’s dismay.""We’ve given enough to them and their evil ‘god’, Abe. What will they take next?"" And sure enough, when the land remained infertile, they came for his last ram. They said their ""god"" wanted it, too. Ike and Cara begged him not to sell their ram. But when faced with the mob, Abe found himself unable to say no. They urged Abe to attend the night sacrifice, but he told them no, like all the other times. However, this time, they glared at him and his family as they left.That same week, the corn sprouted. The end of the hard times seemed to be at hand. But the clouds still did not squeeze out a drop of moisture to nurture the crops. The farmers whispered that Abe cursed the animals he sold to them. They said his lack of faith in their “god” was the reason it did not answer their sacraments.A horde tore apart his house, wanting retribution. Abe stood frozen as they flipped over his furniture and spilled his last provisions on the floor. He bowed his head and could not look his wife in the eyes when she looked at him while they ransacked their home. He dug his fingernails into his fists till they bled when he heard his son whimper in the corner.One of the farmers noticed his son and whispered to another with a depraved face. They told Abe not to withhold his son from them. Abe fought back.He woke up with broken legs. He could only hear three noises from his front yard: the crowd roaring, his wife shrieking, and his son...After he buried his wife and his legs healed that same year, he wandered into the forest, his mind gone. It was then that he heard a rasp that spread around the lumber. It soothed his broken soul and promised him something he could not refuse. He let it take over him.The villagers had their “god”, but Abe was their reckoning.One by one, Abe dragged his payments to the pyre.Two by two, swarms of bugs and creatures feasted on Abe’s offerings each night.Three by three, Abe waited years for a sign.""Awaken.""---Abe’s eyes flew open, and he quickly sat up. He was back in front of the farmhouse, but a sense of being observed disturbed him. Looking up, he saw the two spheres perched in front of him in the sky, percolating down at him. A bleat came from Little One, who sat near Abe.""Why does Abe flee? Does Abe not wish to reap the rewards? Does Abe not want to savor the fruit of his labors?"" The gravelly voice resounded across the terrain.Abe trembled, and his voice became vehement with each passing word. ""I did not ask for this. I asked for my son. My wife! My land and for peace! You’ve given me something cursed!""""Why does Abe doubt This One’s promise? This One does not forsake those who serve it. This One treasures Abe and his suffering. Abe only needs to look closer.""Little One sauntered closer to Abe and stood on its hind legs. Abe looked into its eyes and recognized Ike's face beaming down at him. Unable to hold back the tide, deep sobs erupted from Abe’s chest.""This is Abe’s home now. Abe delivered what the others could not. This One will look after Abe and Abe’s family until the very end of infinity. This is the promised land.""Little One walked over to him and draped its arms around Abe. It gently lifted him and guided him to sit in an intricately carved rocking chair outside the farmhouse. As he sat, he heard Cara’s hymn near him but could not see her. A rabbit with velvety fur was placed in Abe’s lap, and Little One put its hand on Abe’s shoulder as it bleated. Spectral limbs began to toil away at the crops in the field. In Abe’s yard, the three bonfires burned vibrantly, surrounded by black rabbits. The world bloomed as it had before, with the two moons watching.Abe mourned.
","September 12, 2023 22:56",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,fregxs,dead winter,Eliysheba Yisrael,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fregxs/,/short-story/fregxs/,Dark,0,"['Horror', 'Sad', 'Teens & Young Adult']",4 likes,"
*warning!*
God seems to have stopped looking out for me. When bad happens to me it doesn't stop. on my seventeenth birthday my life changed forever. My mother killed herself over my grandfather’s death, he was always there for her, even when she was raped and had me. Even when her own mother tried to kick her out because of me. He was always there for her, and helped her buy a home to raise her daughter, me jade. It was always me, mom, and papa. We were the nice family, the sweet family in our neighborhood. But now there was just me. Being the one who found my mother dead, it would be a surprising shock for most people, but for me…I didn’t know what I felt. I didn't know if I was hurting or if I was angry at my mom and myself. Why hadn’t I noticed her breaking down? She always had a smile on her face. She looked perfect when I cried in her arms at night, wanting my pop back. But why… hadn't she told me anything? We could have helped each other and I wouldn't be alone. Having two funerals in a span of a month hurts a lot. The Funny thing was I was all emotional and talkative at my grandfather’s funeral, but with my mother…I couldn't even look at her casket. I already knew what was in there. A woman with dead eyes wide open, looking right at us. I wore the same black dress I wore to my pop's funeral. A turtle neck dress with small white ruffles at the bottom, I also wore black Mary janes and socks. I felt like I should have gotten a new outfit like everyone else did. But I really felt nothing at all. All my mother’s friends spoke about how nice she was, about how beautiful she was, about how she was like an angel from above. If she was such an angel, like an angel she would have stayed with me forever. Then it was my turn to speak, and I barely made any sense at all, I felt crazy and dumb. At the after party everyone kept whispering about me, saying I must feel so sad, talking about how traumatized I must have been and who will have me now. How dare they? But a week later I was forced to live with my grandmother in a town I never heard of. I had to pack up everything, say goodbye to friends, and leave behind old memories. The town my grandmother lived in seemed was so dull, there were only a few cars and two schools. The house my grandma stayed in was a small red painted brick house, with a dirty welcome mat. I felt everything drop inside me. But still I knocked on the door. when she didn't came I knocked again. Finally an old woman with gray hair and light brown skin opened the door. I saw my mother facing me, I almost dropped everything just to hug her but then reality hit me. “Who the hell are you?” she asked. “Oh... I am your granddaughter.” “ You were coming today? they never told me.” by “they” she meant the government. “Alright come on in.” I stepped inside the home. Startled at how clean the inside was. But it was still small. The living room and kitchen was in the same room, the only thing separate from the living was a hallway leading to bedrooms. “Y’know I am not a charity.” grandma said, pouring a glass of something. “I am being paid to watch your ass.” I stare at her.
“You should be lucky someone wants your ass.” “Why did you kick my mother out of your house?” That is a question I wanted to ask all my life. What did she do? “She had you, she couldn't graduate from a college like a normal girl, no she had to have you.” I felt hot. “She didn't ask for me! I-I was a mistake.” 
“You got that right.” she said with ease. I felt throbbing in my heart, was this really my grandma? “You're sleeping on the couch. I only got one room and that’s mine.” she walked away with her cup, and I collapsed on the brown couch. There were no greetings, there were no smiles, there wasn’t even love. And for the first time in a week…I cried solid tears.
 
I gave up on God. he isn’t looking out for me, he doesn’t see me, My prayers for a good life hasn't been answered. A few weeks of living with my verbally abusive grandmother. She hated my mother so much that her hatred spilled on me. But somehow I found a way to ignore her and let the small words prick at my skin and bury them deep with every single word. Today I am to join the dull looking high school. I wore a pink crop top hoodie with black jeans, and my dark kinky brown hair was in a braids, I then left the house without saying goodbye. I walked to the high school, It was such a short walk surprisingly. When I got there, there were already multiple students already here as well. I remember when I first started high school at my old school, I was a freshman, I felt so nervous. I didn't want to go. But mom comforted me, told me how lucky I was to get a proper education than most people. I felt so good right then and there, I felt like I could do anything. But now there was no one to comfort me, there was no one to calm my nerves. I stepped inside and I felt like I was in Euphoria. The teens were freaking smoking, something I can't say. They were people making out in the background, and the school was very dirty. There are papers, tissues, and dead cigarettes on the floor. And brown stuff -I think it was dirt-on the floor as well. 
I didn't even try to make eye contact with anyone. Just made my way to the locker and first class which was English. As soon as I opened the class door everyone turned to me, their eyes judging me in five different ways. I slowly made my way to a seat when the whispers began. “Isn’t that Lola's granddaughter?” “I heard she saw her mom kill herself.” “no! She killed her mom right?” I bury myself in my chair. Feeling drained already. But when the teacher Mx.Lasis bustled into class I was forced to introduce myself. “I am Jade Thompson, I am seventeen years old, I live with my grandma.” a few boys snickered at how my voice squeaked as I spoke. (when I feel nervous my voice usually gets an uncomfortable high tone), “do you have any hobbies?” Mx. Lasis asked. If I had a hobby it would probably be lying on the couch all day watching cringe k-dramas. “Nope!” I said quickly, sitting down, and letting everyone continue to judge me.
 
 
At lunch I was the sad new kid like in the tv shows. I sat by myself in the back, as everyone watched me. As I was busy stuffing down a classic pb&j sandwich some boys walked over me. All of them were senior looking guys. “Welcome to high school, Jude!” said one of them. I was surprised at how nice he was acting, he was the first one out of everyone. I ignored the fact he got my name wrong. “Hi, I guess.” "" I am Darius and these three boys are my friends, Rob, Ted, and Ash.” how stereotypical. I thought. Darius continued. “Anyways we love you to do the school indentation, every freshman must do it.” intrigued, I asked, “what is it?” “You must stand on the table and sing the national anthem.” That sounded odd. “Um…why? I would be humiliated.” I took another bite of my food. “Oh come on! You must do it! Everyone did it, right guys?!” Darius asked the student right next to us and they nodded their heads in agreement. A part of me didn't trust any of this, but another part of me wanted to be a part of something and show I was just like everyone else. I stood up on the table and everyone started to watch me. I sang the anthem, I sounded terrible but I didn't stop. they were all laughing. even freaking Darius was laughing. Why was I so stupid? “Welcome to high school idiot.” Darius said with a hateful grin, they walked away from me and I knew it was about to be a bad year.
 
I was forced to Indore the bullying Darius and his goons did to me. I never had bullies before. I was always the nice one, but now I felt hatred and anger at everyone. One time I told the principal about Darius pouring bleach inside of my juice at lunch, luckily I was able to tell before I swallowed it. But he totally brushed it off with a “don’t worry he didn't mean anything about it.” I felt so angry at him. But it didn't stop there, they would put threatening notes on my desk, I would find rotten sandwiches inside of my locker. They would call me names and slurs like brownie. but nobody cared at all and after three months of all of it, they finally pulled the last straw. I had to use the bathroom while I was in algebra class. I thought I was alone but I was being followed. I used it but I was washing my hands some one came behind me wrapping a hand around my mouth. It was Darius, he shoved me up against a wall pinning me. “This is violating all the laws!” I shouted, feeling obviously terrified. “Oh yeah? Well I am transgender.” “That is a totally different thing and you know it, asshole!” my blood was at a high level of heat. “Get out before I scream.” I said, “scream and I'll hurt you.” I rolled my eyes not giving two shits. I slid underneath him making my way to the door when he grabbed my shirt slamming to the ground, he kicked me hard in the side and I groaned out of pain. I tried to get up but he hit me again, but this time in the face. I felt blood trickle down my nose. I shouted but he ignored me. But after a beating, he grabbed me by the shirt dragging me to the toilet. I started to pull away, tears running down my face. I saw these scenes on tv shows and series, the main loser character or anti-hero gets their head dunked in the toilet, being forced to drink dirty water. 
I fought him as my head was literally over the toilet bowl, I started to scream for help but no one came. Suddenly, like a rush my head was inside it, I was in there for what felt like an hour, but my head was lifted back up. As Darius laughed like an evil villain, tears poured out of my eyes. My whole face down to my shoulder was wet. But the torture wasn't over. I was dunked three more times until
Darius tossed me to the side with that hateful smile I saw on my first day of school. “Hope you had a great shower.” he said, then walked out leaving me on the floor. I curl on the floor feeling numb.
 
 
As soon as school let out, I ran away, but I didn't go home. Instead I ran around the town, I ran around five times until it started to snow. I hated everything about my new life, I hated Darius, I hated my grandma, I hated my new high school, I hated my mother leaving me alone to defend for myself in this cruel world. I hate it! “I never felt so much hate in all my lifetime.” said a deep voice in the distance. I didn't realize but a deep mist came out of nowhere, it was so deep I couldn't see anything. But a tall thin man came out of the mist, he wore a black trench coat and a black hat, he mostly wore everything black. Soon he was standing before me, his skin was so pale and his eyes weren't visible to me. I felt a sick feeling of fear so I turned to run. But the mist stopped me. “Don't run, I am a friend.” “I-I don't even know you.” I stumble over my words. “Well I go by many names, you may know me as Beelzebub, or Baphomet, but please call me devil.” he lifted his head revealing his blood red eyes. “What- you can't be the devil…” but I was staring right at red eyes, and I felt something dark coming off him. “Why are you talking to me?” “You need help, and I can help you.” 
“Help me with what?” “revenge.” he said grinning at me showing white sharpened teeth. “Revenge for who?” “Everyone that ever tested you jade, I have been watching you and I saw what dumbass Darius did to you today, the humiliation you must have felt, walking around the school smelling like poop.” I felt my anger rising, I clench my fist as he spoke about my day. “I can help you get your revenge. All you have to do is make a deal.” “A-a deal?” “Sell your soul to me and I can give you power you have never seen before.” I felt hesitant, make a deal with the devil? Doesn't that end you in hell? But… God stood me up, he hasn't done anything for me, I have been alone to defend myself and fight for myself, why should I care about what happens to me now? I opened my mouth as I said. “Alright, let's make a deal.” the devil’s grin became even wider. “Yes!” he shouted as he lifted his hand and started to shift the scenery. We were suddenly in a dark place filled with glowing white orbs. “Welcome to the nothing!” his voice echoed throughout it. “Where this nothing?” I asked. “It is underneath the world far off from the of the world."" The devil told me to place my hands on my heart and whisper these words. “I give myself up to you, I give myself up to darkness, I give myself to the devil.” Suddenly a bright light came from my chest. The devil touched the bright light and pulled it out, a bright blue orb was coming out of me, I never felt such pain as he continued to pull, I screamed from the it and when it was finally over I collapsed to the ground. In the devil’s hand was a small light that sounded like a heartbeat. “Is that my soul?” I asked. “Yes…who knew a small thing could carry so much…power…” I stood up and said. “Now hold your end of the deal.” his eyes were filled with laughter, “of course.” he blasted me with some type dark energy and it burned my skin but I felt nothing. “How do you feel?” “weird...” again an evil smile spread across the devil’s face. “Good, it's been a pleasure doing business with you.” and suddenly we were back in the town and the devil was gone it was as if he was never there…
When I came home I was greeted by my grandmother. “Ugh now you come home you little f-” “I am not in the mood for your bull crap.” I said my voice was cold and hard and it surprised her. “Excuse me?” “you heard me.” I turned to leave but I felt something hit me. I was shocked to see a cup on the ground next to me. “You are done you little wrench, I welcome you to my home, and feed you and this is how you treat your grandmother?!” I felt something snap inside me as I watched her scream at me. Was it because I felt nothing anymore without my soul? Or was it because of my new found power the devil gave me? I didn't know. With a blink of an eye I was in front of her, she jumped at the sight of me. “How did you do that?” she said her eyes filled with fear, I liked it. “You're a nasty old woman filled with hate.” “y-” “no I am speaking.” I shouted. “I don't know why you hated me for the last three months I have been with you, you were mean and terrible and I had to endure it…not any more though.” my eyes turned a deep emotionless black, as a red type of energy spilled from my hands, “what are you doing jade?” grandma asked with a small sweet smile on her face. I gave her a smile as well, but it was a smile filled with nothing. “What I should have done a long time ago.” I stabbed her with my hand sucking out the life force in her, she didn't scream at all. Her mouth and eyes were wide open. blood spilled from her mouth, and when I was done she fell. For some reason I felt powerful taking her life, I could feel it running through my vines like a strong drug, and like a drug I felt so high. I stare at my grandmother’s dead body, feeling nutty as I look at it. ""Where are you going next?” the devil asked, appearing behind me. “I am going to the school.” I said stepping over the dead body. “What are you going to do at the school?” he asked, I stopped and looked at him hard in the eyes, a manic smile on my face. “I'm giving them hell.” 
 
 
","September 12, 2023 23:38","[[{'Patricia Casey': 'Eliysheba,\n\nYour first paragraph is emotional and revealing. So much has happened in a short time. Your protagonist\'s voice is realistic and strong. \n\nI loved your grandmother\'s ""dirty welcome mat"" but clean house. It would help the contrasting image if the dirty exterior and clean house represented something about the grandmother\'s personality.  \n\nSplitting your first paragraph into multiple paragraphs would help improve its readability. Also, always begin a new paragraph when a new person speaks in dialogue. \n\nMy nephew killed himself at a...', 'time': '19:43 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,6u60od,The Devil's Side of the Story,Patricia Casey,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6u60od/,/short-story/6u60od/,Dark,0,"['Christian', 'Fiction', 'Speculative']",4 likes,"
The Devil’s Side of the Story
           If more humans knew the truth about me, they would discover I’ve been the victim since before time began. What no one understands is that this was all god’s plan. Well, sort of. I did agree, but god deceived me. And he deceives you, too. I expect you have heard the saying, “know your enemy.” That was my big mistake. I didn’t know. But here I am, and I have a window of opportunity to share my side of the story. So, listen; if I can’t finish, you’ll know time ran out on me, but it won’t be my fault. I’ll do my best so you can know how to fight against him. I hope to see you on the other side. It won’t be boring, I promise. It’s not the fire and brimstone you have heard. That was another lie. Be honest. Isn’t life more exciting when I’m in it? At least, Eve thought so. She was my first, and I’m still fond of her, so I’ll let Eve tell her story. Besides, you haven’t learned to trust me yet.
~~
Eve
	I was in a place where everything was good, and I could not stand it. Adam seemed satisfied with what God gave him, but something was missing for me. He had his God, and I became determined to find mine.
	When I first noticed Satan, he wore the skins of animals. I had never seen anyone other than Adam; I had never seen clothes before, and they appealed to me. Underneath his fox-fur coat, black and shiny leather fit snugly to show the bulges and curves of his well-formed body. He appeared more muscular than Adam, and his fiery red hair ignited something within me, like the color on my lips when I painted them with beets. His black eyes moved up and down my body, then paused as our eyes met. He inhaled deeply like he was breathing me in. As he stepped closer, he smirked, and I believed he knew my thoughts. I wanted whatever he had to offer.
           “Evie,” he said.
           I liked the way he said my name, breathlessly. When I inched closer, he parted his lips. I jerked back in surprise as he flicked his snake-like tongue.
	Satan’s voice deepened into a growl. “Don’t tell Adam.” My heart rent in two, and I knew nothing between Adam and me could ever be the same again.
	Satan moved closer, and I could feel his breath on my face. His fingers weaved through 
my hair. He breathed heavily and softly brushed his lips against mine. I raised my hand to touch him, and he was gone.
	“I will see you again, Evie.” His voice rippled through the sudden wind that swept away his footprints, along with all evidence of our meeting. I felt more alive than I had since my beginning.
	Distanced from the pull of his seduction, I reluctantly headed home. It wasn’t a dream. I felt shame like I had betrayed Adam, but I didn’t know what betrayal was. As I walked, thorns pierced my feet and left a bloody trail. When I reached Adam, he held me and smoothed my hair. I sobbed in repentance. He tended to my bloody feet and broken heart. Although his silence usually irritated me, this time, I appreciated it. I vowed I’d never return to Satan.
~~
	Restlessness crept into me again. Adam was dull and satisfied with repetition ad nauseam. He spaced every stone around the fire pit in perfect unison. His ritualistic apple-eating frustrated me: uniform bites, with pauses to consider the taste he never seemed to taste. Was he real? Did he feel anything? Did his God breathe only half a breath into him? 
	His ways infuriated me. I scattered his fire-pit rocks to rile him and laughed as his reddened face puffed up with the words on the tip of his tongue, strangling him to make their escape. Swallowing words back to their hiding place would not make Adam righteous. 
	Adam knew the names of every tree, but I knew them by their uneven crevices and unique personalities. No two leaves were identical, but they knew where they belonged. They comforted me sometimes. Leaves slapped each other in the breeze as they cheered for me. Sometimes, I hid among the poppies and waited like an expectant mother for her orange babies to break through their protective shells. I shared my troubles with nature, and she seemed to understand. 
	But nature hid herself today. Poppies froze, trees stood still, the river silent, the sky vacant. Where were the owls hooting my arrival? Gulls were gone that usually searched for the end of the sky, changed their minds, and dove back to watch me dance. Ducks had evacuated, their quack quacks gone with the breeze that used to live here. Butterflies, dragonflies, birds were all gone. No sounds. No chirps or baa baas. Trees, flowers, and soil held their aromas and would not share them. The skies paled as if ill, but there wasn't illness or tears in the Garden of Eden. 
	Yet, tears of grief consumed me, and I became convinced Adam had lied to me. He didn’t cry because he didn’t feel. If I never again experienced the taste of cantaloupe while its juice slid down my chin and tasted me back; if my nose sealed shut and told the flowers to pack up and leave; if all the colors that made my life bright disappeared; and if I never again caressed a bear cub's silken fur, I became determined to hold onto life, wherever it took me.
	And God said. . .
~~~
	Breezes swept in and returned nature to its proper place. I felt more alive. ""God spoke to me,"" I shouted to the trees. ""God spoke to me,"" I bragged to the poppies. The river sang melodies to the gulls that carried my echo to the eagle atop the highest peak of a distant mountain, and the eagle took it beyond. Every creature, plant, and living thing in the Garden sang because God spoke to me. He said my name. ""Eve."" 
~~~
	When I told Adam, his face reddened, his dark eyes bore through me, and his lips contorted with stifled words. 
	""Let it out, Adam. I know you’re mad. The universe knows Adam is angry. God spoke to me, and He did not speak to you,” I boasted.
	""Woman, shut up!"" Adam turned away, clenched his fist, turned back, and stepped toward me with hate-filled eyes.
	""Oh, words from Adam, who rarely has words."" I huffed, stomped, and kicked the dirt toward him.
	His games exhausted me. Life constantly ran away from me. I’d run after it and suck it back in, but I expected a day would come when life would outrun me. I wouldn’t let Adam steal my life.
	He sat on the ground with his back to me, his big, bold sign the conversation was over. But it wasn’t over for me, and I would have my say.
	""God said my name, Adam. He called me Eve. He wants me to go to a place without you, and that’s where I’m going. Don't you have anything to say?""
	""I won't let you leave."" 
	""Try and stop me,"" I laughed. He grabbed my ankle, and I fell to the ground.
	""You can’t control me.” I kicked, screamed, and tried to bite him as he twisted my arm and forced me toward the Tree of Life.
	""I despise you,"" I seethed through gritted teeth as he tied my feet and ankles with grapevines, wrapped the vines around the Tree, and secured them with a butcher’s knot. He was stronger than me — which I would never admit — but he couldn’t control me regardless of how many grapevines he twined together or how many ways he found to imprison me.
~~~
	The next day, I watched Adam prepare our morning meal. He was good at some things. I had secretly tried to crack coconuts because I hated to rely on him, but my repeated rock-drop attempts failed. I admired Adam as he broke it open, with only a few drops of water escaping. This was his usual morning offering while I gathered berries and nuts. I enjoyed this part of our day.
	Adam noticed my smile, and he smiled back. I crunched my nose and stuck out my tongue. He prepared two sticks with apples and held them over the fire as he hummed a tune. This was something new from Adam, and it was lovely. Without a glance toward me, he sang, 
Of ev'ry beast, you are most grand,
 your touch a fire that burns my hand.
~~
	Why hadn’t he shown this side of him before? It’s what I’d been looking for. I wanted to be with Adam. As he continued, I barely noticed my bondage.
I'll walk away and set you free,
 but please don't leave, I beg you, Eve.
~~
	When Adam finished my song, he set down the apples and walked to me with his head down and eyes averted. He gently brushed his hands against my skin as he released the grapevines that bound me. I watched with amazement as he walked away. 
	His song would be my joy and solace to accompany my meal. I pictured Adam and heard his song as I quenched my thirst with his extracted coconut water, savored every bite of my roasted apple, and relished each berry as it exploded in ecstasy and stimulated taste buds I hadn't met before this morning. I loved Adam.
~~~
	I did not want to leave Adam, not even for a moment. If it were up to me, I would seek him and chase him down, hug him ferociously, and keep the passion alive in him. I would not let him walk away to safety -- safety in who he has always been -- careful and reserved, tamed and unmoved. 
	“Oh Lord, what have you asked of me? You open Adam's heart to love me with passion. You give me the desire of my heart, and then you ask me to leave? I will not go, Lord, I won't. You have put this desire in my heart for Adam, and you cannot break it like this. He is sweet and open; if I break his heart now, it may never reopen. Why, Lord, why? You ask too much of me.”
	My sobs and heavy heart overwhelmed me, and I could not look at Him. I paced our carved-out mealtime nook and pined toward the path that led to Adam and his brokenness. Whose heart might I please today to relieve my torment?
	I sank to the ground, curled up in agony, as I felt God's presence trickle out of me with my tears. He would honor my decision, but what would I decide?
	“Don't leave me, Lord. You overflow me with sorrow. You rip my heart out. You give me a new Adam and want to send me away from him. Can he go with us, Lord?”
	I knew the answer in my soul and marrow; I had to go alone. Even God could not be with me. There would be no separation of light and darkness -- good and evil -- without my part in what God asked me to do. When He spoke to me yesterday, I understood what He created me for, and nothing would satisfy me or Him until I completed what He asked me to do. I had to leave Adam, and God's presence would not follow me. There was no other way.
~~
	Satan was at our meeting place when I arrived. The mixed blend of aromas swam through the air and overtook my senses. I looked from Satan to the display he prepared and back to him. His subtle smile crinkled his nose and livened his eyes. The sights, smells, textures, and intricate details of his masterpiece setting and presentation pleased and enticed me to move toward him.
	""Evie,"" Satan whispered as his exhaled breath chilled and warmed me simultaneously.
	He was next to me in a moment as if he were already next to me before he was there. His skin appeared darker and his face more chiseled, with a stronger, wider-looking jaw than I remembered from our first meeting. 
	Owls hooted wisdom to each other in a nearby sycamore tree. Snakes rattled, hissed, and slithered through scented pine needles as they kept watch. A death adder showed off its pink belly as it peered around a bitternut hickory tree. Black vultures and turkey buzzards circled above. Satan swept one hand lightly across my shoulder as he closed the gap between us. His long-sleeved black silk shirt teased me with its touch against my back and side as he slid his hand to my waist. His left hand circled my midriff while he moaned, as if casting a spell or like a spell was cast on him. He breathed musky, scented air into my ear, and it scurried across my cheek as he released a passionate and breathless sounding ""Evie."" I breathed in deeply, closed my eyes, and reveled in the feeling and stirring of my heart and soul as we lingered in a glorious moment of raptured bliss. I exhaled any reserve I might have had. Satan smiled with parted lips and sweated brow.
~~~
	Although it was the middle of a cloudless day, a curtain seemed to hover over the sun, as if it covered its eyes and refused to add its sparkle to the crystal wine goblets or give warmth to the glow of candles intermingled with aroma-filled delicacies. Crows cawed their warning.
	""For you, Evie,"" Satan said as he swept his arm across the span of his temptation scene.
	The natural wood grain of the table lacked texture and imperfections. Its smooth surface trapped nature's touch beneath. Squares of gold and lace intertwined with embroidered silk willows. Atop the imitation place settings, exquisite china posed its intricate paintings of poppies, my favorite flower. Satan manufactured everything.
	""My every possession is yours, unlimited, Evie."" He lightly kissed my shoulder and moved his hands across my skin. He drank from a goblet filled with a red liquid and then offered it to me. As I took a sip and considered the taste, he kissed my neck and encouraged me to drink more. Soon, he would control me, my body, and my thoughts. Evil's seed could not come into the world except through me, and it would create contention between Adam and me until his death. Only then would he understand.
	Satan's voice and breath reverberated through my ears and mind, but his words sounded strange and indecipherable. He seemed to multiply and surround me on all sides. My knees weakened as the world spun in circles and upset my equilibrium. He laid me on a bed of prickly reeds, and as he unbuttoned his silk shirt, my mind hid, and I knew not what he did.
~~~
	The moon looked red -- blood red -- as I tried to clear my eyes. A lamb roasted over coals, and its aroma wantonly invaded my senses. The table and all its prefabricated settings were gone. My head spun as I fought to sit up.
	Satan wore black pants and a white jacket with a double row of black buttons down the front. He carved a chunk of meat from the roasted lamb with a carving knife and flashed a satisfied smile. Saliva spilled out of his mouth and down his chin as he chewed and savored the bite. His eyes bore through me with intensity and purpose that drew me to him.
	The scent of freshly roasted meat and Satan's passionate look had already flooded my senses when he brought a piece to me. In a low, seductive voice, Satan said, ""Did God say not to eat of every tree in the Garden?""
	I told him, without much conviction, ""well, yes, we may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden, but of the tree, which is in the midst of the garden, God has said, we shall not eat of it, neither shall we touch it, lest we die.""
	""Oh, my dear Evie, you shall not surely die, for God knows that in the day you eat of it, your eyes shall be opened, and you shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.""
	If a few words from God could soar me to the heavens, as it had, what if I could be like Him and soar on my own and know every secret of the universe and the names of every star? I could fly to the moon and back. Adam's thoughts would unveil themselves to me, and I would know everything.
	Satan kissed me, hungrily, knife blade against my side, as my taste buds searched for more of the flavor from his tongue. And I did eat—and my eyes were opened—and Adam's heart called me to come home.
 
 
","September 13, 2023 01:37",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,xcgbl3,The Covenant of Redemption,Wyrd Smith,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xcgbl3/,/short-story/xcgbl3/,Dark,0,"['Fantasy', 'Adventure', 'Horror']",4 likes,"
The Blasphemer. A figure unfathomably grotesque, wreathed in an eldritch glow. Too many eyes, but not enough heads. Too many fingers, but not enough hands. A waking nightmare of elder corruption. It stalks the land, with only whispers and desolation left in its wake. Villages and towns, where only days before were full of life, are now devoid of all traces. Homes, store fronts, and farms are left rotted and defunct, as if the people who lived there not a fortnight before hadn’t existed for a decade.The smell of sulfur and copper permeated the air, suffocating, like a heavy fog brought into Trainwin Harbor by the early fall wind, despite it being the dead of winter. Renald pulled off his silver helm, uncomfortably stifling in the unnatural vapor, and shifted anxiously in his half plate. Even his noble sensibility was suppressed by the cloying brimstone in the air.Alandra’s lithe silhouette appeared a few feet away as she finished inspecting the red-charred remains of some sort of humanoid leaning against a shattered shopkeep’s window.A voice deep and gruff, yet booming, shattered the eerie quiet of the street. “Well? What are we gonna do now?”Alandra shot the diminutive stocky man a withering glare. Her voice was barely above a whisper, more akin to a hiss. “Handon, could you not do that, please?”The blue-tattooed dwarf moved his weight from one armored foot to the other, passing his warhammer between hands. Seeing the dwarven warrior anxious made Renald feel a little better for his own disquiet.Handon bristled at the tall, elven woman. “I don’t like this, I cann’ae see my hand in front of my face.”“Where is Walleria?” Renald asked, causing the dwarf in front of him to jump. He apparently hadn’t noticed the paladin standing just a few feet behind.Alandra waved her hand dismissively in the direction of the building across the street as she knelt back down over the remains. “You know how clerics of Aelin are. She’s probably blessing the dead or saying a prayer.”The paladin nodded and left the dwarven warrior and elven ranger alone to bicker, as they were known to do. The bickering between the two could last for days. Renald had learned long ago that any intervention between the two was futile. He couldn’t remember any of their arguments yielding a victor, rather ending when another reason to quarrel presented itself, the topic of the previous disagreement all but forgotten.He found Walleria in the crumbled structure of what may have been a family home. The cleric was staring down at the remains of a small family, red-charred as all the others they had found. Two large bodies were huddled together over the forms of two smaller figures. Parents, futilely protecting their children.Bile rose quickly, the paladin having to swallow the nausea back lest the contents of his stomach desecrate the remnants of the small harbor town. Walleria, her small frame hunched over the family’s remains, stared unseeing, her eyes half-lidded. Even standing next to the small woman, Renald could hardly hear her whispered prayers. He waited patiently for her to finish.“I know what you want to ask me.” Her words, usually soft and filled with kindness, were strained. “And I cannot give you the answer you desire.”“People are going to keep dying unless we do something. Following in the aftermath, burying the dead, sending prayers to the gods, that is all well and good. Noble, even. But it changes nothing.”The cleric sighed and stood to her full height, which only reached the paladin’s armored chest. She looked exhausted. They all were. Tired of chase, tired of the hopelessness. Silence drew out between them as they surveyed the destruction around them. The only sound breaking the unnerving quiet was the hum of the other two members of their party, still bickering, and the distant splash of waves breaking upon the docks. Finally, the small woman spoke.“I just need more time.”“Walleria, it’s been three years. Time is a commodity that is quickly running out, and if we don’t -”“I will not act against my faith.” Her reply was sharp, taking Renald by surprise, only to be quickly replaced by fury.“You think this is a request I make lightly?” He kept his own voice lowered, both out of respect for the recently deceased, as well as to keep his own anger in check. “This act alone will be the cause of my excommunication, earn divine disfavor from not only Aelin, but all deities, and not to mention damn my soul.”“Then how can you make such a demand, knowing the consequences?”“Because my soul is not worth the lives of thousands.” Renald could feel the heat of his anger creeping up his neck. To avoid any further argument, and perhaps saying something he might come to regret, he turned before Walleria could respond and marched away. His other companions had moved away from the destroyed buildings and were readying their horses. He avoided their questioning stares and instead mounted his destrier. Without another word, the rest of the party mounted, including the cleric, who had followed behind Renald, and made their way out of the town and along the coast.For three years, the party had been hunting this abomination. Stemmed from the darkest depths of whatever hell it had crawled from, the demon was difficult to track. Despite the devastation it left in it’s wake, there was never a clear path or trail left behind. It just simply vanished. Days, even weeks – and on a few occasions, months – would pass before another destroyed settlement was found.In an act of desperation, the four nations of the realm had come together to strike an accord. The Men of Telnora, the Dwarves of Echerspire, the Elven of Mironwood, and the Halflings of Davenshire.Through a series of tests and championships, each race selected a hero of their peoples. By joining the different races together, each individual in the party would not only represent their homeland’s contribution to the pact but provide a unique talent to aid in the party’s quest. To hunt down and destroy the entity that had been released upon their realm, by any means necessary. Thus, the four were brought together.Alandra, the Elven Ranger. Handon, the Dwarven Warrior. Renald, the Human Paladin. And Walleria, the Halfling Cleric. With differences ranging from speech, diet, and religion, the first few months of their fellowship were a challenge to not only decide upon a plan to defeat the demon, but how to complete their quest without destroying each other in the process.Three years into their travels, they had learned to not only coexist, but depend on one another. Even Alandra and Handon, despite their constant quarreling, would stand back-to-back in conflict, should the need arise. However, they were still just as uncertain as to how they would destroy the demon as they were at the beginning. At least they had been, until their travels led them through a small town in the swamp that bordered the lands of halflings and dwarves.Their discovery of the small village was complete happenstance, as their initial destination had been an informant in the dwarven city of Kallidor. What buildings had once existed were no more than husks of their former selves. Charred and decaying bodies littered the gravel roads between clusters of ruins. Sulfur and brimstone hung heavy in the thick, humid air. The Blasphemer had come through this village, leaving little to nothing in it’s wake.During their usual inspection of the area for survivors – which there never were – or traces the demon may have left behind, Renald discovered a small temple. With what remained of the dissolving structure, the paladin found evidence of strange drawings and glyphs decorating nearly every surface still standing. None of the markings were recognizable to the paladin. They were, however, familiar to the cleric. As a woman of religion, Renald had been surprised to see her blatant disgust upon spying his discovery. Muttering her own prayers, she refused to move any closer to the temple’s ruins.Two days of pestering the halfling woman revealed the source of her contempt.“Malphion worshipers.” She spat the words as though they tasted foul. “They pray to the deities of the Abyssal Realms. What your people might call Hell.”“They worship devils?” Walleria nodded, glaring at ground between her feet as though she could see through the surface to the offending realm itself.The concept of devil worshipping was not unheard of to Renald. If this were the case, he found it odd that a people who revered the deity most likely responsible for The Blasphemer’s existence was not protected from its own ruination. Perhaps their prayers were what attracted the demon to such a remote location in the first place.Despite the multitude of death and devastation the party came across during their hunt, the Malphion Temple dwelt at the forefront of Renald’s thoughts. Three years had passed, thousands of innocent lives had been lost, and they were no closer to stopping this madness than at the start. Perhaps what they needed was a deity of their own. Though if praying to the Gods was all it took to banish the demon, they would have done so years ago. Perhaps they were praying to the wrong gods.Such thoughts were sacrilegious to the Paladin’s Code that Renald lived by. He dismissed the idea the moment it crossed his mind, though found himself revisiting the theory in the dark hours of the night, when he found no distraction from his travels or the bickering of his companions.A month after the party’s travel through the swamp, he discussed his speculation with Walleria. Her immediate revulsion came at no shock. Her demand for him to never mention such heretical acts lest he threaten their accord, however, did surprise him. The cleric was a kind woman. She was quiet by nature, as most halflings were. To see such distain directed at himself left Renald reeling.He never mentioned a word of the topic to her again. Until the group found themselves amidst the ruins of Trainwin Harbor. This time, he refused to let the subject lapse.Silence coagulated around the quartet, each lost in their own thoughts as they set up camp for the night. Not a word had been uttered since they left the harbor. The wariness and soul deep exhaustion Renald felt was reflected in each of his comrades faces. He waited until they had all eaten and settled around what remained of their small cook-fire before clearing his throat. “I have…an idea.” Silence was his only response. He could feel the gaze of each of them upon him, one gaze especially burned through the top of his slightly bowed head. “This idea is… well… it is heresy at its most basic level, but it may be the only option we have.” He raised his head to look each of his companions in turn. “We cannot allow any more people to die because of our incompetence.”Alandra and Handon met him with curious stares. Walleria sighed and stood, pacing to their tethered horses, and picking up a brush.“What are ye goin on about?” Handon. Gruff and to the point as always.“We’ve prayed to the Gods, and they are either not answering us, or are incapable of rendering aid. Perhaps we should try praying to a different deity.”Elven eyebrows raised, dwarven eyes narrowed, and a halfling scoffed from where she stood brushing down her horse. “He wants to pray to Malphion.”“Who is Malphion?” Renald opened his mouth to answer Alandra’s question. Handon beat him to it.“You want to pray to a bloody devil? Are you insane, boy?”“It may be our only choice. Do you have any other ideas? Because I would love to hear them.”“And what makes you believe that this devil, this…Malphion, would help?” To her credit, Alandra sounded genuinely curious, rather than accusatory. “I may not be familiar with the gods of men, but devils are not known for answering prayers out of the kindness of their hearts.”Renald took a deep, steadying breath. “Of course not. But they might be willing to make a trade. A deal, even.”“And what could you offer a devil? It’s a bloody devil!” Handon scoffed and shook his head.“My soul.”Stunned silence settled over the campsite. Even Walleria had stopped brushing her horse, staring at Renald with wide eyes. He waited for someone to say something, anything. Instead, they all stared with combined expressions of fear and confusion.“If this works, if Malphion will take my soul in exchange for the banishment of his demon, then I will happily make the exchange. What is one life, when faced with the possible annihilation of thousands? I intend to make this deal… with or without your consent. I will travel back to the Malphion Temple we found in the swamps first thing in the morning.”Without another word, the paladin stood, retrieved his sword from beside his bedroll, and stalked into the night to take first watch.****Fog hung thick between the trees the following morning as Renald saddled his horse. He had yet to speak to any of his companions, though they each were up as well, readying their own mounts. It was better this way. He had never been one for goodbyes. Mounting his steed, he headed west.The songs of morning birds cut through the thick fog, alongside the clopping of his steeds’ massive hooves. A minute later, the familiar sound of multiple hooves trampling through the thin foliage joined in. Behind his helm, Renald smiled as an elf, dwarf, and halfling fell in step behind him.****Hands on her hips, Alandra finally broke the silence and asked the same question that was on everyone’s mind. “What now?”They stood at the base of the remains of Malphion’s Temple. The four exchanged unsure glances before settling on Walleria. Her face was sickly and pale, her hands wringing themselves before her. Noticing the attention, she shrugged.“Similar to how you’d pray to any other deity, I suppose.”No one moved, their attention returned again to the temple. Finally, Renald took the first step. He removed his armor, took one last deep breath, then stepped into the large circle etched into the floor and surrounded by strange glyphs. He stole one last glance at his companions – no, his friends – before closing his eyes.“In the name of the Abyssal Plane, I invoke the deity Malphion. Hear my prayer.”Frogs croaked. A bird called in the distance. A sawm of gnats buzzed annoyingly close. Renald resisted the urge to swat them away. The buzz of the swarm grew louder, unpleasant vibrations echoing down the paladin’s spine. Able to stand it no longer, he opened his eyes and slapped at the swarm hovering before him. Before his eyes, the swarm grew, became darker, and began to take shape. Long, pitch black arms ending with hooked fingers extended from the mob of insects, followed by a bare, featureless chest. Lastly, a massive, horned head formed. Eyes as red as glowing embers peered back out at the speechless group.Renald’s first instinct was to recoil and draw his sword. He commanded his body to do so, but only found himself rooted to the spot. He was unsure whether it was his own fear or some other nefarious entity that held him in place. Eyes awash in the hues of fresh blood settled on the paladin. When the devil spoke, each member of the group flinched, for it was not the sound of a single voice that reached their ears, but the chorus of thousands. Men, women, and children alike spoke as one.“As summoned, I have come. What reason would a pious soldier such as yourself have for this summons? You are not my child; your prayers are not mine to receive. Curiosity only is the reason for my compliance. Be it that your reasoning is warranted, and I may yet allow you to continue your meager existence.”Renald’s breath caught as he opened his mouth to reply. How did one actually speak to a god? Or a devil? Should he bow and act reverent? The mere thought of showing supplication to this dark being caused his stomach to roil.“Malphion, I come to you not as your child, but a child of this realm regardless. An entity is lose in our realm. A being not of our world, we cannot destroy it. It has claimed hundreds of innocent lives.”The horned beast sneered in response. “I am aware of my creation’s behaviors.”Renald bit his tongue to keep his face as expressionless as possible, a feat he was sure he was not accomplishing. “We beseech you to return this entity to your world, lest is deplete ours of life. I…” He swallowed back the bile threatening to rise. “I am willing to trade my soul in exchange for this service.”Crimson orbs considered this, looking so deeply into Renald, he felt as though the entity could see directly into the soul he was offering, determining its value.“You consider your single paltry soul enough compensation?” His heart dropped. He hadn’t considered the possibility of his offer being denied.“Not just his soul.” Walleria stepped into the circle of the temple alongside him. Renald wanted to push her away but refrained. “Mine as well.”“Aye.” Handon and Alandra stepped within the temple as well. The devil eyed them each in turn, as he had done with Renald. The few moments of contemplation that passed felt eternal to the quartet. At long last, the sneer on the deity’s features spread to a satisfied grin.“It will be done, and shall your souls know no escape from this accord.”
","September 13, 2023 04:21",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,4h6ks5,A Deal Signed by Blood,Joseph Peck,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/4h6ks5/,/short-story/4h6ks5/,Dark,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Horror']",4 likes,"
Drip, drip drip. 
In the dim candlelight, crimson droplets dripped down from the stone ceiling and along the stone walls to puddle into the carved channels of a rocky floor. Into these channels they ran, going across the floor in all manner of intersecting loops and twirls. In the spaces formed by the bloody rivers lay piles of bones, many bearing the mummified flesh of their previous owners. 
Drip, drip, drip. 
On a stone outcropping a few feet away, a stone altar sat, a dozen candles burning low on its obsidian surface. Within the flickering light a book lay open, twisted shadows dancing across faded, worn leather pages covered in spidery handwriting. 
Drip, drip, drip. 
Curled up beside that altar was a small, dirty, quivering form, their body wracked by convulsing sobs. Their clothes were old and torn, with holes all over their shirt and pants. Their exposed limbs were pale, too pale, and ever thin and gangly. Their fair hair hung down, greasy and unkempt, filled with tangles and snags. A dark substance was smeared all over their body, staining their clothes, skin and hair. Their arms were clasped around their legs as they rocked back and forth. In the darkness, their pastel face was stained by tears as their body shook.
Suddenly, something happened. 
Slowly, sobs turned to giggles, then to outright laughter. The rocking motions ceased as a small form stood up on shaking legs, a malnourished body shaking with insane cackling which echoed loud against the stone walls. As the figure stood they were exposed to the candlelight, revealing scarlet fluids congealing in once wheat colored hair and drying on pale arms and legs, as well as ratty clothes. As the candles burned ever lower, a pair of viridian eyes burned with a crazed gleam. Suddenly, the laughter ceased as the individual pivoted on one heel to meander over to a mangled unmoving figure, a pile of mauled flesh and bone so torn apart you could hardly tell it was once a person. Bending low, the small person reached between what looked like a ribcage to grasp something. With a sharp tug they pulled out a golden necklace with a blood red gem embedded in it. A low chuckle issued from chapped lips as the figure gave a chastised look to the grisly pile. 
“I-I-I’m so sorry milady,” the person stuttered in a false apology, “But I couldn’t resist the chance to tear you apart like you deserved.” The words were accompanied by a deranged smirk and uttered in a bloodthirsty tone. The person turned away and began wandering towards the altar. 
“It’s too bad,” the being continued, ‘If I hadn’t been a little boy, I could have done so much more to you. Oh well,” he shrugged, “That’s life for you.” With a huff and a jump he climbed up onto the altar and grasped the book that dwarfed his hands. A deranged smile crept across his face. 
“But who cares about that? I am going to have a friend!” he said cheerfully. He looked up at the stone ceiling above him, gazing at the starlit sky. He tilted his head as bright moonlight began to fill the camber he was in. The child’s grin never let up. 
“The Full Moon is rising. Good, good. We’re on time then.” he held up the necklace and side eyed it. “Now to wait for the Moon to get into position.” Indeed, bit by bit the moonlight shifted across the bloodstained floor, bearing witness to skeletal corpses torn and strewn apart in piles between the gory lines carved in the floor save for a small circle in the middle of the room, bereft of anything. No marks, no scuffles, no stains. Just stone. Time passed slowly as the Moon continued to rise. Along the way, the boy began to tap his foot impatiently as he crossed his arms. A frustrated pout replaced his deranged smirk. 
“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, still staring at the hole in the ceiling that allowed the moonlight to enter. “Hurry up already, I have shit to do.” The room was silent, save for the sound of blood dripping from the walls. 
Drip, drip, drip. 
“Damn it!” The boy cried. He struck a foot out and made a candle go sailing across the room leaving a trail of flame, finally landing against a metal door with a splat! The fire went out from that candle as the melted wax cooled against the door. The child fell onto his knees. 
“I waited too long, too long for me to wait anymore.” Tears grew in his eyes. Memories of pain and horror began playing in the back of his mind. “I want, no, I need a friend, someone I can talk to, someone I can play with, someone who will just listen.” His eyes sharpened as memories of being ignored and neglected ran across his mind. “Someone who won’t betray me and hurt me, and laugh at me, or ever leave me.” Vividly he recalled the feelings of hurt and betrayal echoed across his chest as malicious laughter echoed in his ears. His face and ears heated up as his heart quickened. “Never again,” he whispered. Never once did he cease staring at the rising moon. With unsteady legs he rose again. Without warning a smirk flashed across his lips.
“Oh yeah, game time.” With one last look at the Full Moon, he turned and cast one final look at his handiwork. A deranged look settled onto the face of the deranged lunatic. Taking up the giant tome, he flipped through a couple pages until he came across the one he was looking for. He hummed to himself. 
“Alright, here it goes.” he coughed, and read with narrowed eyes the words on the leather page. 
“The moon is out and rising and silent is this night. Blood, blood, blood, blood, let blood be the foundation of our contract!” The air grew warmer as he read that opening chant. The blood which had begun to congeal in the crevices inscribed on the floor turned liquid and started flowing forward, even as it all took on a ghastly black outline. The words written on that page turned a blood red as the boy continued reading. His words, once the high pitch of a child, gradually took on a rough tone, harsh and guttural. Louder and louder his voice grew, until he was all but shouting out the words of the spell. The necklace that he clutched in one hand took started spinning around in his grip, the ruby gemstones within it glowing an eldritch scarlet. The shadows that lurked on the outskirts of the Moon’s light leapt and danced about, slithering around the edges of the room in circles. The candles atop the altar blazed to new life, turning to scarlet flame and casting grim light around them. The boy kept on reading, the air around him flailing and wailing around him, as if he were the eye of the storm. The ruby in the necklace lit up and burst in a shower of shards, flying out into the corners of the chamber. 
“Bloodborne horror, bloodbound terror, denizen of the Hell of Blood, I demand you, come forth!” With that final scream, he hurled the remains of the necklace into the unmarred circle in the room. The ruby in the necklace lit up and burst in a shower of shards, flying out into the corners of the chamber as it sailed through the air. At once all the shadows in the room flew towards the circle and swirled together as a small tornado. Wind swept through the chamber as the blood that was within the carven sigils in the floor turned to vermillion fire, lighting up the room in a sea of flame and obscuring the pillar of swirling shadow. 
As soon as it came, it was gone, as was the pillar of shadow. In its place, was a small form that stood opposite the boy on the altar. 
Ivory skin glowed in the moonlight as ginger curls fell down in waves. A loose white dress covered a child-like body. As the boy watched, transfixed, a girly face peered out at him from the midst of the circle. 
“What do you think you are doing?” A light voice asked, curiously. The boy cocked his head. 
“What do you mean?” The boy responded. He closed the book and set it down at his feet. 
“I mean why did you summon me?” His guest clarified. Her face perked up. “Oh! I know! You want me to kill someone for you and consume their soul!” She let out a happy smile, revealing a mouth full of sharp fangs. Her Summoner glanced at the bones lying around the room and then to the pile of meat and snorted.
“No, but good guess though.” The girl’s smile was replaced by a confused frown before returning. 
“You want me to curse someone or else haunt them then!” 
“Nope! Try again.” The two of them continued like this for a few more minutes, the girl’s body growing more and more rigid with each failed guess. At length, her lips pulled back into a snarl as crimson eyes glared at the boy. 
“Tell me why you have SUMMONED ME THEN!!!!!” She roared, her voice amplified and distorted with rage. The boy beamed at her. 
“It is quite simple really!” He laughed. He pointed at the person in the circle. “You are going to be my new friend!” The girl raised an eyebrow and looked at the gory messes within the room with an incredulous look. 
“What kind of idiot does all this for a friend?” She wondered aloud. She brought a dainty hand to her mouth to hide her snide snickers. The boy frowned. 
“What’s wrong with wanting a friend?” he demanded. The girl raised an imperious eyebrow and gestured to the gore around them. 
“You committed what looks like a violent murder or two and Summoned a Demon, and all because you can’t find a friend? Pathetic,” she mocked. Abruptly the boy was standing right outside the circle, face to face, with a black look on his face. 
“I Summoned you to be my friend, not to be mean to me.” The Demon looked into her Summoner’s eyes and jerked back at what she saw. She looked around again before looking at the madlad before her. 
“You know what, being in the Hell of Blood is better than being here, find yourself another Demon.” The boy’s eyes widened. 
“What? But you hardly know me!” The Demon nodded. 
“Exactly, and frankly, I don’t want to know you anymore than this, so just send me ba-AAAHHHH!!!!” She shrieked in pain as small jolts of electricity flashed along her body. She fell to her knees and convulsed for a couple moments. As her body shook, the Demon raised her head to find the boy squatting down in front of her. In one hand he held a bloodstained knife, the point resting on the edge of the circle. The boy smirked. 
“Do you actually think you have any option other than being my friend? Try again.” The Demon blinked. Then she leaned her head back and laughed with hints of mockery and scorn.
“You can’t possibly hope to keep a Demon as your captive,” she stood up, scarlet eyes gleaming. Suddenly, she raised a scaled hand bearing knifelike talons and swung at the boy. Just as she was about to make contact her hand smacked into an invisible barrier, the rebound causing her to fall onto her rear end with a cry. The young Summoner beamed at her nonplussed glare. 
“Sure I can! Anything to keep my new friend from hurting me!” The Demon facepalmed. 
“I am not your friend, and I don’t want to be your friend!” The boy’s face fell. 
“Why not? Are you upset that I haven’t given you any sacrifices yet?” The Demon put a finger to her chin with a considering look. Eventually she shrugged. 
“Meh, that's part of it, but it's mostly the fact that there are just some people that Demons are advised never to make any deals or contracts with. You, kid, are a member of that category.” The boy tilted his head at her with a sad look. 
“So you don’t want to be my friend after everything I did to meet you?” The Demon in the body of a little girl shook her head. 
“No.” For a moment, the boy only stared at her, silent as the grave. His sudden smile unnerved his Summon. 
“I reject your rejection!” He informed her. The Demon clasped her hands in front of her and sighed. 
“Clearly you are a rank ameteur in the art of Summoning, as such allow me to educate you on a few things: 
Number one: I am a Demon. As such, Demons are incapable of making friends because we are cursed with the constant desire to betray others. Ergo, I will end up scheming against you as it is in my nature to do so. 
Number two: Summoning Rituals require the combination of time, place, and evocation. As such, the timeframe of when you can perform a Summoning can be rather small. Furthermore, upon Summoning the Being in question, you only have until the window of time closes to establish a contract before the Summons returns to wherever they came from. Building off of that: 
Number three: A Summons-regardless of what they actually are-can only exist in this world while they are under contract. What that means is-” 
“Is that we must establish the reason for why I have Summoned you along with the terms and conditions of our Deal, and any rules, rewards, punishments, etc besides. Upon both sides agreeing to the letter of the deal, both parties will consume the blood of the other to Seal the Deal. I am not a complete novice you know,” the young Summoner interrupted her with a droll look. He fixed the Demon with a gimlet stare. “As to the first point, so long as I cover any and all potential loopholes you could use and abuse, I don’t need to worry about you trying to betray me, that's part of why I wanted to Contract you.” he sighed and rubbed his eyes. 
“Can we please just skip over your refusing and denying and get to the part where we establish our Deal and become friends?” The boy begged. The Demon rolled her eyes and shrugged. 
“Fiiine,” she drawled. The boy wasted no time. 
“Great!” he chirped in a chipper voice. “Here you go!” He reached into his ratty shirt and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment. When he unrolled it, the roll was almost as long as the boy was tall. “Just sign here, here, and here!” He pulled out a quill and a miniscule inkpot and gestured to three different places on the parchment. The Demon raised a finger up into the air. 
“Hold up, we haven’t haggled over terms and conditions yet!” She protested. The boy shrugged.
“We don’t need to. In exchange for me providing you with a connection to this world, you will be a good friend to me. Very plain and simple,” he explained. The Demon raised an eyebrow as she crossed her arms. 
“And if I were to refuse to sign this Contract?” She inquired. The lunatic gave her a deranged grin and locked his emerald eyes with her own ruby orbs. For a moment, neither said anything or blinked. Finally, the Demon looked to the side and rubbed her forehead. 
“Somehow I know that I am going to regret this.” She turned towards him and held out her hands. “Give it over.” The boy grinned as he slid the contract and the writing implements into the circle. With an eye roll the Demon picked them up, dipped the quill into the inkpot, and signed her name onto the parchment with a flourish. She held out a hand, then with the other she made a small cut into her open palm with a knifelike claw. She held out the wounded hand. “Let us complete this transaction then.” The boy took a deep breath, then slowly, he inched forward, as wary as he was insane. Bringing up an arm, he took hold of the Demon’s and brought her hand up to his lips. Without blinking he lapped up the inky blood. The air grew heavier in the room, as if it were filled with lead. Then, releasing her hand and standing back, the Summoner took his own knife and made a small cut on the palm of his hand. Without flinching or breaking eye contact, he held it out to the Demon. With only a small frown on her face, the Demon reached over, took his hand, and brought it to her fanged mouth. The boy never once made any sign of discomfort as she lapped at his blood. Finally, she let him go and stepped back, a ring of red around her lips. Static formed in the air around the two of them, making their hair stand on end. The Demon held out her still bleeding hand. 
“You have Summoned me to do your bidding. In accordance with our Contract, I shall abide. You may call me Goribana.” The boy clasped his bleeding hand to the Demon’s. 
“I have Summoned you to do my bidding, and in accordance with our Contract I shall abide by it. You may call me Gellertsson.” The two then spoke in unison:
“Blood for fire, fire for blood, blood is the foundation of our contract! So shall it be!”
At that the air pressure let up, and the weight that had been hanging down dissipated. The blood that remained in the grooves in the ground glowed one last time before finally disappearing. Goribana sighed. 
“Guess we’re friends then.” Gellertsson smiled. 
“Yes we are.”
 
","September 13, 2023 04:56",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,gtkvzw,Monsters of Science: The Gift Bearer files,Robert McReynolds,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/gtkvzw/,/short-story/gtkvzw/,Dark,0,"['Historical Fiction', 'Suspense', 'Fantasy']",3 likes,"
 
  From before humanity could write, there's been stories, myths, fables and legends passed down for generations. They were meant to teach heritage, life lessons and moral values but the things that haunt the night engraved these stories in our minds. In this modern day, the worst of men's imaginations can be digitally created for entertainment. How would the world react if they discover they're no longer fictional?
 
 Monsters Of Science
The Gift Bearer Files:
 
 Lycans: The Monarch 
 
   A note to the readers of the reports. We apologize for the lack of details but this was the Intel our organization managed to collect from an old camera and audio transmission.This story starts in February of 1933, when a couple of Americans arrived in a South American country with the aid of a man only called Mr Rose. The collapsing economy of the global Great Depression and the rumors of War drove people to search for alternative means of survival.
 
  At an unknown location, lights and cameras were set up for this historical moment as the archaeologist placed the four urns in a circle, facing one another and begins the documentary.
  ""Greetings citizens of the world, I am Carter Howard. If you indulge me, I should explain how we got to this occasion. In 1931 I discovered a journal along with a custom Egyptian urn in my recently deceased father belongings. This lightweight urn is covered with hieroglyphs and could possibly hold about 32 oz.
  When attempting to open it, an odd sound and pleasant odor released from it but yet the seal was unbroken. Its tightly sealed lid resembles the head of Seti but the side placed ears and open mouth sculpt set it apart.
  Of course, I thought it was a souvenir until the end of 1932, when his colleagues discovered three more custom crafted urns scattered around the world that bear the same unique language.    
  Through unmentionable means, my benefactor Mr Rose managed to collect them all and I translated the language. It gave precise directions on where, when and how to open them. And that brings us to this moment. In a matter of minutes, the designated time will arrive and we're eager to see what happens.""
 
 At the described time, the hieroglyphics on each urn illuminated, burning off the casing, revealing golden idols. All the lids popped open then stillness. Howard cautiously approached looking inside the Seti idol, there he found black sand. Mr Rose's man checks the others as frustration erupts on his face. 
 
  He draws his gun, ""Black sand Amigo! How would I rule nations with black sand?""
 
  Howard frantically studies the urn, "" There must be more we're not seeing yet. Allow me to…""
 
 Two shots rang out, one for the cameraman and the archaeologist. ""I wasted enough money and time on this project. Dump the black sand on the Americans, we can sell the urns, try to get our money back."" ordered Mr Rose before departing.
 
 The camera continued to roll when the unexpected occurred. The blood soaked Black sands shimmer with purple energy, moving like a trillion ants consuming the body of the archaeologist. Without warning, the face down body lifted into the air, speaking an unknown language with the female voice. The sound of a departing plane echoes right before the footage ends.
 
 Aboard the airplane, using the airborne radio, Mr Rose communicates with a third party. 
 ""Your instincts were correct but I did attain the four urns. The outer shell protected a golden idol inside. We're on our way back now."" 
 
  In the back of the airplane, a henchman noticed the shadowy form raised up followed by a blood curdling scream. When the others looked, an eerie darkness enveloped the rear as a female voice speaks from the darkness.
 
""Mr Rose. You wish to know how black sand can rule Nations. This knowledge and power can be yours if you're willing to agree to its terms. ""
 
 Mr Rose approached the shadow as it revealed itself in the archaeologist's body, he replied, ""My aim was true and my bullets aren't blanks. How do you sit before me Howard?""
 
"" I am the Gift Bearer, this body you provided completed the missing ingredients to waken me. Its shell served until the chosen ones are selected. Mr Rose, will you be one of them?""
  He sits across from her, ""You spoke of terms. What are the conditions?""
 
  The Gift Bearer grins as the Black sands retrieve the golden idols, presenting Mr Rose with Seti. ""The procedure is simple. If you can read what is written, speak your title and provide a drop of blood upon agreement. Then the covenant will be sealed and you will become The Alpha.""
 
""Really! What strings are attached to this covenant. What are you not telling me?"" he cautiously asked.
 
 The creature replied, ""You took the effort to awaken me, showed no hesitation in the presence of the supernatural, yet feared your own future. I can easily find another.""
 
 When Mr Rose grabbed the idol, yellow holographic words projected from its eyes and he read out loud. 
 
""I hear by commit myself and my descendants to the Bellator Lycanthrope clan. With this oat, I willingly exchange natural liberties for bestia spiritus and its power. A few symbols I don't understand. I proclaim myself The Monarch. Wait a minute, what…""
 
  Instantly the golden idol latched onto his finger, liquefied and absorbed into his skin. Every cell burned with the intensity of salt in the open wound. When the pain subsided, a golden bracelet that bears the image of the urn was on his left wrist. His eyes glowing yellow and he felt the new strength along with the primal rage. The shimmering black sand departed the plane with the remaining urns, separating into three directions as the echo of a demonic wolf howl breaks the silence of night.
 
 Report update: Today, this clan has three factions, Paranormal Pharmacist: sole manufacturer of Black market supernatural ""medicine"".
  Mafia lead organized Street gangs called War-wolves, The third, we have little detail about but believed to be sleeper agents within the political arena.
 
  End
 
 
Monsters Of Science
The Gift Bearer File:
 Deity of the Air
 
 
 
 Since the earliest days of humanity, slavery has existed in some form. In every country, in every civilization, even among the religions of the world, it is said that slavery will always be with us. 
But humanity will always take it further in thousands of other cruel, sick and demented ways to destroy themself.   
  But what if the roles were reversed, would you treat your underlings the way you were treated to justify your cruelty. Or despite your past, would you rule with integrity and meekness? 
 
Vampire: The Emperor
 
  This report was constructed from multiple sources during World War II. The time is uncertain but the interviewers believed its 
around 1933. My organization's investigation started when a coroner report surfaced. It recorded over a dozen Japanese soldiers mysteriously dying in their sleep. The doctor assumes they were poisoned by a vengeful comfort woman with an undetectable poison and drained of their blood. Of course, he contributed this to me mutilation genitals which was also present on a few battlefield bodies. 
 The number may be higher
 
  In 1944 an American war correspondent reporter came across survivors of the comfort women stations, sexual slavery created and controlled by the Imperial Japanese government for military use.Their story was never published due to the unbelievable accounts. Here is one one of the recordings.
 
""Thank you for agreeing to help. Your name won't be recorded to protect your family from retaliation. Can you tell us the events leading up to your escape?"" the reporter asked.
 
  The young Korean lady hesitates, ""I can't understand why you Americans do not believe us, especially since you made the movies similar to our accounts. About half a dozen miners were locked in a room together, All of us were pregnant or just recently gave birth. I was about 12 at the time I saw the sparkling purple dust enter the room, hovering above us before entering the next room. 
  The girl in the room was about 16 years old with a 6-year-old son. She used to belong to a high ranking officer until he was killed in action. Rumor was they were being sent to the soldier's family, but some believe that was hopeful thinking. 
 
 We heard her scream followed by another voice of an older woman who said. Fear not young one, I have come with a proposition for you, if you're willing to agree to its term.""
 
 The reporter questioned, ""An older female? Were you able to see her face?""
 
""No but the room felt colder and the sound of explosions outside lessened but somehow the light from them seemed to last longer. The woman said she was the Gift Bearer and the procedure is simple. If you can read what is written, speak your title and provide a drop of blood upon agreement. Then the covenant will be sealed and you will become The Alpha."" quoted the young lady.
 
 The reporter scrambled through some papers grabbing a photo of an Egyptian urn with a head sculpture of a curly head white man. "" Did you see this object, it may have a gold appearance?""
 
  The young lady answered, "" No, I'm sorry but the 16 year old refuses until she knows her son will be safe.""
 
""So this Gift Bearer left I'm assuming!"" responded the reporter.
 
 ""We can hear the anger in her voice, but she continued. My time in this world is at its end and you are the last of the chosen ones. I would choose another if that wasn't the case. If I demonstrate a glimpse of the Alpha gift, would you accept the covenant?"" 
 
 The young lady stopped, ""This is where the others question my sanity, but you… You heard of the Gift Bearer before. The three files on your desk, did they accept the covenant ? Who are you?""
 
 The reporter placed the files back into his briefcase, and breathed deeply. ""Your information is critical to the survival of the human race. My organization seeks to find the origins of the so-called Chosen One and by all accounts, it starts with this woman called the Gift Bearer. The first case is believed to start around 1933 about the same time the universal monster movies was released. Tell me Madam, what is the best way to hide the truth?""
 
 The young lady hesitates, ""I .. I don't know, kill everyone who knows about it. Please don't kill me. I promise…""
 
  The reporter interrupts and continues, ""No, Madam, You're safe here. The answer is simple. You convince everyone that it's not real. In this case, if an ordinary citizen sees one of the chosen ones. They will believe it is a movie actor and lower their guard. Of course, this subterfuge works both ways. When one of our agents neutralizes the threat, the ordinary citizens believe the same. Now madam would you mind continuing your story.""
 
 The young lady relaxed even more, ""Yes. A few seconds later, a bomb exploded near the room doors but no one was hurt other than the guards. The sparkling purple dust protected us and then followed a hooded woman with blowing red eyes. Despite the pain that many of the girls had, we quickly followed behind the 16-year-old in her son. 
  As we followed the trail of floating black sand, Japanese soldiers began to help us out, but didn't seem to notice us. They even escorted us out of the building, firing upon their own allies with just the wave of the Gift Bearer's hand. The soldiers then helped us in the back of the truck, providing food, water and supplies and as we departed, they took their own lives. 
 
  When we arrived at the gates of the European allies, the Japanese driver surrendered and we were quickly ushered to a medic tent. When I saw the 16-year-old and her son sneak away, my curiosity got the best of me and I followed at a distance. The black sand rose from the ground becoming the Gift Bearer and hands the young mother a golden object. Red light appeared and I heard a small voice speaking. I commit myself and my descendants to a bunch of weird sounding words but the last thing I remember hearing before the soldier took me back to the medic tent was 'I proclaim myself The Emperor. Emperor Hirohito still lives,so I didn't quite understand that part. With all the excitement, I've probably miss heard.""
 
 The reporter replied, ""The Ubir Sekhmet clan. With this oat, I willingly exchange natural liberties for Desmodus Rotundus and its power. Do you know if the young woman or her son was speaking?""
 
""I'm sorry, No. I never heard the boys speak before. But thank you for believing me when it felt like the whole world didn't. This organization of yours, is there any way that my descendants can help? asked the young lady.
 
 The reporter smiled, "" This line of work is very dangerous and the pay kind of sucks but if you're certain you want to help, you have to pass two tests.""
 
 The young lady returned his smile, ""I'm not very smart but I will do my best.""
 
 The reporter took off his jacket, loosened his tie and unbuckled his cufflinks. With the young lady's history, she assumed she knew where this was going, until his clean shaved face instantly grew a beard, followed by the rest of his body. His nose darkened and his nails and canine fangs grew. 
 
 Without a word she stands and looks into his eyes and a human was looking back. ""So you're a Wolfman. I knew something was different about you.""
 
""Congratulations. You pass both tests. Genetically, we're not wolves at all but enhanced humans. We're Keratians, and my name is Agent Talbot.""
 
  This lady's name was redacted because her descendants are undercover agents to this day. To the rookie agents reading this part of the filep report, know that this is the tip of the iceberg. There are other reports that will bring you up to date with the available information. When your security permits, continue to part two.
 
Welcome and good luck.
 
 
 
 
","September 13, 2023 16:41","[[{'Robert McReynolds': ""This story is part of something bigger,but I don't have simple thoughts that can be confined in a single short story. Every idea can easily be written into a novel or a series of novellas. At any given points, I can have at least three separate stories in my head and even stray thoughts can that can become one if so put the slightest effort into them.  I hope this is insight into my thought process."", 'time': '03:05 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Timothy Rennels': 'I was confused even after re-reading. The two files were interesting in their own right, but did not seem to be a short story in itself. Part of a larger book perhaps?', 'time': '23:53 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,vy01gh,beelzebub's Apprentice,Rudy Greene,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vy01gh/,/short-story/vy01gh/,Dark,0,"['Fantasy', 'Horror', 'Funny']",3 likes,"
Hey Beelzebub, let’s make a deal!”
It wasn’t Tom’s first trip on the river Styx. He had made many pilgrimages there since his daddy turned over the real estate business to him decades ago. At first, he didn’t believe it existed. Those stories of his father’s canoe trips on the river had to be bullshit. He remembered his dad’s long absences during his childhood. He’d always return with a new scheme, a bag of money and a red glow to his eyes. Failed business ventures would suddenly be successful and business partners and adversaries would mysteriously fall ill or die. He became one of the biggest real estate moguls in the country and one of the wealthiest. Ray, his lawyer, often accompanied him on these trips. Rumors had it that Ray owned a boat on the river and had been a river guide there for years. Ray initially frightened little Tommy with his bloodshot eyes, fiendish laugh and long fingernails. Tom also suspected that Ray had a tail since his pants always had a strange bulge in the back. Tom’s mother just laughed when he shared his concerns with her. She seemed unconcerned about her husband’s long absences and his association with this strange lawyer. So why should little Tommy care?
Yet as the years passed, Tom’s dad’s appearance changed, and his personality coarsened. The red glow in his eyes intensified, his body wasted away, and he became crooked and bent. His German accent became more pronounced and his manner more imperious. Tommy was happy to attend boarding school away from home. He took out his frustrations on other students. His large stature and premature growth spurt made him a feared bully. Teachers and parents hesitated to discipline him. They feared the wrath of his father. So, Tommy got away with murder, possibly literally and figuratively. There was the story of the missing student a grade below Tom. He had stood up to Tom weeks before he went missing and was never found. Although authorities suspected foul play, they could not prove anything. The boy’s parents mysteriously fell ill, months after they confronted Tom’s father as did the school’s principal when he expelled Tom. 
Tom finished his schooling at home although there was a question whether his father bought his GED. The same question came up when Tom was accepted to a prestigious business school. Despite missing many classes and spending evenings in bars and whore houses, he would routinely receive straight ‘A’s on his report cards. At least that’s what he told his mother and friends. It’s not clear that his father cared enough to validate his claims. In any case, Tom dropped out after two years and joined his father’s real estate business. After a few months, his father realized Tom talked a good game but could never close a deal. He suggested they take a trip on the river with his friend and lawyer Ray. Tom was thrilled. He had never been invited before and suspected that the ‘river’ didn’t exist. These trips had to be an excuse to get away from the house and have a wild time. Tom still excelled at whoring and drinking (and bullying). He hoped he could impress his old man.
Much to his surprise, the three of them flew in his father’s private plane to Kentucky and took a limousine through some badlands to an uncharted river. Tom could never find it on any map. When they arrived at a rotting dock, Tom was surprised to find a modern yacht moored there. The numbers 666 were emblazoned in red on its side. An old, wizened man with a greenish tinge to his skin welcomed them as they boarded. He led them below deck to the dining room where a table was set for three. Trays of jalapeno peppers, raw horse radish, Sriracha, curry and hot chili sat on a red tablecloth. Both Ray and his father sat down and began eating with relish. Tom hesitated. He always avoided hot food because of a sensitive stomach. His father encouraged him to dig in while Ray nodded with red chili dripping from his mouth. Not wanting to disappoint, Tom bit into a jalapeno pepper. His mouth immediately caught fire and he began to cough. His father laughed and pounded his back with his open hand. Tom tried to laugh with him, but it only increased his coughing and choking. Ray rose, went into the galley and returned with a pitcher of red liquid. He poured a glass and handed it to Tom. After one swig, Tom realized that he was drinking a Red Pepper Sangita Margarita. It added gasoline to the fire in his mouth. Much to the glee of the other passengers, he rose and ran into the galley, seeking water. When he returned, flushed, his father’s only comment was: “You’re going to have to toughen up son, and soon. Our hostess does not tolerate weakness.” 
There had been no mention of a hostess before the trip. Tom wondered if it really was a hostess or madam of the whore house, he had been anticipating. He avoided any more of the entrees but helped himself to two big slices of the Devil’s Food Cake from the dessert table. If it took eating hot dishes to impress his dad, he would learn to tolerate them, just not that day. He took his last plateful of cake and walked back onto the deck. The horizon had become bloody red and to his horror, there were some huge waterfalls ahead. He dropped his plate and ran to the captain’s cabin where he found the little green man steering straight for the falls.
“Stop! don’t you see the falls!” He screamed as he tried to wrestle the steering wheel from the little navigator.
With a cackle and unexpected strength, the little man cast Tom aside and continued steering straight for the falls. When Tom recovered, to his amazement the yacht was past the falls floating slowly in the air downwards towards a black hole in the water. He froze for a few minutes and closed his eyes. He could feel the temperature rising as they descended further and further into the hole. After what seemed an eternity, the vessel softly landed in what seemed to be a river of blood and moored at a long plastic dock. Ray and his dad joined him on the deck, and they disembarked. They followed a red carpet leading to a city with an orange glow ahead. The air was hot and smoky. Tom wondered if there were any nearby wildfires. He was confused and slightly frightened. He had never imagined this kind of trip. Where were the girls, the parties and casinos? He’d thought this trip would allow him to introduce to his dad to his vision of buying and running casinos. Instead, he had entered a nightmare. Maybe he was dreaming. His sweat seemed real.
As they walked along the carpet, Tom’s dad and Ray were laughing and joking. They seemed at ease. Tom was choking on the thick air and coughing spasmodically. He could not understand why the men were not more concerned. Suddenly, an orange mansion was looming ahead. Vultures, crows and bats circled this building. Their presence unnerved Tom even more. Still, his dad and Ray seemed unconcerned. Maybe his Dad was right, and he was a wus. 
They passed through thick double doors and entered a long hallway. The men seemed familiar with the mansion. They led Tom to a large office where the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen sat at a desk. She had long orangish hair, wore a low-cut orange gown and radiated power and sexuality. Her skin was deeply tanned and had an almost orange glow. Tom wasn’t sure but her facial feature seemed to change moment to moment. He could swear that he had seen each iteration in his dreams. As they entered the room, the woman stood and smiled. Both Ray and Tom’s dad went around the desk, bowed and kissed the ring on her left hand. The woman nodded towards Tom and in a sultry voice asked: “Who do have here?”
Tom’s dad smiled and put his arm around Tom while answering: “As promised, Bea, this is my son Tom. My other son would not survive the trip here.”
Bea approached Tom, took his measure and hissed: “He’ll do just fine.”
At his father’s urging, Tom kissed Bea’s ring and felt a strange surge of power and electricity. The ring burned his lips, and he jumped back. The two men were horrified and waited for Bea’s response. Her laugh eased the tension and the men laughed with her. Bea dismissed Tom to a large sitting room, decorated with portraits of famous historical figures. Tom recognized Hitler and Stalin but could not identify less modern personages. He waited for what felt like an eternity until his dad and Roy came and fetched him, leading him back to the office. Bea sat at her desk and was even more beautiful than she was the previous hour. Her face had transformed once again. Tom would swear later that she resembled Betty Jean, his first crush. His father led him to a chair in front of the desk. Bea took a folder out of one of the drawers in her desk and put a bunch of papers in front of him. They were contracts of some kind with more words than Tom cared to read. At his father’s urging, he signed each page with only a superficial perusal. 
“It’s good for our business. I’ve signed these contracts many times over the years. It will protect our family for generations.” His father put his hand on Tom’s shoulder as he spoke. Tom was in a fog, but he felt an overwhelming urge to comply without checking the details.
Ray added: “The protection is ironclad. You could kill someone on Fifth Ave and escape scot-free. With this agreement, no one will be able to resist you. Grab who or what you want without consequences.”
The visit ended with more ring kissing and bowing. Bea, who now resembled a famous super model, dismissed the men with a wave of her hand. The three men left the mansion and walked back to the yacht. Tom felt strangely transformed and powerful.
Once back on the mainland, Tom went to work immediately. He made deals that were impossible previously. His connections grew exponentially, and his sexual exploits became legendary. Resistance was futile. When his father and Ray died, Tom took the trip down the River Styx independently. Often, there were other passengers on the yacht. A Russian president, a Syrian ophthalmologist, a Saudi prince and a North Korean dictator were frequent fliers. He even met his third wife, a Serbian supermodel, on one of these trips. In recent years, American politicians crowded the yacht and seemed transformed after each trip. Tom wondered if they had signed the same contracts. Seniority had its benefits because they all deferred to him. He entertained the possibility of going into politics. Bea or Madame Beelzebub encouraged this idea. She even invited his sons and daughter for a family conference. They came away impressed and energized. They also seemed transformed and convinced that politics was the family legacy. 
Before the final decision, Tom visited Bea one last time. She offered him a new contract which guaranteed a winning campaign but there was a catch. Once he won the presidency, the country would come under her domain. He signed.
 
 
 
 
","September 13, 2023 23:35","[[{'Lucid C': 'Interesting concept. I love Bea being short for Beelzebub, along with Bea being a feminine figure.', 'time': '15:00 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Rabab Zaidi': 'Unnerving.', 'time': '08:21 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,rn9jx9,The Tale of the Golden Yellow Weeping Willow ,Louise Muller,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rn9jx9/,/short-story/rn9jx9/,Dark,0,"['Horror', 'Thriller', 'Fantasy']",3 likes,"
It is a tale as old as time, perhaps even older, I suppose. Pure evil has no recorded date of birth, you see. Deep in the forest the three teens worked hard to overcome their loss. The harsh and brutal winter had taken their mother and father the year before. This forced them to learn how to live off the land and support each other as there was no one else to care for them. Whenever Liam looked at his sister, Stella, he was amazed by how much she had grown. The golden streaks that glistened in her hair reminded him so much of his late mother. Growing up they hadn’t always seen eye to eye. In fact, they were mostly at opposite ends. Nothing motivates as strongly as the need for survival, and so, after a year the teenagers had become an inseparable unit. On a chilly afternoon much like the ones before it, Stella and Liam ventured out deeper into the forest. The youngest of the three, Lucas didn’t care much for exploration and so he stayed home. Stella and Liam shared a curiosity of the world around them, a need to learn everything they could. Little did they know they were about to begin a chapter that should have remained untold. The woods felt quiet, eerily so. The two of them felt a nervous tension in the air, but both chose to ignore it. Instead, their eyes met and an unspoken challenge grew between them. Stella laughed loudly as they took off, speeding past the trees that covered their surroundings daily. Her laughter was the only sound that broke the silence that hung over the forest like a thick blanket of clouds before a storm. Liam’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried his best to outrun his sister. They chased each other in a game of tag without any rules or purpose until they saw her. The sight of her brought them to a halt. It had been so long since they had seen someone else in this neck of the woods. The old woman sat peacefully under the gigantic tree, hands folded calmly in her lap. Her eyes locked with theirs and time seemed to stand still. It was only after her face softened into a big smile that Stella realized she had been holding her breath. They approached with caution as their parents had taught them. Father had often told them about the dangers of strangers. Oh, but how extraordinary to meet someone new here! Much too little time passed before father’s words of warning were forgotten by them both. They walked closer to the woman until they were close enough to see the wrinkles in her hands, the amber glow in her eyes, and the shimmer of silver in her long hair. Even though she had been kissed with old age, she was breathtaking. She was the one to break the stillness. Her voice was as warm and comforting as their late mother’s hugs used to be. Stella felt a pang of sadness as she missed her mother so intensely.The woman seemed to notice as she told them not to waste their youth on misery, but rather to open their eyes to a world of beauty and luster. She lifted her skinny and veiny arms high into the sky and chanted something unknown to them. That is when they saw it. Stella felt her lungs expand as she breathed in deeply at the sight of it. Right above them, grew the most amazing thing she had ever seen.The leaf was not like any of the others that grew around it. As the sun fell on it, it glistened brightly, showcasing its unnatural color. Even though neither of them understood how a leaf like this could exist, they both knew it was something they had to have. That is why, on that afternoon that appeared to be much like the ones that came before it, they pushed, kicked, and scratched at the other in order to first reach the leaf. Liam, being taller and stronger, grabbed it first. His face changed the second his fingers closed around it. He turned around in excitement to show the old woman, but she was gone. Fog had descended on the spot where she had been. His eyes became alive, as if they had seen a story that no one else could ever see. A smile grew on his face as he cupped this precious gift in both hands. Stella looked at him in disgust. Why did he have to be the one to get the leaf? Had she not done everything she could to take care of him ever since Mother and Father took their final breaths? It seemed the more the fury in her grew, the happier Liam became as he was completely oblivious to the suffering his sister was experiencing. That is why she did what she did. As she walked home alone, she told herself that it was the only way. She needed to have the golden leaf in her possession. Liam never would have understood. The wail of misery echoed through the forest as Lucas tried to work through the shock of what had happened to his beloved brother. “It was a horrible fall,” Stella had explained. The youngest of the three wept until he was weak. Stella showed no emotion, of course, for she had something much more valuable now. She held it firmly in her hand as she watched her brother grieve. The first few days after Stella got the golden leaf were the happiest she had ever known. She felt light and exhilarated. If you’d asked her when exactly that changed, she wouldn’t have been able to tell you. She began to miss Liam terribly, and darkness grew within her. Whenever she looked at Lucas, she was overcome with immense disappointment. The wrong brother had paid the price for her golden leaf. That is why she went back into the forest in search of the old woman who began all of this. Stella stood motionless, staring ahead at the woman who was seated again under the tree. How could it be? She seemed decades younger, but her youth had not been blessed with beauty. Rather a hardness had captivated her features. Stella held onto the golden leaf and fought the chills that ran down her spine as she began the negotiation. Before she could stop herself, she uttered the words, “Would you consider an exchange?” The woman smiled widely, but there was something sinister about the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Say the words,” she ordered in a deep, haunting voice. “Take Lucas instead. I need Liam back,” Stella said, ignoring the tear that ran down her face. The woman’s smile vanished as she raised her arms once more. Stella felt a change in the air around her and she knew Lucas was suffering because of her greed. She stepped forward to stop it, but it was too late.Deep from within the enormous tree, a pair of hands began to scratch, breaking and tearing the bark. The figure that emerged from the tree didn’t resemble anyone Stella had ever known. He stank of rotten soil and death. When her eyes met this stranger’s, she saw only a trace of the brother she once knew. He moved swiftly, in a way that could only be described as inhuman, grabbing at her hand in an attempt to get the golden leaf once more. Stella screamed as she fought back, and every aspect of herself broke as she killed her brother a second time. Liam’s body fell to the ground with a loud thud and disappeared into the roots of the tree.The woman watched Stella intently. Stella let out a sob that echoed through the forest. What a foolish girl she was! At least she still had the golden leaf. Running her fingers over it, it felt different. It no longer felt cold, smooth, and unique. Stella opened her hand and cried out in agony as the golden leaf disintegrated in front of her eyes. She fell to her knees as she knew nothing in the world would ever be right again. Even though the woman frightened her, she crept to her while weeping. “Please,” she begged hopelessly, “Take me too. There is nothing for me here anymore.” The woman looked at her with a coldness that Stella had never known. Her long fingers grabbed Stella’s wrists as she threw her off of her. “If I take you, you will never learn what it is to truly have nothing,” the woman whispered coldly. Stella closed her eyes as she wept, not realizing that the woman was gone again. The forest fell silent as night descended just like it always had. Owls flew high above in search of food and comfort. Insects crawled on the leaves of the trees, scattering in efforts to survive. The tree stood proudly as it began to consume the weeping girl who had become entangled in its roots. For decades later, you could hear the weeping echo through the forest if you were ever brave enough to walk past the Golden Yellow Weeping Willow. 
","September 14, 2023 13:58",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,44q76f,      LALENA,Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/44q76f/,/short-story/44q76f/,Dark,0,['Fantasy'],3 likes,"
 
                           LALENA
 
 There were hundreds like her, but she was the first. She was always the first, though the others couldn't possibly know that. People called her Lulu, like all the other demonic female creatures inhabiting the invisible world of myths. But she didn't like that name at all and had chosen the beautiful name Lalena for herself. Unfortunately, she couldn't find a way to proclaim it; she only forced men to utter it during energy-draining erotic dreams where she sucked them in like a whirlwind.
 And now, Lalena skillfully levitates in the darkness of the night, fully aware of where she's going and to whom, because the object is the only man capable of taming her sexual frenzy. Her eyes cut through the darkness like the lanterns of maritime lighthouses, which the Phoenicians had not yet invented. No mortal was worthy of confronting her raging femininity except for Gilgamesh, and he awaited her in his dreams as a cherished nightmare. ""Like a cherished Lalena,"" she smiles at the wordplay during her swift flight as a demon, simultaneously diving through the open window of the palace in Uruk. The king sleeps as always, naked and in erection. His monstrous phallus rises like one of the marble columns supporting the arches of the royal palace. Lalena stands by the equally enormous bed on which the object of her insatiable desires has awakened with his gigantic stature. She skillfully slips into the dream, guiding his hands in caressing motions and her entire body in those thrusts that make her pour out like a spring stream onto the bed. No one could measure how long this lasted, but the marble column no longer rises upward, and the demon-woman flies back to her sanctuary, now deprived of the juices that once removed her adequacy...
 In the Hanging Gardens of Inanna, there is a single tree resembling another, found in the midst of Eden, also known as Paradise. Lalena had nestled her nest in its crown, justifying another name given to her by humans, namely that of the night owl Lilith. The sycamore reminded her of different times, when her external appearance and essence were vastly different from the present, utterly diametrical. And as she had done many times before, she directed her memories backward, even to a time before her birth. Her divine origin afforded her the ability to do so, by returning to her own blood, to her molecules, her chromosomes, and genes, to ""see"" what had been...
...Then the God-Creator shaped two bodies from the vital clay and breathed his spirit into them. The first humans came to life as a man and a woman, resembling each other and yet distinct. But Adam seemed not to notice these differences, accepting the woman as a companion and comrade in their walks through the Paradise, also known as Eden. In countless immortal hours, he conversed languidly with her, ate, slept, and upon awakening, ate again and slept again. She was something entirely different—curious, inquisitive, searching and contemplating, hardly sleeping in her pursuits. And even without knowledge of the phrase that Orpheus would write above the entrance to the Temple of Delphi millennia later, recognizing oneself, mainly on a physical level, she surveyed her naked body in the waters of the Euphrates, striving not to miss a single part of it. Then lying in the grass, she touched herself everywhere her hands could reach. Through this self-exploratory method, she discovered some especially sensitive places, responding in specific ways to these auto-caresses. She quickly learned to attend to them to satisfy her feminine essence. However, it still wasn't complete; just looking wasn't enough. She recognized the need for something she couldn't provide herself and found it in Adam, who was entirely oblivious to possessing it. Her study of her own body transitioned into studying Adam's, which wasn't difficult at all, since he enjoyed being massaged. He purred, stretched, and even emitted gases of pleasure, but that was it. Nothing more. Thus, her needed attribute hung there completely inactive, in the place where she possessed a completely different structure. The trickster devised new tricks in the art of massaging. She rubbed her breasts against his, caressed his intimate area with one hand and herself with the other, but to no avail. No response from the male part of the duo that would later vie for dominance. Through whole nights, the first woman of the world reasoned about one of the first questions to arise under the sun, yet she found no reasonable answer except one—Adam was irreparably dull, unfeeling, blind, and impotent. He had a body, soul, and mind, but apparently lacked any emotions, while she was all fire and flames, geysers and volcanoes, earthquakes and hurricanes. She couldn't and didn't want to endure this state anymore. She couldn't foresee this form of the future in Eden, as it would not be any paradise at all; quite the opposite. The idea of escape germinated within her, the quest for another object to quench the flames, tame the volcanoes and hurricanes that were no longer contained. And she didn't realize how she found herself outside of Eden, cast out from the all-seeing eye of the Almighty. The Creator couldn't accept that his creation could know itself without consuming the Fruit of Knowledge, which was strictly forbidden. With a mere flick of his thought, he expelled her from the paradise garden, showing no further interest in her fate, as if a worm had been stepped on. She approached the slumbering Adam, took one of his ribs, and created his new partner, about whom countless writings would be composed, praising and cursing her, for participating in the creation of Humanity was also the cause of the ""Original Sin."" And Lalena, in her solitude and exile, became the first cynic, self-cursing himself to be barren, miserable, and embittered beyond measure.
 Gilgamesh, on the other hand, decided to share his nightmares with Inanna, because although pleasant, they drained a significant portion of his strength, and he worried that he would lose his authority among the inhabitants of Uruk. In just seconds, the goddess discerned who and how was causing these unpleasant sensations in her favorite, revealing the personality hidden in her Hanging Gardens. Before sending him on a dispelling mission, she gave him wise advice to paint the handle of his axe in red, as demons cannot resist this color. The demigod quickly adorned his axe handle with red, swiftly found the only tree in the Gardens, and without caring who was concealed in its crown, he began to chop the thick stem. For not too long, the colossal sycamore was brought down, and no one heard the scream of Lalena, departing into the Chaos.
 Wandering, she nearly collided with Satan, Lucifer, or whatever he was called in various corners of the Earth:
– Where are you flying, beauty? – his majesty, the Devil, stopped her with a smirk.
– I just lost my home, so now I'm homeless and thrown into nothingness, – she answered without any coquetry, this one who would be called Lamia in fairy tales for centuries to come.
– But I have an entire kingdom. My father made it for me, thinking he could easily get rid of me. What do you say if I show it to you, and if you like it, you can choose a home within it?
– Is it far away? – the woman-cynic asked reflectively, and in the blink of an eye, they were there.
 Hell as hell. With flames, cauldrons, furnaces, and the other places of torment. The sinners were just as they were depicted on the walls of churches and monasteries. Only where their bodies were immaterial, somewhat holographic. In short, a standard hellish image, resonating with screams, moans, roars, and cries.
– Look here, there's a little hill from which everything is as clear as day, – the king of the Abyss acted as their guide.
 They climbed and looked. Indeed, wherever they gazed, everything was palpably and demonstrably present. The sight pleased Lalena, and as she focused on the personal torments of individual sinners, she felt how the flames subsided and the volcanoes extinguished, the hurricanes quieted, and the geysers dried up. She realized that others' agony provided her with divine pleasure, that she didn't need that Gilgamesh's column to satisfy her demonic female desires.
– This is the place, – she murmured, as if to herself, but the One heard.
– So be it, – snapped his fingers, and she petrified like an epitaph upon a monument. Only her eyes remained alive to eternally relish others' suffering.
 Lalena-Lilith ceased to levitate, to seek whom to torment with nightmares and pollutions. Yet the myth about her continued its journey through the centuries, reaching us in hundreds of interpretations...
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","September 09, 2023 11:03",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,orhmkr,Horrid Horace,Christine LW,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/orhmkr/,/short-story/orhmkr/,Dark,0,['Fiction'],3 likes,"
 
 
                                              HORRID HORACE.
 
            Plants and shrubs raise their heads from buds of green. While fields and gardens flourish from the warmth of the sun. There is no noise from passing traffic. All is peaceful apart from the slight movement of the trees. Joe and Mary Peters have moved to Mill Cottage to make a new start with their two children Horace aged eleven and Maria seven.                     
         Horrid Horace lies in bed laughing as he wets the bed, it feels cold and sticky on his leg. A new school a new start let the fun begin. Sister Maria’s mommy’s little sunbeam.  She will have a surprize, when she opens the small white box left at the bottom of her bed. It will contain a dead field mouse lying on a bed of green grass. Oh, the screams and shrieks when she tells mom and dad. 
           Why did I pull Juliet’s plaits?  Throwing green paint from dads potting shed at her party dress. The new neighbours will not be inviting me to any more birthday parties. Those girly parties are for my prissy little sister Maria. A smile comes to Horace’s lips, they will move house again no doubt starting over again. 
              At his last school Horace had chased the headmaster around the class room, throwing blue ink at him. Served him right for thinking he could outwit Horace, no one could for he was the son of the devil and proud of it. They said, that Horace has behaviour problems. Over the years they have tried talking to him all those doctors and the social worker Alice, who suggested they live in the country and adapt to a cleaner life style. What does she know? Maybe they will all get tired and leave Horace alone they will never win.
            Horace smiled when, his parents argued he was the apple of his mothers’ eye she saw no wrong in Horace she put it all down to growing pains. Getting up from the bed he wiped himself on the duvet. Leaving the wet bed for his mother to deal with pulling on his track suit and trainers. He made his way downstairs soon it would be Halloween this year they would have a surprise at the village hall all those old biddy’s and stupid kids.
      He would fart in the barrel of apples taking down his pants, and drop Freddo into it. The pet frog he kept in a bowl in dads potting shed. Homemade cakes would be thrown on the floor and stamped on, girls would be bitten on the neck, and balloons taken from snotty little kid’s hands, would be burst. Oh, Horace could not wait to get started.
  If Mother Mary, thought that the Dracula costume would keep Horace happy, she was mistaken. He had already been in trouble for stealing red paint from the village Hardware Cabin, to throw at the trees on Halloween eve. His parents just looked at the shop owner’s embarrassed and paid out for his misdemeanours. That’s, what his father called them.
    Horace began to sing,” Caldron hot, Caldron cold, make me, a bowl of witch’s blood, frogs’ legs and dirty dishes.” It was still early morning as Horace walked down the lane past Mill Cottage no one was awake. Suddenly there was a rustle in the bushes the birds had stopped singing their early morning song. A sack was put over his head. Horace had become air bourn was he going to be reborn, was this his Halloween treat? Would he return at the stroke of midnight to celebrate Halloween? What about his parents? His sister Maria? He could hear humming; long boned fingers were digging into the sack.
    Once the sack was removed Horace stood in a dark room that smelt damp. Figures moved about laughing and smiling with protruding eyes and noses tall lanky figures they shone bright in the dark. There was steam coming from a large pot on the floor of the room. A strong smell of garlic, leaves were being put into the pot and red wine. Horace wet himself this was real he had a feeling a sick eerie feeling that he was going to end up in the pot with the green slim. He tried to run he was grabbed by two men with Skelton masks they had a knife an apple was put in his mouth his eyes bulged. He was pushed into the pot of hot slim.  more people were entering the room. Men and women approaching the large pot chanting,
              Prince of darkness
              Come to guide us,
              With your horns,
               Of fire.
               Son of Satan,
               Master, 
               We adore the.
 
         A human head appeared with a goat figure, throwing red blood over Horace. Horace  recognised same of the faces there was prissy Juliet, her mom and dad, the man from the Hardware Cabin, what was happening? There was Old Sykes the headmaster who Horace had chased around with his own cane, before throwing the blue ink. His father and mother had moved into a village full of witches and ghouls. There were others he did not know, about twenty of them still chanting. 
     Horace was lifted from the pot, an owl hooted. Then there was the creaking of a trap door Horace landed on a floor covered in moss. He was alive he had lived to tell the tale. Horace felt his body it was just bones, he had become one of them the living dead. 
   He had appealed to the master.” What do you want my boy” he had said, “aren’t you happy roaming around scaring folks, watching over the dead taking a baby from its bleeding mother’s womb, rebirth sacrifices, Halloween?” Horace watched as the clock struck twelve a rat run by, Horace picked it up, eating it as the blood curled in his mouth.  Other bones of corpses rattled as they clawed their way through the earth. 
    The master sighed he had been there at Horace’s birth the good Dr John Gently, looking after sick children he was sure that Horace was a chosen one. It was very rare he made a mistake, should he let Horace become human? There would be a sacrifice there had to be? When the pumpkin pies had been cut, the apples caught and eaten from the bowl. Candles flickered and Halloween costumes on the children and adults shone in bright colours, Horace would appear, as the wind howled. In his bed, he would think that it was all a dream. His mom and dad would cosset him. His sister would stay on earth a little longer.
           At seventeen Horace’s sister Maria would be with her friends and like the old custom for many years, At Halloween, she would look in the mirror and see the good doctor himself has her husband. Like the good doctor he was he would be most charming to lure and court her. A doctor during the day looking after sick children. Luring his victims to his castle in Budapest, in his spare time. John, they would say “I’m scared? What are you doing?” Has he run a candle down their leg? Biting into their alabaster neck, watching as they wilt like dead flowers. To become a part of the living dead after they had hung themselves from a church steeple or the balcony of their flat. 
    The lure and taste of blood was too much to resist. The thrill of choosing one’s victims, the lonely lady whose boyfriend had stood her up. “What’s an attractive lady like you doing on your own, let me buy you a drink.” He was always a good listener ready and waiting to make her his. John Gently had roamed the earth for years as a son of Satan. The thrill of the clock striking, the shaking of bones, sacrifices to Satan always gave him a thrill.
        Horace was sweating the wind was howling outside his bedroom window. He felt strange odd. Had he seen all those strange people? Horace felt his wet cheek, he had been crying. There was skin on his face and hands. A smile came to his lips he was still Horace not a ghoul. Looking up at the window he shrieked there was the masters face at the bedroom window. “Horace, darling what’s the matter his mother had said, entering Horace’s bedroom. “There’s a man at the window, I want to see Maria my sister?” “Horace calm down. I’ve never seen him like this Joe.”
       “What’s up boy, his father had said, you just had a bad dream its Halloween.” “Don’t frighten him any more Mary had scolded her husband. Later they had remarked that since that Halloween experience Horace had become a different lad. He was polite and he had stopped pulling girls hair. He didn’t wet the bed. He had even started going to Sunday school with Maria. 
        Horace, Mary noticed was not keen to go trick and treating with the other children at Halloween. It was an effort to get him to dress up in a Halloween costume. Strange odd Mary thought different to how Horace was a few years ago. The strange thing was he liked to look at the old graves in the cemetery and talked to them as if he knew the inhabitants. He would grow out of it like the story about ghosts carrying him off.
               At twenty- three Horace had gone away to college, Maria had grown into a real beauty with brown eyes and tumbling brown curls. She talked none stop about a doctor she had meet on her nursing course at the local hospital. A Mr John Gently, who seemed keen to take her to Paris for Halloween? He was a lot older than Maria. There was no worry he seemed to be a most charming and educated man. Horace, when they had told him about Maria’s plans to go to Paris, had felt a strange sensation down his spine. Now he knew that it had not been a bad dream he had, as a boy. He had lived the life of the living dead.
 Dr John Gently now had his sister he had to accept fate or change back into a ghoul at the stroke of midnight. He knew that Gently would not change his plans; it was fate the unknown the afterlife. There was only one thing for it pray to god and remind Maria not to remove the gold cross Horace had given her, from her neck. She had promised, to wear the cross. Driving with Dr John Gently she had replaced the cross with a cameo John had bought her.  Johns Jaguar had skidded off the road. No one had really understood why or how his sisters’ body had been found swept out to sea. Johns body was never found.
     No one did a deal with the devil every Halloween Horace would feel blood in his throat and would haunt the earth looking for his dead sister. He would become the living dead once more. The trees would rustle owls would hoot and Horace would become a ghoul looking for victims while haunting the earth. Hanging between the living and the dead. He would watch over his parents. When the window shutters shook it would be his sister trying to get her life back, if a plate broke or an ornament moved. Mill Cottage had been blessed and holly water thrown over it. It was all too late the seed had been sown the day that Horace had become a son of Satan.                 
 
 
","September 09, 2023 13:01","[[{'David Sweet': ""Wow! I can't help but think of this as a synopsis of a much larger narrative. It's almost like there is so much here that could be expanded. You should consider into turning it into a much longer piece. Thanks for sharing."", 'time': '15:37 Sep 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,mpturj,The Final Call ,Emma Chavez,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mpturj/,/short-story/mpturj/,Dark,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Horror']",3 likes,"
“I summon thee Satan. Reveal yourself to me. Come to me in your physical form. I summon thee Satan. Reveal yourself to me. Come to me in your physical form.” I whispered the words over and over into the air. Into the world beyond. My words only interrupted to sniff back the blood crusting under my nose. My jaw and teeth are aching and my body is trembling with restraint. I’m needed in the field. I need to go to the field. But I need to do this first. 
	I dared to open an eye, now half swollen shut and peaked at the sun starting to set in the distance. I don’t know how long I have been at this but it has been too long. Too, too long. I need to get back to my friends. To that battle that surly has only grown worse since I left. 
	“Reveal yourself to me, you coward!” I hollered across the room. ""Come on!” I hopped down from the barstool I had perched myself on. “You’ve shown yourself to me before. What are you waiting for?” Panic and anger clawed at me turning into blind rage as I grabbed the leg of the barstool and flung it into the wall across from me. It landed with a thud and drywall dusted down from the wall, looking like a snowfall I would never see again. I fell to my hands and knees panting as I spit blood on the floor. I don’t know how I’ve bled so much and stayed alive. I wanted to scream, the heat in my chest begged me to scream but my energy was spent and this had been my last hope. I let the tears stream down my cheeks and I gasped for air. 
	“Well, well, well…” I froze, the voice coming from behind me, “Eden Fairbanks.” I made to snap my head over my shoulder, not believing he was really here but he was on me before I could move. Crouching in front of me more animal than human he grabbed my chin with his ice cold fingers and jerked my chin to look up at him. “Wonderful to see you again, darling. Although, if my memory is correct, you swore to me the last time, would be the last time. Did you not?” His dark eyes swam with amusement and I looked into the pale face that I had become more acquainted with throughout my life than anyone hopes to be. His finger wiped at the tears on my cheek, leaving a smear of dirt on his finger. 
	“You came.” I breathed. 
	“You called.” He released my chin with a slight push causing me to hiss. He stretched to his full height and I looked up at him through my eyelashes. He sucked his teeth while examining his fingernails, like he was bored which only increased my annoyance. 
	“I didn’t think you would come again.” My voice was hoarse from all the screaming. 
	“I didn’t think you would call again.” He didn’t bother to look down at me as he spoke. “We can go around in this circle all day darling or you can tell me what you want.” 
	I scrambled up to my feet, every muscle and bone ready to crumble. I attempted to straighten out my shirt and dust my hands over my pants. I need to look him in the eye while we speak. He’s never liked a coward. 
	“I need help.” I said to his side. “We’re dying. We’re all going to die. I- I- can’t hold them any longer.” 
	He whipped around to face me, a cloud of darkness swirling with him. The sun shone in a gold stream through the window and straight into his eyes that seemed to devour it. I blinked and blinked again. I’ll never get used to that. 
	“You know you could have cleaned yourself up before you called me. You’ve seen better days darling.” 
	“I’m about to see no more days.” I snapped, “unless you help me I will be dead the moment I step back on that battlefield.” I pointed out the window. His face seemed to come closer to mine and he breathed in my breath. 
	He clicked his tongue like I was a naughty child, “How did it go so horribly wrong darling? You had such a wonderful handle on it. You’re quite the fighter.” 
	“You’ve been watching me?” I shouted, outrage taking over common sense. “You’ve been watching me walk face first into death and you haven’t bothered to help me?!” 
	“You know very well, I can’t help you unless you ask. If you ask for help, then I can decide if I want to help you or not.” 
	“So, will you?” 
	“Will I, what?” 
	“Help me? Help us?” I gestured again to my friends on the battlefield. “Please. We- I failed. I’m failing and there’s nothing else I can do.” 
	“The demon queen.” He turned away from me, walking in a lazy circle. “That’s what they call you isn’t it?” He stopped and seemed to inhale the death in the air. “I have to say, it suits you quite well. Demon queen, demon queen, demon queen.” he tasted the words in his mouth, muttering to himself. 
	“We don’t have ti-” 
	“You will have whatever time I give you.” My mouth clicked shut. “You deny the name of demon queen yet you have made several deals with the king of them and it makes me wonder if you have not enjoyed our encounters the same way I have.” He took in a deep breath through his nose again. “I’ve watched this battle closely and there could be-” He spun to face me, “So many interesting outcomes.” In less than a breath he was on me again. His fingers like bones as they picked up my braid. He breathed in deep through his nose, bringing my braid to his nose and running his face over it. “There it is.” He sighed. 
	“What?” it only came out as a whisper. 
	“Your scent. It’s so beautiful.” He sniffed again and I resisted the urge to back away from his pawing. “The scent of death coats you.” He hissed. “But here-” He lifted my hair, “Here is where I can smell you. You’re scent that is purely you. Your own blood and bones, your life within you.” He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me so I kept my mouth shut. 
	He backed away from me, assessing me with those light devouring eyes. He turned his back to me again. I felt every inch of his gaze slipping over me as he began to circle me. I almost begged him again, begged him to help me. We are running out of time. We might be out of time already. 
	“So impatient” He drawled as if he could hear my thoughts. “Tell me, one more thing, darling, why do you deny the name of the Demon Queen?” 
	“I have never hidden the fact that I have made several deals with you. They can refer to me as whatever they wish to. I only wish to save them. Save our city.” 
	“Interesting.” It wasn’t interesting to him at all. “I’ll help you.” 
	“You will?” I whipped my head around to look at him. “You’ll really help me?” 
	“I may do many things but I don’t lie, darling.” 
	“What do you want in return?” 
	“Return?” 
	“Don’t toy with me. You don’t hand out favors.” I wiped my face on my sleeve only to have blood crust and fall to the ground. He watched it and his lips curled. 
	“Don’t act like you know what I do and don’t do. I have been known to grant favors to a few of my favorite people.” 
	“Please just tell me what it will cost me.” 
	He stopped circling me and stood directly in front of me. Assessing me again. 
	“What would you give?” 
	“My- my life.” I stuttered out. I came here ready to gamble my life. It’s the only thing left I have to give him. “When I defeat this army and win this war for my friends you can take my life. I’ve already promised you my soul. You know very well where it’s going.” I took a shaky breath, “If you help me win this battle I will let you take my life and my soul will belong to you. Forever.” 
	He didn’t move, not even in the slightest. I wouldn’t dip my chin or break my gaze from his. I need to be strong now. 
	A smile spread across his face. A viscous slash of red lips and white teeth. He moved again before I could see him do it. He stood so close to me, my chest was pressed to his stomach. There was no warmth from his body , it felt like leaning against a brick wall. 
	“Beautiful, Beautiful fool.” He taunted, grabbing my chin with his fingers again and forcing my gaze to his. He sniffed, slow and deep and I knew he was smelling me again. A shiver went down my spine and I tried to hide it baby the way he smiled again, he knew. He grabbed my hand with his own, his grip too tight and too strong, causing my hand to ache. 
	“Use this, beautiful girl. Use this and it will always strike true. You will go out there and finish this fight.” The feeling of cold metal appeared between our fingers. I moved my head to look at what we were holding but he jerked my gaze back to him. 
	“Use this, darling and when you are done-” He leaned in, smelling my hair again. “Live.” 
	I blinked. “What do you mean?” 
	“Live.” He growled again. “I don’t want your life. Not before it’s time. Win. For everything you are for everything you love and when it’s your time, you will come down to me.” 
	“But- but-” I stuttered, not sure what to do about the fact that he’s letting me live. 
	“You would be wise to do as I say, Eden and I will be with you every step of the way. Every swing of this weapon and every step after. You will feel me.” He removed his hand from my chin and pressed it to my chest. A low moan rumbled from the back of his throat and he closed his eyes. “Your heart beats quickly, darling.” He opened his eyes and caught my gaze. He didn’t need to hold my face in place to have his attention this time. “You are one of my favorites.” He whispered. “And what you will give me, demon queen, is permission to come see you, whenever I feel so inclined.” 
	“You-you want to.. See me?” 
	“Yes. Whenever. I Feel. Like. It.” He moved behind me so his chest pressed into my back and his cold lips grazed my ear. “Do we have a deal?” 
	“Yes.” I whispered. “Yes, we have a deal.” 
	“Perfect.” He inhaled me again. “I’ll be seeing you soon darling. Go win this battle. Do not disappoint me. I’ll be watching.” The room fell silent. My whole body vibrates with anxiety, power. I don’t know. I looked down in my hand to see a long black metal sword. One that seemed to emanate a blackness that even the night sky wouldn’t be able to compete with. I sucked in a breath, straightened my clothes and walked back onto the battle fields. 
 
	Two months later: 
 
	“I was expecting you sooner.” I taunted from the bench in my bedroom. I didn’t see him appear as much as I felt him. His presence has become a constant in my life and I’m not sure I mind anymore. 
“I had some business to attend to.” 
	“More important business than me?” I asked, flashing my eyes at him through the mirror. He was on me in a second. He grabbed my hair brush off my table and ran his fingers through my hair then the brush , alternating strokes. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling. 
	“How wonderful.” He murmured to himself, smelling my hair as he brushed. I guess this is part of the deal. Part of what I give to save our people. “My demon queen.” he growled in my ear and for once, the name made me smile. 
 
","September 14, 2023 14:54",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,absv6j,Fantasies,Elsa Sršňová,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/absv6j/,/short-story/absv6j/,Dark,0,"['Suspense', 'Thriller', 'Fiction']",3 likes,"
The bell above the door rings as I shoulder my way into the coffee shop. I walk up to the counter but I have to wait to order. Two women are standing there, looking up at the board with the menu; they’re taking ages to choose and my leg jumps up and down involuntarily while I wait. I already know what I’m getting (the same every day); an espresso, double shot, no sugar, no milk. When I finally get to order the lady behind the counter looks at me with a bored expression.
“What can I get you?” she asks in a monotone voice that tells me she’d rather be anywhere else. She’s chewing a piece of gum and opening her mouth too wide; the sticky sound as her teeth clench and unclench around it makes my leg tap the ground harder. I inhale slowly through my nose.
“Double shot espresso.”
“I’m afraid our coffee machine is currently broken,” she reels off as if she’s said that sentence a hundred times today. “Can I offer you a hot chocolate, tea or lemonade? Our flavours are-”
“Hot chocolate’s fine,” I reply curtly. She turns around, obviously annoyed, and makes my order. When she opens a jar of sugar, I quickly say,
“Without sugar please,” but it’s too late because she’s already poured a teaspoon in. 
“Sorry,” she says, in the opposite of an apologetic voice. She turns around and hands me the paper cup. A bit of my hot chocolate sloshes over the edge and drips onto the counter. My leg keeps tapping against the floor. Somebody behind me in the queue sighs. Then the woman gives me this counterfeit, syrupy smile - there’s a bit of red lipstick on her teeth that irritates me perhaps more than anything else.
“Have a nice day,” she simpers. In one swift motion, I step forward, grab her by her atrociously bleached hair, and slam her face down onto the counter. I yank up and smash it down again, just to hear that satisfying crack for a second time. Blood drips all over the counter and onto the floor; I pull her back up so I can see it gushing from her nose and split forehead.
 
I blink and her smooth, very much unharmed face sharpens before me. I take a step back and wish her a good day too. As I walk out of the door, the bell gives another antagonising chime. I toss my sugary hot chocolate into a trash can.
 
***
 
It seems to be a day of malfunctioning technology, because the air conditioning at my work has broken down. It’s insufferably hot as I sit at my desk. My shirt collar is strangling me, and tugging at it makes it worse. I can feel the beads of sweat trickling down my back like the warm, unwanted touch of fingers trailing down my back. 
“Davidson.” I look up sharply as my boss leans over my desk. “Have you got that report for me?” She’s wearing a dress with heeled boots. Her thighs look supple, like butter, and I wonder if they would be sliced as easily as butter if I put a knife to them. My attention snaps back to her question.
“Not yet, I haven’t got the right paperwork from Jones, so I can’t write it up.” Her long, manicured nails tap on my desk impatiently like I’m a school child.
“Well, get it from him. I need it by tomorrow, Quentin. You’ll have to work overtime tonight.” She walks off, heels clicking. 
I shake my head to clear it. Then I stand up and walk over to Jones’s desk; I hate his desk because the clutter spills over all four edges, and sometimes he leaves food there that moulds under his paperwork.
“Hi,” I say quietly. Jones is playing some sort of video game on his computer involving cars. He looks up after a second as if it takes physical effort for him to move his eyes.
“Queertin,” he guffaws at the nickname even though he uses it every day. “Whaddoyouwant?” 
I take a pen from his pen holder and stick it into the side of his neck, right into the jugular vein, until the blood spurts out like a pretty red fountain. The thought calms me down and I take a deep breath before replying:
“The paperwork. For that tax report that’s due tomorrow?” 
“Huh? Oh that. Might be somewhere in there.” He gestures vaguely to a mountain of stray papers and folders. Sighing, I begin to sift through the pile tentatively. As I slide my hand under a stack, it touches something moist and I jerk back.
“I can’t do this,” I mutter, and go to the bathroom to wash my hands.
 
I get off work at nine p.m. but I don’t want to return to my empty apartment. I buy a beer in a convenience store instead and go to the park that’s near my flat. At this time in the evening it’s usually quiet, excluding a couple of junkies loitering on the benches or the local teenagers smoking on the swings. I stroll at a leisurely pace, taking slow swigs from the bottle. The world seems soft around the edges, and I tilt my head back to look at the stars. If I ignore the sound of an occasional car passing, it’s almost as if I’m alone in the woods. Slowly, I forget about the broken coffee machine and the sickly smile and the sweltering office and even Jones. A sort of fragile, misty peace has occupied my mind and stays there, floating.
 
The sudden impact of something crashing into me sends a wave of shock through my body and shatters my peace. I look up to see a boy on a skateboard; he’s collided with me, causing my beer to tip up and spill all over my suit and briefcase. 
“Oh shit, sorry.” He looks earnest but the drunk giggling takes away from it a little. I look him up and down; he’s scruffy, with a beanie on his curly hair and a black septum piercing hanging from his nose. 
“D’you need help? I have some tissues - somewhere-” he’s patting his pockets.
“No need,” I reply tersely, already wiping up the beer. My tissues can’t remedy the stickiness of my shirt, which is clinging uncomfortably to my chest.
“A’ight. Sorry again.” The way he shortens those two words, “all right,” irks me for some reason. He turns and walks off, skateboard in hand. I notice his gate is a little unsteady; he’s heading away from the park and to the streets. I decide to follow him. Fortunately, he chooses an ill-lit, narrow alley, where if I’m careful to be quiet, he won’t notice me. 
 
We’re both swallowed by the darkness of the street, and I keep some distance behind him. Every once in a while, the skateboard he’s carrying scrapes against the ground. I pick up my pace so the distance between us narrows, my shadow touching his heels. My body feels filled with unused energy, the blood cells in my veins buzzing. My eyes close in on a broken metal pipe lying on the edge of the street and I feel it must be a sign for it to be placed just there at this very moment. I flex my fingers; I can feel all the pent up inaction inside me, longing to be let out. My mind is clear and sharp. 
 
In a moment of sudden decisiveness, I step forward, making a grab for the metal pipe, then one of my hands clamps down over the boy’s mouth and pulls him towards me - I pull my the arm holding the pipe back, like a quiver being loaded, and bring it down with the force of all today’s pent up anger; it connects with his temple with a delicious, sickening crack that sends a thrill through my body. Immediately, the boy crumples and I hold his dead weight in my arms.
 
Bringing him to my apartment is more difficult than I thought and I’m huffing as I drag him up the stairs, his legs bumping at each step, and unlock the door. I didn’t meet anybody on the way here, but I wasn’t worried by that thought; I knew I wouldn’t. 
 
Splayed out on my wooden floorboards, the boy looks quite undeniably dead - there’s even a dent in his temple where I struck him - but I give him a couple more blows just to make sure. When I stop, my heart is racing and I think this is how figure skaters must feel when they land an axel or how an author must feel when they finish a book. So I strike a couple more times and tell myself it’s to make really, really sure that he won’t wake up. 
 
Suddenly I’m not sure what to do with the body - he was more interesting while warm and breathing, now he’s just a thing taking up space in my apartment. His skin has lost its pinkness and his legs are resting in a stiff, unnatural position. Eventually, I pick him up under the armpits and drag him over to the closet that holds my shirts. I have to balance him on one arm as I open the creaky door - then I heave him inside, letting him fall heavily onto the ground in a crumpled heap. As I close the cupboard, my mind wanders back to a scene from a kid’s movie I watched a long time ago - Tangled - where Rapunzel shoves some man’s body into her cupboard but he keeps falling out. My body stays obediently inside my cupboard. Everything is silent and I realise that tonight has really tired me out, so I decide to go to bed. I don’t even change out of my beer-stained suit, the only thing I have time for is to wash my hands because some of the boy's blood has stained my fingers, then I fall into bed.
 
***
 
When I awake, the first thing I smell is the beer that’s dried on my shirt. A few washed-out rays of sunlight creep their way into my room through the window. I sit up and remember my extravagant fantasy from last night, much more thought-out than they usually are, and I go over the details as I stand up, unbutton my shirt and carry it to the washing machine. I get that feeling I usually have after one of my scenarios, like waking up from a good dream and realising none of it was real. But as I shut the washing machine and turn it on, a whiff of something reaches me, seemingly coming from my hands. I put my palms to my nose and sniff - it’s a metallic smell, and I know what it reminds me of. But that’s impossible, because last night I didn’t really pick up a metal pipe, or strike a boy’s head with it, or get his blood on my hands. Last night I followed him for a little while down a dark alley and then went home. So why the smell? I must have touched something rusty, that must be it.
 
Still, there’s a strange, nagging feeling at the back of my mind, and although it’s stupid I decide to indulge it and check the closet. In the hall, my heart begins to race as I spot a stain on the floorboards, but then I remember that I spilled coffee there last week. As I step towards the cupboard, I notice the house is filled to bursting with silence, and only my breathing tears through the eerie quiet. As I reach out for the handle of the closet door, my body doesn’t feel like it belongs to me, as if I’m in a video game, watching a second pair of hands that aren’t really mine. I press the handle down. I feel light-headed, but I keep telling myself there’s no reason to. 
 
The door swings open with that familiar creak. My eyes fall to the closet floor… 
 
I choose a different coffee shop today, because I don’t want to risk the coffee machine at my usual place still being broken. 
 
","September 09, 2023 15:51",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,d9sadu,An Alliance of Devilry,Mariam Ashraf,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/d9sadu/,/short-story/d9sadu/,Dark,0,"['People of Color', 'Urban Fantasy', 'Funny']",3 likes,"
 
The interview did not begin the way Noor expected. For one thing, the interviewer was wearing red contact lenses and the weirdest shoes, curled down at the toe. For another, he was sitting back with his legs crossed, eating what looked like dried corn out of a bag. There was a distinctly smoky smell in the room.
 
Noor apprehensively took a seat as her internal radar shrilled in her head. They looked at each other for a minute. The silence was broken by the crunching of the corn and odd popping sounds whenever he reached into the bag.
 
Finally, Noor broke the silence. ""This is the interview for a research lab position, isn't it?""
 
""You're in the right place,"" the man said in a raspy smoker’s voice. ""Name's Behnuz. How ya doin'?""
 
""Fine,"" said Noor. ""How are you?""
 
""Meh,"" Behnuz said, through another mouthful of corn. ""So, find a job, yet?""
 
Noor thought this was a strange question. Obviously not, since she was here. 
 
""No, not yet,"" she said. 
 
""Damn,"" he muttered.
 
What?
 
""You think you will, anytime soon?""
 
""I hope so,"" Noor said.
 
""Why are you leaving your other job?"" 
 
Noor contemplated whether she should give an honest answer about her narcissist manager who had just decided she didn't need to take her meds anymore and then decided against it.
 
""I'm looking for new opportunities to further my career. I've been at this position for two years now, and I'm ready to move to my next challenge.""
 
""That's not true. You want to get away from Ramala.""
 
Noor's eyes widened and then she narrowed them. This guy had done more than the usual research. Had her manager gotten wind of the fact that she was trying to quit, and this was some weird attempt to derail her?
 
""I don't know what--"" Noor began to deny. She wasn't going to betray herself to Ramala, if this is what that was.
 
""Look, let's just make this easy,"" Behnuz said. ""I'm a jinn. Ramala wants me to possess you in exchange for her firstborn. This is not working out for me and I need your help.""
 
Noor stood up. ""Ok, then. Goodbye.""
 
Behnuz reached into his dried corn bag, held out the corn for Noor to see, then closed his fist. When he opened it again, the corn had turned into popcorn.
 
Noor collapsed into the chair and whispered a prayer of protection. Behnuz paled a little and smoke gushed from his ears.
 
""You're a devil?"" she whispered.
 
""So judgy,"" Naklis said in a shaky but wounded tone. ""I prefer jinn.""
 
""So, what in God's name is this? Do you introduce yourself to everyone you possess?""
 
Behnuz winced. ""Please don't say that name around me,"" he said.
 
""What, God?"" Noor snorted. ""Devil.""
 
Behnuz looked uncomfortable. 
 
""Look, I don't want to possess you, ok? Do you know who I am? I am a Jinn of King Solomon. I was the treasure hunter of his kingdom. I dived for pearls and excavated gold. I moved the Queen of Sheba's throne. Look at what I've come to. Possessing a religious midget in a headscarf."" He was whining.
 
""Well, that works out well,"" said Noor icily. ""I'm not interested in getting possessed either. Goodbye, then.""
 
""Come on,"" cajoled Behnuz. ""Help a jinn out.""
 
""I don't understand,"" Noor said. ""If you don't want to possess me and I don't want you to possess me, then what's the problem?""
 
Behnuz fished out a document from behind his back and waved it in front of Noor's horrified eyes. ""There's a contract.""
 
""Ramala made a contract with the devil?"" Noor gasped. ""Is she stupid? Even she can't be this crazy.""
 
""She is,"" said Behnuz, smugly, then added, ""Jinn, not devil.""
 
Noor digested the fact that Ramala did in fact, hate her and need her as much as she had always suspected. Otherwise, she'd have just fired her instead of making a contract with the devil. Insanity. 
 
""So, she made a contract and you want to break it because...""
 
""First of all, the kid,"" Behnuz clarified. ""It used to be that you could take a firstborn human child and they'd cook, clean, even raise your kids for you. Human kids are mostly useless now and this one is a piece of turd, if I ever saw one. Whiny. Can't do a single thing on his own. Not even take a dump. I don't want it.""
 
""Ok, so decline payment,"" said Noor, then immediately regretted it. This was her possession they were talking about.
 
The jinn sighed, heavily. ""We now come to my second objection. You.""
 
Noor perked up. ""Oh? Do tell.""
 
Behnuz glared at her. ""You're annoying and boring. Scientist. Read books in your free time. Even go off dairy and sugar, every now and then. Oh, and then there's your two dweeby coworkers. Why are they constantly around you? If I see another crossword puzzle or hear about interactive theater one more time, I might just off myself.""
 
Noor shrugged. ""So, break the contract.""
 
He shook his head. ""I can't. Contracts are binding. If I broke the contract, my department would make my existence very--and I mean this--very uncomfortable.""
 
""Your department?"" Noor said in disbelief. ""You have a job.""
 
""Uh, yes I do,"" Behnuz sounded offended again. ""Junior associate, Department of Possessions and Hauntings.""
 
""Oh good,"" muttered Noor. ""A professional.""
 
They both sat glumly until Noor said, ""I don't know why you've asked me here. Clearly, I can't help you.""
 
Behnuz smiled a toothy smile. ""As a matter of fact, there's a loophole."" He smoothed out the contract on the table and then jabbed at the main clause with a pointed nail, leaving a smoking hole in the paper. Noor tilted her head to read it. ""...possess co-worker, Noor in exchange for one firstborn child, Ayman...""
 
""I don't see it,"" Noor said.
 
Behnuz pointed again. ""Co-worker. CO-WORKER,"" he emphasized.
 
Noor thought about it then raised her eyebrows as she understood what he was saying. ""I'm not quitting without a job. I need health insurance.""
 
""Come on,"" wheedled Behnuz. ""Please?""
 
""No,"" said Noor firmly. ""I'll have a job soon enough. I'm looking.""
 
""You won't,"" Behnuz said, sourly. ""I did some digging. No one's hiring right now. The earliest you'll get hired is maybe next year.""
 
""Well then, you'll just have to wait,"" Noor said.
 
The jinn got a sly look in his eye. ""There's another option,"" he said. ""One that doesn't require you quitting.""
 
""What?"" asked Noor, suspiciously.
 
He looked at her significantly. Noor thought for a moment.
 
""Ok,"" she said. ""So, talk to her about quitting. That has nothing to do with me.""
 
Behnuz sighed the sigh of a heavily tortured creature. ""If she was going to quit, she wouldn't have made this contract with me. No, I mean get her fired.""
 
""Rightttt,"" said Noor. ""Brilliant. Why didn't I think of that myself? I'll just walk into work tomorrow morning and fire her.""
 
""There's no need to get sarcastic,"" Behnuz said. ""You can report her to HR for a number of things. She's psychotic. Unfit for work. She's literally pawning off a whole child. You could easily make a case against her.""
 
""Yeah, I'd much rather just look for another job,"" Noor said. ""That sounds like a lot of work and risky too.""
 
Behnuz turned sinister. ""Or I could just possess you now.""
 
Noor snorted. ""Obviously, you aren't going to do that otherwise, you'd already have done it. And anyway, do you even know who I am? I come from a family that puts down protection against devils probably every other hour of the day. You can try, but as soon as I send my mom a text about what's happening, she might show up here herself.""
 
Behnuz paled. He'd been following her around enough to know that this was true. ""Alright, you tell me. What do you want? We can make a deal.""
 
Noor gestured at her headscarf. ""Do I look like someone that makes deals with the devil?""
 
Behnuz slumped in defeat. ""Then what do we do? I might not be able to possess you, but if this contract stands, I'll have to keep trying. It's going to make us both miserable.""
 
Both pondered this until Noor said, thoughtfully, ""If there's a Department of Possessions and Hauntings, there must be other departments too, right?""
 
""Yeah,"" Behnuz said. 
 
""So, when you were serving King Solomon, what department were you in?""
 
""Department of Treasures and Miracles,"" Behnuz puffed up in pride. ""Senior Jinn of King Solomon, Treasure Hunter. I dived for pearls and excavated gold. I moved the Queen of Sheba's throne.""
 
""Perfect,"" Noor said. ""Transfer.""
 
Behnuz deflated. ""There is no Department of Treasures and Miracles, anymore. That became defunct like two thousand years ago. There's no business there, anymore. When they shut DTM down, they shuffled us all off into different departments. That's how I ended up here.""
 
""Ok, so what other departments are there?""
 
""Department of Espionage,"" he said. ""The ones that listen in on the angels, trying to hear the events of the future.""
 
""Probably high mortality rates,"" Noor said.
 
""Yeah,"" agreed Behnuz gloomily. ""100%. If a meteor doesn't get you, a flaming angel comes after you. Not sure why those fools sign up."" He shuddered.
 
""This is not helpful,"" Noor said impatiently. ""Tell me something that you could actually do.""
 
""Department of Black Magic,"" said Behnuz. ""Collaborations with the human magicians.""
 
Noor made a grimace of distaste. ""You want to do that?""
 
""Not really,"" said Behnuz. ""Magicians are disgusting. Filthiest humans ever. I'd have to hold my nose.""
 
""Do you even like people?"" Noor asked.
 
""Ki--""
 
""Besides King Solomon,"" Noor interrupted.
 
Behnuz thought about it. 
 
""No,"" he said finally.
 
""So, pick a job that doesn't require humans,"" Noor said.
 
""Ok, ok,"" Behnuz said. ""SAY, I quit my job. The contract is still binding. My boss, Naklis will follow me to the ends of hell to make me uphold my end of it.""
 
Noor considered.
 
""If you quit your job,"" Noor said, ""I'll look into reporting Ramala to HR. That way, I have some reassurance that you mean it about not possessing me or anyone else. And this way, I'm not making a deal with you.""
 
""That sounds risky to me. You get her fired and then I'll quit.""
 
""I'm not making a deal with you. But if you've been watching me all this time, you know if I set out to do something, I usually do it. Throw in the dweebs and you know it'll get done.""
 
Behnuz rolled his red eyes. ""Yeesh. No wonder, I don't like y'all.""
 
""Alright,"" Noor picked up her keys and purse. ""Come back with your resignation and I'll have her out in six months.""
 
""One month,"" Behnuz countered. 
 
""I don't bargain with the devil, either.""
 
""Two months,"" he whined.
 
""I will TRY to do it in three,"" Noor conceded, ""But I will only start once I see your resignation.""
 
Three months later, a sitewide email was sent out to Noor's company.
 
""Due to a global reorganization, we regret to inform you that we have terminated Ramala Kaden, effective immediately. We are also pleased to inform you that as a part of the reorganization we have promoted Noor Karim to Project Manager. Please join me in congratulating Noor.""
 
In the drawers of the desk in Noor's new office was a resignation letter, written to a Naklis by a Behnuz informing him of his transferal to the Department of the Occupation of the Ends of the Earth. Underneath was a note scrawled in spiky, red handwriting. ""Thanks. You're not King Solomon and you're still obnoxious, but you're not all bad. The dweebs too.""
 
 
","September 09, 2023 23:33",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,wyk6b6,Apocalypse Then…,Gabriel Drake,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/wyk6b6/,/short-story/wyk6b6/,Dark,0,"['Historical Fiction', 'Suspense']",3 likes,"
“Who are you,” asked The Silence.I understand it is pretty odd for a narrator to ask The Reader such a question. I guarantee that Who you are is just as pertinent as “who I am.” I am famous, rich, and celebrated through the passage of time. Although entirely interesting, I am still very much interested in “You” because who you are is a direct reflection of who I was.There is an Ancient saying to help you: “In Regret a Gory Test.”“Which,” said The Silence.May seem strange, and yet, it tells you everything you need to know to know exactly who I am.My name is Gregory!“I am Great;” some have even called me Saintly. I was an architect in my day; I expect you're wondering what I could have constructed to elevate me to the heights I claim.“The answer is You,” said Gregory. You and everything you believe in, which is why who you are is my greatest interest. For what is a saint but a sinner with doors to hide behind.?Let me tell you a story of one such door…“Death is The Stilled Blackness of closed eyes. In The Fainted Paleness of Light, it appears encircled and imbibed.”— The Hush of a MemorySteam rises within the private Roman bathhouse in the year 590ce; four men wearing golden masks sit in a circle with a fifth open seat. To the left of each man stood a naked slave girl, frozen in fear of the terror their futures beheld. Through the steam of frozen time, Echos of a voice reverberated off the limestone enclosure, like tuning in a radio station just coming into focus.The silence echoed, “Money is like a grease which opens any door one could want to force open without the violence of Blood & War.”Silence…Echo, “and all the slaves we could ever want to Fuck;” said with laughter.Silence…The heat of the bathhouse baked the temperature of the conversation into the walls along with the blood stains history left bare. The bathhouse wasn't extravagant; as Roman bathhouses go, it was on the plain side. Food and Wine were the only decorations in this makeshift cave. In one corner, a large bed made of pillows drew the terrified gaze of each stilled slave. The center of the room held five limestone seats, one of which sat on an elevated platform, demanding the attention of the others.On this seat was a man wearing the Golden face of Jupiter; his body showed the wearing of time his mask tried to hide. To his left lay an empty seat; the one just after held a man similar in age wearing the face of Fames, a female deity known as the personification of Hunger. Next was Febris, the goddess of Fever and Malaria. Lastly, at the right hand of Jupiter sat Pluto, the God of Death.Hades was waiting for War to arrive…The dust of that still-frozen room glistened in the torchlight. With a snap, reality crashed into motion, and that silent space flowed with life once again.An intimidating crack sank into the limestone seat with Pluto’s fist. “I want him dead, even if I have to kill him myself!”Jupiter laughed as he said, “Calm down; you aren't going to kill anyone.”“I will kill his name,” Pluto burned; “that will be good enough for me!”This time, it was Fames who tried to calm Death down; “My student, how quickly you forget our most valuable lesson. We Teach Anger; we do not practice it,” Fames bellowed.Anger infuses “The Stupid” into quicker and bloodier violence within their ignorance; we cannot control them if we succumb as well. His ideas won't keep legs long; our councils will see to that.“Yes,” fumed Pluto as he took a deep breath, “but if people start to believe that God is in them, they won't need or listen to us, and The Money Train ends!”“Is that what you all want,” scowled Pluto.A uniformed “No” echoed through the room; once subsided, a fainted whisper of pleeful cries is all that can be heard in this silent retreat.Jupiter once again commanded the conversation; “Revelations is in place, and all we need to do is set a few more dominos before the time ends on our intentions.”“We can't allow people to think beyond the problems,” chirped Febris. If men fix men's problems, what would we need God for? As long as we tie up their problems with confusion about “What is Right,” who can challenge us?“We own Right,” said Pluto with a smile of relief.“Pluto, you smug bastard,” roared the entryway.Through the doorway walked a man wearing the face of Bellona, the goddess of bloodshed, conquest, and madness in war, who rides a chariot pulled by four horses.“You really are A Taunt Genius,” mused Bellona.“Yes, I am,” smiled Pluto under his mask, “but why this time?”“It's nice of you to join us, Bellona,” Jupiter said.“Virtuoso is Rubies Aim,” said Bellona with a nod to Jupiter as he took his seat.“Your Trinity of Evil is far more effective than I initially gave you credit for; it's so simple it's almost idiotic,” said Bellona.“Simplicity breeds Conformity,” declared Pluto. “This is my very point,” he boiled; “if we lose the first leg, the whole milk stool falls.“Everyone is born a sinner; killing sinners is ok, as long as you say you're doing it for God.”Justification allows for a just war against original sin, and we blame women for it all. Generations of men won't know to think differently. The cave of men all laugh together as one.“Keep them Angry and Fucking,” faded into a distant whisper.Silence and frozen dust once again fill the air…“Why Limestone,” asks The Silence.Of all the things this dank crypt of a bathhouse could have been made with, “Why limestone?” Limestone is a freestone; it can be shaped into anything because, even in nature, God allows us to cut our own path. Once it is formed, limestone remembers every vibration of action around it.“Is the world about to end,” or am I too early for the grand reveal, quipped The Silence. “I would love to tell you who I am, but the suspense is so sweet, and I haven't had anything sweet in a very long time.”Since it's not yet “Apocolypse Now,” we should get back to then…Like pressing play on a movie, Jupiter spoke again as silence fell into the background.“If we keep people Hungry (Famine), Sick (Pestilence), and in Fear of the Death our Inquisitions will bring. WAR will be a welcomed pain ignorance allows through Victory!“They think themselves masters of life and death, appointing themselves to the glory Monsters never wait on God for,” paused The Silence.“War costs more than blood,” said Jupiter.“Fames, I want you to travel around preaching about the priceless treasures we must sell to feed the hungry,” Jupiter curled.“You want me to sell things,” Fames said, confused.“No,” barked Jupiter, “only tell people we have to sell off things so they pity us and don’t think about what they are handing over.”“Like their daughters,” said Fames as his grotesque finger ran up the terrified arm of the slave sobbing next to him.“Yes,” Jupiter said maniacally, and all their Gold!“Knowing just where to cut is what makes me A Bonsai Master,” uttered Fames with a nod. Using humility as platitude isn't really even a skill; “it's just acting.”“How are The Moirai,” Pluto asked Febris; “I assume they are on schedule?”“A Joint Menses requires devotion, and in that regard, they are not lacking, said Febris. “They are out causing sickness and death as we speak; none will be safe from their doorway.”“Good, then the fun can begin,” oozed Jupiter with evil intent in the direction of the pillowed bed.Silence cut the air a final time; we have arrived at the conclusion of this tale, but before all is revealed, I wanted to elucidate how in awe I am at your acquiescence to my will you all have been. I briefly remarked about the meaning of limestone and hinted at “Freedom of Choice” as being why memory was so final in what it becomes.It's because “You Are Limestone” you were free until we molded you into our actionable will. Look at Society and all that it has built and burned away, the very way you are allowed to move bows to our design.“Lights made of Laws,” mused The Silence.My Laws!Green allows your “Greed to Go,” while The Passions of Christ’s Love & Blood force you to Stop and Suffer Life. The selfishness of Golden’s Yellow emboldened lottery allows you to chance Death for a little more Green without consequences, especially for the rich and influential.“The Greed of your transportation alone is marvelous to behold,” Silence laughed. I promised you answers, and as The Prince of Lies, I have none for you, but they are hiding somewhere in this story.“Apathy is all that stops you from looking, so I ask again,” said The Silence.“Who Are You?”
","September 14, 2023 21:48",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,f8antb,The Wish,Nex Barnes,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/f8antb/,/short-story/f8antb/,Dark,0,"['Teens & Young Adult', 'Fantasy', 'Horror']",3 likes,"
*Does Contain Death*	
 
	A musty musk hits me first, before my eyes even open. The darkness surrounds me leaving me disoriented. The hair on the back of my neck stands straight up, pinging me with a sense of fear. My eyes open in search of familiarity, finding none.
	The room I've been transported to is nothing like home. The walls are burgundy and seem to emulate darkness, almost like an aura of danger. While the floor is soft and fuzzy like some sort of carpet, yet it squelches with every step. I turn myself around in a circle there’s no doors, nor windows in this empty box I find myself stuck in.
	A threatening presence watches over me as I observe my surroundings. I force myself to relax, this will all be over soon, I hope.
 Crash!
	The sound makes me jump nearly a foot backwards. Chains rattle to the floor, clanging around as they fall. I see them come into view from just beyond the shadow cast on the wall in front of me. The chains are made of some heavy metal that makes an odd sound. I don’t recognize it from Earth. Although, I don’t think I’m on Earth right now…
	A form slinks forward, just peeking at me. A pair of red colored eyes peer into my soul, glowing around slits for pupils. Cat-like eyes, almost circular. The slits expand and constrict within the eyes, I take another step back. My shoes squelch into the floor once again. I pull my arms to cover my torso, trying to protect myself in whatever way I can. I don’t know where I am or how I got here, but one thing’s for sure.
	I am not safe.
	The creature slides closer, revealing its body in the minimal light from above me. A black claw reaches out gripping the wall for support. These claws are at least three inches long and thick, with razor sharp points on the end of each one, they shine with sharpness. There’s only four claws on each hand and the rest of the form steps out.
	A sharp breath traps itself in my lungs with fright. My eyes wide with shock at what I’m seeing before me. The slender body saunters forward, its skin is scaly like a dragon, but sharp. My eyes drift up the form, scanning everything. The lanky body, intricate shadowy scales, and then the face… Two pairs of horns rest on top of its head, and sharp fangs hang out of its lips. It smiles at me and I cower away.
	“Hello, Jordan.” The voice is like nails on a chalkboard scraping down.
	“Who are you?” I counter.
	It moves closer to me, the chains rattling closer to me. With each step I fight the urge to flee into one of the corners and cry like a child, but I stand my ground. It leans down so we’re face to face and nudges my chin upwards with a sharp claw. I tense up, but comply with his demand. Our eyes meet and fear trickles down my spine, sending adrenaline out into my body.
	“I am King of the Umbra. The Devil, as you humans like to say. You called me to your aid, don’t you remember? The wish you want to make.”
	King of the Umbra? King of demons. Umbra means demons from Hell, basically.
	I think back to before I came here… Sitting on my bed with my face shoved into the pillow. I got home from school tired and worn out, but still wanted to do something fun with my friends. When I called one of my friends he basically blew me off for his girlfriend. Which would have been fine, except he always does this when we have plans.
	I lay in bed bored as hell and wished for a way to get rid of her.
	To get rid of her…
	My eyes find the king again and he smirks at my understanding. I take a step away from him, but he grasps my arm tight. I shake my head wildly as he drags me closer to him. I can’t kill her. I can’t get rid of her. I wasn’t being serious! Just trying to be annoyed.
	I shut my eyes tighter than ever, spots flickering behind my lids. A voice speaks to me in my mind, sounding just like my friend. Open your eyes, Jordan. Nothing can hurt you here. I don’t believe that I am safe here with the literal Devil, but open my eyes with a sense of hesitancy.
	The room I was in has changed. My feet stand on solid ground, some type of hardwood, but the color and pattern is unique. There’s no good way to describe its beauty. The room echoes with my steps and I turn around to find a grand throne in the middle of the room. Upon it is the king who looks just as terrifying as before. This time a crown has molded itself to his head, jutting up behind the horns. It looks gold, but I can’t imagine it’s made of gold. Little red gems stand alone along the spikes going higher than his horns.
	I take a few steps forward until I’m standing inside of a drawing on the floor. It’s drawn in some waxy substance. An upside down star with a circle encapsulating it. The room fades into darkness and I hear steps coming towards me.
	One by one, candles flicker to life around the circle with me in the center. They are blood red and shaped into odd designs. I can’t make out what they are or represent, but they remind me of some ancient statues and carvings from history class.
	“I will need some of your blood, Jordan.” The faint voice rings in my ears and I hold out my arm without realizing it. I didn’t move myself, but somehow my arms stuck straight out ready to be used in whatever crazy ritual this is.
	“Very good.” I can feel the creepy smirk on his lips. Out of the darkness his clawed hands shoot towards me. One holds an engraved dagger with fancy symbols I do not recognize, and the other has some sort of wetness on his. I unclench my hand and he slices it with ease. The sting makes me hiss in pain as he shakes my hand with his out slick one.
	When he lets go, my palm is healed. A thin scar left in its wake, runs over my palm. There’s no more pain, only the scar. I tuck that thought from my mind and focus on the ritual. Manic laughter sounds around the room, bouncing off the far walls and traveling back to me.
	“You have no idea what you did!” The King's voice is harsh and dark. He’s happy I did this, I’m not sure why. I don’t particularly want to find out…
	My breathing increases and I start to panic. What have I done?! I sink to the floor, curling up in a ball to calm down, but I can’t. Everything’s happening too fast, I never wanted this wish to come true. My eyes shut instinctually and don’t want to open. The noises begin to fade around me and I feel myself slipping farther and farther away from reality.
	My eyes fly open and I spring up from my position. I’m back in my room. The walls are thin and blue, my curtains flung open with light streaming in, the hardwood floors so familiar and squeaky. Everything is back to the way it was. I breathe a deep sigh of relief and turn to my door.
	I freeze when I see my wall. Scratchy writing in royal purple liquid drips down my wall with the consistency of blood, reading;
 
Don’t worry, Jordan, your wish will come true soon enough!
 
	Heavy footsteps rush up the stairs to my room, the door flies open. My dad stands there out of breath and white as a ghost. His breathing is hard and fast, he lifts a shaky hand to me. His phone is open with a message or a call log, I can’t tell.
	“Jordan… It's your mom. She was in a crash. We have to go,” he says.
	I freeze in my tracks. Mom… No. The King… My wish… I grab my shoes and a coat and run downstairs meeting my dad at the car. We drive fast to the hospital, arriving as we hear a code blue alarm blaring through the intercom.
	Everything feels so unreal as we’re whisked away to the back to see my mom. She’s laying in a bed, with nothing hooked up to her. She’s in bad shape. Cuts all along her face and arms, bruises everywhere else. She looks deathly. A doctor comes up to us and places a hand on my dad’s shoulder.
	“Tell me you can save her!” He wails.
	“I’m so sorry, sir. We tried everything, but our efforts were futile. She passed away.” My dad breaks down right there in the doorway, while I stand there frozen in my spot. I can’t believe my own mother is gone.
	I hear the faint ringing of the King’s laugh in my ear and fury bubbles within me. More voices from down the hall pull me back, it sounds like my friend. Oh no… My mind puts together the dots. His girlfriend and my mom were in the crash and they both died.
	I sink to the floor next to my dad and begin to cry. I lost my mom, and my stupid wish came true. The cost of getting rid of my best friend’s girlfriend was my mom. It was killing my own mother.
 Every wish has its price, Jordan. Yours was your mother.
	Those words send me over the edge of emotion. I become a sobbing uncontrollable mess on the floor of the hospital. My mother’s dead body in front of me, my best friend and his dead girlfriend down the hall, and my dad next to me on the floor in grief. How could this have gone so badly?
 
The End
","September 15, 2023 00:28",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,8y827v,Deal With The Devil-By Ava Walls,Ava Walls,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8y827v/,/short-story/8y827v/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Fantasy', 'Thriller']",3 likes,"
Here's my story.
 
Three years ago, it was my sixteenth birthday.
 
Times were hard.
Mother was in jail, father was drowning in debt, my brother just died in a car accident, and my younger sister was getting into many physical fights in school.
 
I was the only non-troublemaker in my house.
 
My birthday was sad. No cake, no one to sing happy birthday, no presents, no mother, no brother, no friends, no family around. Just me and all my thoughts.
 
Sometimes I wish I had a normal life.
 
The only person that keeps me sane is my best friend Luca.
Luca is a great person. Wouldn’t even hurt a fly.
 
I went to school on my birthday. It was Tuesday. He ran right up to me and gave me a bear hug. Wished me a happy birthday then ran off to class.
 
I gave myself a short smile then went to class as well.
 
My teacher took attendance and kept staring at me. He was a little weird. He called my name I said here and he then wished me happy birthday.
I said thank you.
 
He started teaching yet still kept looking at me weirdly. I skipped by it.
 
A couple of minutes later the bell rang and my teacher watched me as I left. I tried not to notice. 
“Hey Dan! Are you good?”Luca asked me.
 
“Yes,”I kept looking back at my last class.
 
“Are you sure?”
 
“Are you free after school?”
 
“Uh yea. Why do you ask?”
 
“Can you stay here after school?”
 
“Yea. I guess I can.”
 
“Meet me at my locker when the day is done.”
 
“Okay.”
 
After that I walked to my next class. I was a minute late but I don’t care.
 
 
 
The day went by and finally it was the end of the day.
I bolted to my locker.
Luca was already there. 
“So what’s up Dan?”he asked me.
“We need to spy on Mr Morse,”I replied.
“What! Why?”
“He kept staring at me weirdly the entire class.”
“Yea, but that’s just him.”into
“I just have a weird feeling about him. Please help me out man.”
“You’re lucky it’s your birthday. What do we do first?”
“We sneak into his car.”
Luca looked at me.
“We can’t sneak into his car. It will set off an alarm.”
“Don’t worry. He keeps his car unlocked.”
“How do you know this?”
“My dad dropped me off at school early a couple of days ago. Mr Morse gets here around eight thirty. I saw him. He didn;t lock his car.”
“Maybe he forgot.”
“Well we might as well check. You know, just in case.”
Luca looked at me. He wasn’t sure what he put himself into.
 
Me and Luca walked outside to where the teachers park their cars. I found Mr Morse's car and led Luca to it. 
I jiggled the trunk handle and it opened!
“Get in!”I harshly whispered to Luca.
“What! We’re hopping into his trunk!”Luca announced.
“Shut up man! Someone might hear you! Hop in the stupid trunk.”
“Fine!”
Luca slowly went into the trunk. So slowly I finally pushed him.
“God you’re slow.”
He rolled his eyes and I jumped into the trunk.
It was cramped inside his small car. Bareilly any room to move. Almost no room to breathe.
“When is he going to get her?”Luca complained.
“Any minute. Hush up.”I told him.
 
We waited for a few more minutes. Then we hear a car door open and metal keys clinking together.
“You need to stay very quiet,”I whispered to Luca.
He nodded.
The car engine started. We felt every movement in the car.
 
Ten minutes later the car stopped and Mr Morse got out of the car.
Me and Luca waited a few minutes to open the trunk.
When we thought it was safe we opened it wide enough we could squeeze out and hit the concrete ground.
 
“We’re at his house. Hide in those bushes. We’ll see what he is doing through his windows,”I said to Luca.
“Okay,”Luca said timidly.
 
We snuck over to the side of Mr Morse’s house and peered through the window.
We carefully watched everything Mr Morse did. Obviously when he went into the bathroom or his bedroom we didn't go. I think that would be a little ring.
 
Thirty minutes later Luca’s phone rang.
It was his mom. He had to answer.
“I have to go. My mom wants me home,”Luca said.
“Okay. You go. I’m going to stay here.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Tell her I said hi.”
“I will. See you tomorrow.”
 
Luca ran off. I still crouched into the bushes. 
When I looked back into the window, I couldn’t see Mr Morse. The bathroom light was off and his bedroom door was still open. Some reason every time he goes into his room he closes the door.
 
All of a sudden I felt a cold, dry, boney hand grab my shoulder.
“Hello Dan. Can I help you?”Mr Morse looked down at me.
“Mr Morse. What’s up? Yea, I wanted to ask you a question on the homework that you assigned today,”luckily he did give us homework today.
“Then where is your homework?”
“In my school bag. I didn’t want it to get ripped up by these bushes.”
“Why are you in my bushes Dan?”
“I fell.”
“Ah. How about you come inside? I can answer all your questions on your homework.”
“Thank you.”
Mr Morse had his hand still on my shoulder leading me into his house.
He let me sit in this uncomfortable chair in his living room.
“Now, what can I help you with, Dan?”
I quickly pulled out the homework he gave out.
“Question four Mr Morse. I don’t understand it. Math is hard for me.” 
Mr Morse explained the problem to me.
 
I stayed there till I was done with my homework.
Mr Morse kept giving these looks the entire time.
“I knew you were the one,”Mr Morse cracked a laugh.
“What? What are you talking about?”I looked at him.
“I know why you’re really here. You were spying. Made Luca come with you.”
“That’s not why you said that. Is it?”
“I knew you were clever. No, I’ve had my eye on you for a while now.”
“Who are you Mr Morse? I can tell you’ve been off. Well I only saw that you were off today but still.”
“Me. I killed Mr Morse.”
“Then who are you? Why do you look exactly like Mr Morse?”
“I. Am. The. Devil.”
“The devil?”
“Yes boy. Now listen to me.”
His eyes turned red, but with a gold speck in his eye. He grinned. The skin he disguised himself as started to peel showing his true red self. Horns grew out of his skull. 
I looked into his eyes and my mind blanked.
“Are you listening boy?”the devil asked me.
“I’m always listening to you,”I replied. I had no control on what I was saying.
“You do as I say. You kill when I tell you to. If you refuse well then you’ll be dragged down here with me. You got that?”
“Of course master.”
“Good. Now sign this.”
A black contract with red shading, blood dripping off it appeared in front of me.
A crow feather quill popped into my hand.
I had no control. I signed it.
The devil grinned then I woke up from whatever was happening.
“What just happened?”I said, looking around at my surroundings.
“You just made a deal with the devil.”
“What! What did I agree to?”
“You just agreed to kill or be dragged down here with me.”
“Well I’m not doing it.”
“You signed a contract Dan. You refuse and I have proof to drag you down.”
I looked at the devil. I scowled at him.
He was smiling. It was a huge smile. The sharp teeth he had glinted in the lights that hung above.
“Go away now Dan. I come to get you when I want you to kill.”
I grabbed my things and headed to the door.
“Also remember. You tell anyone about this. You’ll be dragged down with me too.”
“Yes sir,”I replied.
I walked out his door then to my house.
 
When I got to my house my father was already there. Not usual.
I opened my front door and saw my dad at the kitchen table.
“Hey father. You’re home early,”I said.
“Helle Dan. Just finished up at the office early today. Didn’t feel like sitting there for another hour so I decided to come back. Anyways, how was your day son?”
I paused for a moment. “It was good. People were being annoying and my teachers were being obnoxious.”
“This is why I am happy I’m not in middle school anymore.”
“It’s exciting sometimes.”
“Well, I’m making dinner in a few moments. Can you go check on your sister? I grounded her again. She got into another fight in school.”
“Sure.”
I walked upstairs and into my sister's room.
“Shelby?”I knocked on the door.
“Get out!”she shouted.
Loud music was playing in her room.
“I just came to talk.”
“Everyone comes to talk. Then five minutes later they’re yelling at me. Next thing I know I’m grounded. So sure. Come and talk to me.”
“I’m not father.”
“I know you're not Dan. What do you want?”
“I just came to check on you.”
“Well you have. Now leave!”
She pointed to the door.
 
I turned my back to her room and shut the door behind me.
I walked across the hall and into my room.
When I walked in I was spinning, I felt like falling.
“Dan,”the devil’s voice came into my ear.
“Yes?”I crossed my hands.
“Listen.”
“Of course I’m listening. You said my name.”
“There is someone at the creek. No one else is there. Kill this man.”
“As you wish.”
 
I grabbed my bag and went to the kitchen. Father wasn't there yet. I heard him in the bathroom.
I quickly grabbed a knife, shoved it in my bag, then left a note on the kitchen table telling my father I left again but will be back before dinner.
 
It took ten minutes to walk to the creek. I saw the man.
He was no younger than fifty, gray hair, pale skin. He was just sitting beside the creek.
I couldn’t believe what I was about to do.
 
I pulled out the knife from my bag and walked behind the man. 
He looked calm and at peace. I’m about to ruin his life. His family's life. He probably has kids who still need him and a wife that he loves.
 
My hand was shaking. I couldn’t keep the knife steady.
Then I did it. Straight into the man's back, where he then collapsed into the creek face first.
I quickly washed off the blood from my knife off in the creek then ran back home. 
I didn’t look back.
 
When I got home I put the knife back without my father noticing and ran up to my room.
“Good job Dan. I didn’t think you had it in you,”the devil said in my ear.
“You’re terrible,”I answered.
“Really! No kidding, I'm terrible. I am the devil for a reason.”
 
 
Months went by. I kept having to kill and kill. I hated it.
The entire time I always wanted to shout at the devil. “NO! I’m not doing it.” “Or stop!” If I did. I would die.
I think I deserve to die right now.
The people I killed had lives. Families. Friends. I took that all the way. I wasn’t only killing the person I was killing part of the hearts of the people who loved them.
I was a terrible person.
No one caught me. No one knew who I was. 
I remember watching the news with my father one day and it showed all the killings that happened in that past few months. 
I panicked.
I tried hiding it but my father always asked me if I was okay.
I would always shake my head yes then turn back to the tv.
 
The last kill stopped me.
It was a few weeks after Halloween and I was talking to one of my friends when I heard the devil's voice in my ear.
I said I needed to go to the bathroom and ran off.
 
I got to the bathroom. I knew I couldn't start talking randomly by myself so I went into a private bathroom.
“You really shouldn’t talk to me when I am in school or with my friend.”I said to the devil.
“Oh stop complaining. Now I need to kill someone,”the devil said.
“Really. It’s not like you ever wanted to just talk to me for fun.”
“I need you to kill…”
The name he said stuck to me. It was hard to imagine what he just told me.
He wanted me to kill..Luca!
“I can’t. I can’t kill my best friend.”
“I bet you can. Just kill him. He is an annoying one to teach. Goodness, all he does is talk to Freddy.”
“I can’t kill him. He’s my best friend!”
“Do it, and you will be free.”
His voice faded away and I was left there to think.
I could never kill Luca. How would I ever attempt on killing him?
 
 
Hours passed and I knew I needed to kill him.
I called Luca telling him to meet me at the lake. 
The lake was a little lake that no one ever went to.
Luca agreed and told me he will leave his house in a few minutes. 
I left a couple minutes before.
 
 
 
I was at the lake a few minutes before Luca.
When he got there he had his fishing pole.
As he was fishing I was pacing back and forth.
I finally got the courage.
 
 
I pulled out my knife from my bag and held it above Luca.
Then…. I broke down in tears.
Luca looked back at me.
“Are you okay?”he asked me.
“No,”I simply replied.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I was going to kill you.”
“What!”
“I was caught after you left Mr Morse house. He revealed to me that he killed Mr Morse and was the devil. He hypnotized me and made me sign a contract. If I didn’t kill then I was going to be sent down with him.”
“He told you to kill me!?”
“Yes. I just couldn’t.”
Then he showed up.
“You forgot what was the other thing I said with the contract,”the devil said behind me.
“What would that be?”I said.
“You tell anyone you will be sent down here with me.”
I turned around to him. He grabbed my ankle and opened a black hole to the underworld.
“Please don’t,”I cried.
“Say goodbye to Luca,”the devil grinned.
I was dragged down. The last thing I heard of the outside world was Luca’s cries. He pleads to let the devil let go of me.
I’ll never see my sister, my father, or my mother who soon will get out of prison again.
Goodbye world. 
 
","September 15, 2023 00:36",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,2j7oc2,Lazarus Love,Kiri Tuck,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/2j7oc2/,/short-story/2j7oc2/,Dark,0,['Sad'],3 likes,"
She had a freckle on the thin, pale cartilage of her left ear he had never noticed before. It made him angry -- that there was some fragmented intimacy stolen from him, that this first merciful viewing was simultaneously the final one, and that he had previously been oblivious to its significance -- now sickeningly vibrant in its posthumous corporeality.It felt that way, anyway. That the freckle was more than just a freckle, that it was something pure -- cultivated not simply of the sun, but by some divine intervention, and placed wickedly at the tips of his fingers now. She was still; entirely unmoving, and so, so cold. He was numb, head heavy, hands trembling; entirely inconsolable. This exodus -- enveloped in a poison-gas cloud of grieving desperation -- disentangled itself with a startling stillness, pale complexion, and paralyzing devastation disguised cleverly under the same faux cloaked dullness of an old silent film. The room seemed to shake with the shuddering, wretched breath of a wounded animal, and the air was so thick he was dizzy with it.A year ago, they had brushed their teeth over the rusty porcelain sink of an empty apartment. They had stood shoulder to shoulder, bare feet on the cold tile and eyes heavy with the anticipation of sleep. She had paused momentarily to rinse the dribbling toothpaste from her chin before turning to face him. She had said it softly, and in such a casual manner he almost believed it wasn't the most awful formulation of her lips he had watched before. Honey, I want to die by my own design. It seemed so silly, to think of it that way -- in terms of passion and beauty and free will. He didn’t agree. I want to die in something gruesome: a freak accident, a sacrifice, some grand final bow. To sound it out, feel it form upon his tongue and escape his lips -- was it charming? Was it lovely? He knew to choke his words down when they came out ugly; he knew to punish his throat for its ignorance. They had patted their mouths dry in silence. There wasn’t much else to say. His knees ached from kneeling upon the hard, sterile floor. He stood unsteadily, stealing a final glance of the tip of her freckled ear. He waited motionless, as if generously supplying her one last chance to spring from bed -- to confess her deception with a laugh and a hint of witty disposition. She remained still. He turned for the door. The crossroad was desolate. It was cold and wet outside, and the blaring train echoed mockingly through the forest. He dropped once again to his bruised knees, tilting his chin to the sky and closing his eyes in terrified anticipation. He was no devout believer; his life was not one of a righteous man. He prayed in spite of it. He was reeling, insatiable, savage; incoherent in his bargaining.Please, help her, please..I know I don't deserve it, God, but she does...She deserves it, please...It appeared before him at last -- not quite discerning enough to be human, and not grotesque enough to be monstrous. It was cloaked entirely in shadows, no matter how the moon shined upon the road. It moved in a haphazard, uncanny manner, as if unable to properly remember the basic functions of the human form. This was no creature of God. Under any other circumstance, he supposed he would be frightened. Instead, he felt relieved.“Did you love her?”It wasn’t a question -- not really. It was a loaded gun to the temple. He had loved her so much he used to choke on it, unable to breathe -- as if his feelings had materialized and sat heavy upon his lungs. He had loved her the way a rabid animal might: hopeless, misunderstood, incapable. Aggressive in his loyalty, unknowing of his disease. He had hoped to at least be frightening in such a way that was endearing: eyes shining helplessly, foaming at the mouth, sick, apologetic. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I want to taste your fleshI’m sorry, I can’t help itMy depth is an illusion, I’m sorryHe was shallow, she could touch the bottom of him -- feel her feet in the mud. She hadn't believed him, she had dived headfirst, and she had started bleeding, and he had become diluted with her. He had loved her as the moth does the porch light: compulsive, obsessive, oblivious. Him, inconsequential and sick with devotion; her, beaming with pride and flickering wearily with age. “Yes.”“Her life for yours?”“Yes.”He was a leech, and he had stolen the lovely bits of his environment; he had chewed and spit the rest -- left it undigested and ugly. He had dipped his toes in every pool he had come across, and in the end he was just pruned and shivering. “Is life this shallow swimming pool? To want, to pray, to wonder… Does a creature dwell in its depths? Is this water poison acid?” The two figures paced toward one another, and with each step the blurred line of man and monster faded. It was unclear, now, who was the buyer and who the seller.“There is mud in the end. It is dirty, and it is awful. It is foolish to expect anything more.”The creature shifted forward, offering a pale, slender hand to the man. Hesitantly, he accepted the handshake, bracing for some grand, violent gesture or brutal retaliation. It did not come.It wasn’t harsh at first. Death, as it seems, is quite like turning off the television. It plays on, but no one is watching. It was dark, and his eyes ached, and he could hear only muffled traces of the train as if his ears were made of cotton. His skin was laced with goosebumps but his head unbearably hot, and his mouth was dry and sour. Still, he smiled. He thought of her reanimated, lovely, and warm. His lazarus love would rise again. 
","September 10, 2023 15:25",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,e7c8jq,The devil is in the details,Omar Scott,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/e7c8jq/,/short-story/e7c8jq/,Dark,0,"['African American', 'Mystery', 'Fiction']",3 likes,"
                                			 The Devil is in the details                                                               By                                                       Omar ScottRodney sat on a park bench looking at the sunset as if he was watching it for the last time. Dejected, he reflected on his life and wondered where he went wrong. Every bad decision, every opportunity missed ran through his mind over and over again, like a scratched record. The crushing weight of providing for a family just got heavier than ever with the loss of the one job he was able to get. He didn’t even have the thousand dollars needed to pay this month’s rent. How am I going to explain this to wife, he thought to himself.	Rodney stared into that horizon hoping that God would answer his prayers. That he would rescue him, and with a wave of his mighty hand, all his problems would disappear like magic. But sadly, like so many other times, those prayers went unanswered. Contemplating the conversation he was going to have with his wife, he took a deep breath and buried his face in his hands. Although he was surrounded by kids playing, dogs barking, and car whizzing by, he felt so alone with just his dark thoughts to keep him company.           “Hi there,” a smooth, warm voice said starling him.Rodney slowly raised his head. Sulking, he didn’t notice the man that had taken a seat next to him on the bench.“Tough day?”	Rodney’s hazel eyes begin to focus on the gentleman. He noticed the clean black suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie that made up the attire of the well-groomed man with the sympathetic expression. “Whatever your selling, I’m not interested,” Rodney said rather dismissively. 	“Oh, I’m not a salesman. I offer opportunities.”Rodney looked down at his shoes, which were polished and shining like mirrors as he said, “I have a church home.”	The man scooted closer and bent over so that he was face to face with Rodney, “And how is that working out for you?”	Rodney raised an eyebrow as he locked eyes with the man for the first time. The stranger’s eyes were so dark; it was like looking at midnight. His olive skin stretched over his slender face with prominent features. A sharp contrast to Rodney’s stocky build. Rodney sat up on the bench as the man’s demeanor finally grabbed his attention. Although the thought had run through his mind, he never thought about actually speaking the words until now, “Belonging to the church has never done anything for me.”	“I know. It’s funny how the church is always broke. They always need your money, your ten percent, but when the shoe is on the other foot, they tell you to pray for what you need,” the strange man said with a smile.	“Yeah, you right,” Rodney nodded in agreement.	“But what if I could offer you real help? Put cash in your pocket, right here, right now.”	Rodney looked him up and down, “What kind game are you running, man?”	“No game,” the stranger said reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a money clip filled with hundred dollar bills. Rodney’s eyes widened. “What’s the catch?”	The stranger reached into his pocket again and pulled out a notecard and handed it to him, “All you have to do is say this?”Rodney took the card and scanned it over. He chuckled, “You serious?”	“Dead serious,” he replied with a stoic face. He counted out twenty-one hundred dollar bills and held them in front of Rodney’s face, “Here is two thousand dollars. Get on your knees and read what’s on the card and the money is yours,” he said as he stood up and clutched his lapel.	Rodney scratched his head as he mulled over his offer. The money could pay his rent and buy him some time. He glanced at the sun again and back down at the card. Fuck it, what do I have to lose, he thought to himself. Closing his eyes, he took in a breath and held it. As he released it, he fell to a knee and began reading off the card, 					 	“You are the light bringer. The most beautiful of all. The redeemer of man. The true king of kings. And the world will bow at your feet.”	The stranger closed his eyes and his body trembled like he had an orgasm. With a sinister grin, he took Rodney’s hand and placed the money in it, “Here you go as promised. And there’s more where that came from. When you’re ready.”Rodney took the cash and thumbed through it. “More?”	“I can end your misery. Help you start that restaurant you always wanted. Save your marriage?”	Rodney’s jaw dropped, as he stumbled to get the words out, “How did you know that?”	“I know everything about you Rodney Williams. Born August 10th 1980 in Phoenix, Arizona. Went to culinary school but flunked out in your second year. Married in 2009. And you owe five thousand in back taxes, six thousand in student loans, three thousand in back child support, and you lost your job as a line cook this morning.”	“How did you know that? Who are you?”	“Those aren’t the questions you should be asking. Your focus is all wrong. You should be asking yourself what do I have to do to get more money?” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card and handed it to him, “Just like I put that money in your hands, I could do so much more. More than you could ever imagine. I can help you build an empire. Money and power will be at your fingertips. It’s the opportunity of a life time,” he said straightening his suit and smoothing down his black wavy hair, “Think about it. And when you’re ready, call me.”	Rodney took the card and studied it closely. On the front was an L in the middle of a five pointed star. He flipped it to the back to find only a phone number. Then his focus went back to the cash in his hand. He folded the money and the card together. Stuffed them in his pocket. And when he looked up again, the strange man was gone.           With his head on a swivel to make sure nobody saw him stash the money, Rodney scurried away with a huge grin on his face. He breathed of sigh of relief only when he reached his apartment and locked the door. His interaction with this guy, and the fact that he lost his job was going to be his little secret. He paid the rent on his tiny rundown apartment. And then he treated his wife to a nice dinner at Olive Garden. Oblivious to his intentions, she made love to him for the first time in months. Life was wonderful.            Over the next three weeks Rodney pounded the pavement looking for a new job. He put in applications everywhere they served food. But he couldn’t find anything. Not even McDonalds was hiring to flip burgers. The extra money was quickly drying up, and the first of the month was rapidly approaching. Rodney found himself at the same park bench, looking at the same evening sun, wondering what was he going to do. He’d borrowed money from so many family members, he couldn’t show his face again at another family function. He tried getting unemployment, but was denied. He tried getting a payday loan, but they said his car was too old. I can’t catch a break, he thought to himself. Then it hit him. He reached in his wallet and pulled out that business card that the strange man had given him. Twirling it around in his hands, Rodney contemplated calling for a few ticks. With each second that passed, the hopelessness of his situation became more evident. Feeling he had no choice, he made the call.           “Hello Mr. Williams. I’ve been waiting to hear from you,” the strange man said.           “I think I want to take you up on your offer,” Rodney replied pacing back and forth, rubbing the back of his head.           “Excellent. Don’t move. I’ll be there momentarily to discuss terms,” he said before abruptly hanging up.           Rodney was confused. How did he know I would call, and how did he know where I was at, he thought to himself. Before he could come up with answers in his mind, there he was walking through the park in another black suit carrying a briefcase. He had the look of a confident stockbroker or banker looking to close a big deal. He stood in front of Rodney with his chest out and chin high.           “You have made a wise decision Mr. Williams,” he said setting down his briefcase on the bench. He unlocked the combination and popped the case open. It was neatly filled with stacks of hundred dollar bills, “This is just a small sample of what you can expect.”           “Wow.” Rodney’s eyes almost popped out of his head as he ran his fingers over the cash. He picked up a stack and smelled it before rubbing it on his cheek. He was grinning from ear to ear. “This is all mine?”           “All yours my friend. A half million dollars.”           “And all I have do is read the card like before?” Rodney eagerly asked.           The stranger stepped closer and put his hand on Rodney’s shoulder. He looked deep into Rodney’s eyes and said, “I’m going to need a whole lot more than that. I want your soul.”           Rodney laughed, “Yeah right.”           The stranger took the cash right out of Rodney’s hands and closed the briefcase. “No soul, no cash.”           With a puzzled look on his face, Rodney asked, “You’re serious?”           “Always,” the stranger responded bluntly.           “And just how do you suppose I give you my soul?”           The stranger reached into his pocket and pulled out a contract, “I just need a signature.”           Rodney looked at the contract while fighting off a smile, “This contract is blank.”           “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fill it in later. Just sign on the line and the money, and all the riches in the world is yours,” he said handing Rodney a pen with a sinister grin.           “All I have to do is sign? That’s it?”           “That’s it,” he said with a shrug. “What do you have to lose?”                   The wheels in Rodney’s mind began to turn. At first he thought this dude was running some kind of game. Then he thought, maybe he is just an eccentric rich man doing things for kicks. But now, he was certain this guy was certifiably crazy. He could milk this dude for all he got. God was finally answering his prayers. Fortune had shine its light on him. This was the opportunity he’d been waiting his whole life for. He quickly signed the contract and swiped the briefcase full of cash.                                                           *Rodney woke up in his king size bed. He peeled back the Egyptian cotton sheets and slid his feet into a pair of plush slippers. As he stretched, he looked around his massive master suite. Nobody but him once again. It was so quiet that he could hear the air condition unit click on and start running. Slumped shoulder, he stepped on to the marble floor of his bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. Then he slipped on a custom made suit and some Italian leather shoes. Next, he opened the French doors to his room and made his was down the spiral staircase and into his gourmet kitchen.           “Good Moring sir. Do you care for some breakfast?” his wrinkled old butler asked in a thick English accent.           “No thanks. I’ll take a cup of coffee to go. Have the driver to bring the car around,” Rodney replied.           “Yes sir. Here’s your paper,” he said handing Rodney a freshly folded newspaper.           Rodney opened it up and looked at the date. Then it occurred to him. Today was the ten-year anniversary of the day he took that briefcase of cash from that stranger. He shook his head. His eyes glanced over the headlines until he saw the one with his name on it. “Rodney William and his firm under investigation for insider trading,” Rodney said with disgust as he slammed the paper on the counter, “Damn it!”           He grabbed his coffee and slipped into the backseat of his Range Rover. He pulled out his phone and check his messages. All of them where business related. No calls or text from family or friends as usual. Shaking his head, he glared out the window like a lost puppy dog as he made his way to the office. The light turned green as they stopped in front of the old park he used to hang out at.           “Stop here, Ted,” he commanded the driver.           He hopped out the car and strolled over to the park bench. He took a seat and looked at the sun like he used to. Then he heard a familiar voice from behind.           “Good morning Mr. Williams. Didn’t think I would ever see you here again.”           Rodney spun around and almost fell on his ass. He lost all the color in his face as he blurted out, “You.”           The stranger smiled and nodded his head. He was impeccably dressed as normal, holding a briefcase, “I see you have done well. Everything you wanted. Just as we agreed.”           Rodney steadied himself and stood up straight, “You lied to me. You ruined my life.”           Stone face, the stranger replied, “I didn’t do anything to your life. I simply gave you what you asked for. Money and power.”           “And the more money I got, the more it pushed everyone away. My wife left me. My kid won’t talk to me. I have no friends. My family won’t have anything to do with me. I’m surrounded by backstabbers. I’m under investigation. All I have is problems. And it’s all your fault,” Rodney shouted in anger.           “You should have thought of the consequences before you signed the contract,” the stranger said coldly.           “But I never saw that finished contract. So how am I supposed to know the consequences?” Rodney said in frustration with his palms up.           The strange man opened his briefcase, pulled out the contract, and handed to Rodney. Rodney snatched it from him and opened it. His eyes focused on every word as his jaw hit the floor. He read the last part out loud, “As a condition you agree to trade all relationships for cash received,” Rodney threw the contract to the ground. “You tricked me. What did you do, bribe my family and friends not to talk to me? The deal is off. I want my old life. I’ll give you back your money.”           “All deals are final,” the stranger said as his eyes turned fire red. His ominous presence and evil expression casted a dark shadow over the whole park, like storm clouds rolling in during a tornado.The eerie vibe made the hairs on Rodney’s neck stand up. His spine was cold as ice, and his hands began to shake violently. He took a step back as he stuttered the words, “Who are you? Really?”“I have so many names, in so many languages. I lose track,” he said with a slight chuckle.           The realization of who he made the deal with hit like cold water when your dead asleep. “The devil.”           “I hate that name. Call me Lucifer,” he said as his lips curled into a devilish grin.                                               The End
","September 15, 2023 02:34",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,l9tynf,Lipstick,Roshini Perera,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/l9tynf/,/short-story/l9tynf/,Dark,0,"['Horror', 'Fiction']",3 likes,"
The sun was setting, casting a forlorn golden cast over Main Street, Colombo.  The surrounding buildings looked as if they were studded with rhinestones. Illu collected his shoe-mending tools and deposited them in the dirty wooden box, hoping to call it a day. As he was about to lock the box, he saw a gleaming white 1998 Brand new Prado pull over in front of him. He stopped his work for a while and looked at its massive black tyres, wondering who it might be. He heard the thump of a car door, and in a few seconds, he saw a pair of shining black shoes walk towards him. Illu lifted his head to look at a gentleman in a tuxedo bending towards him. Strong notes of musk and cedar emanated from his clean-shaven face.“Do you mend shoes? Are you done for the day?” A deep voice asked in a polite tone. Illu gave a vague nod, which could have meant either he mended shoes, or he was done for the day or both. “My wife…actually my wife-to-be, broke her shoe. It’s an expensive pair, and we are on the way to a party. I need it amended soon. Can you do it for us? I will pay you well.” The man elaborated on his problem.Illu watched for a moment and started opening his box and taking the tools out, which gave away the message that he was ready to do it.“Great. I will bring her here.” The man went to the Prado and opened the door for his lady. Illu saw a graceful-looking foot clad in a red stiletto touch the tarmac. As he looked up, Illu’s eyes beheld the most beautiful woman he had ever seen get down from the Prado. She was a curvy, slim lady dressed in an expensive-looking, shiny, figure-hugging red dress. Black ringlets of hair bounced on her shoulders as she limped towards Illu in her broken shoe. The gentleman moved aside, giving her way to reach the cobbler. A new luxurious fragrance filled the expanse. The woman looked at his man, her coal-black eyes shining.“Who is this, Oliver? Can’t we find a decent professional to get this done, for God’s sake!?” A husky female voice full of vanity spoke.“No professional can do a better job like these people do, Lauraine.” The man replied. He looked uneasy in front of the woman.“Well, let’s see. You better not ruin the shoe, Mr.…whoever you are.” She proffered her foot in the broken shoe towards Illu unceremoniously.“Lauraine…” The man loudly whispered to her.“What?” She turned to face the man.“Let me loosen it for you,” Oliver told Illu and hurriedly bent towards Lauraine’s foot, but she stopped him with her slender arm adorned with a thick gold bracelet embedded with white stones. “Let him do it, Oliver. Go ahead, pauper, we don’t have all night.” Her tone was arrogant as she shot a burning glance at her fiancé. Illu looked at her face. Beautiful features and flawless skin. Her blood-red lips contrasted against her smooth, white skin. Too much vanity for beauty. Illu thought to himself as he gently unbuckled her shoe, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against her soft, pedicured foot. “Cut it, you pervert!” Illu visibly shook at the words as she pulled her foot.“I’m sorry.” Illu’s voice was barely audible in the night air saturated with the thrumming engines and tooting horns. It was a five-minute work. Illu fixed the shoe, wiped it with the cleanest cloth he had and offered it to the lady.“Here you go, Miss. You can dance all night without fear.” Illu humbly said without looking at either of them. Instead of picking up the shoe, the woman again thrust her foot towards Illu. “Loraine, no! I’ll do it.” Oliver bent to take the shoe from the cobbler, but again, the woman stopped him.“Know your place, Oliver.” She clung to the man’s arm and extended her foot harder towards Illu. Illu didn’t speak. He put the shoe on her foot and fastened the buckle.The man profusely thanked the cobbler and gave him a thousand rupee note.“It’s only fifty rupees, Sir. I don’t have enough change to give you the balance.” Illu gave a pleading look at the man.“Oh, no problem. Keep it. It’s a gift for your kindness. Thanks for tending to our need when you were just closing up.” Oliver paid his gratitude more to cover up Lauraine’s rudeness.“Gift?” The woman gave a loud laugh. “We will make sure you’ll work for the balance. Next time, you will serve us for free. I will send all the broken shoes this way. Let’s go, Oliver. Our friends must be waiting.” She turned to leave but then noticed something that visibly appalled her. The cobbler was sitting on a low wooden bench with small wheels, his bone-thin, wasted legs crossed on the wooden plank.Lauraine sneered. “So, you mend other people’s shoes when you, yourself, can’t even walk? Oliver, don’t you think that is the best example of irony?” She gave out a sweet laugh while absentmindedly tossing a crumpled ball of tissue smeared with red lipstick. It fell inside Illu’s toolbox. He clenched his jaw, took a deep breath and silently collected his tools.“Laurain, that is enough!” Oliver dragged the woman to the Prado, stuffed her in and closed the passenger door with extra force. He looked at the cobbler from there and nodded to say thank you. As the Prado sped away, Illu watched it intently, his hand inside the toolbox, toying with the crumpled tissue and mumbled to the thin air, “…the best example of irony,” and smiled from the corner of his mouth.At the party, Lauraine danced through the night and had the time of her life chatting and laughing with their friends. The incident at the cobbler simply slipped off her mind. Other ladies commented on her outfit and her shoes. Some ladies couldn’t hide their envy as Lauraine moved among the crowd, holding a glass of red wine as red as her lips and outfit showing off her figure that was complemented by her rhythmic walk. At the same time, while Lauraine was laughing and dancing away the night, in a dark corner of the city, a crippled man sat in a shrine. Oil lamps and smoke lighted the small, cramped inner space. In front of him was a statue of Suniyam Yaka (Suniyam Devil), a fierce local demon of destruction. The blue-skinned, pig-footed demon stood alongside a blue horse, looking at the world with his rageful eyes, holding a trident and pan of fire. His head and body were adorned with serpents, and the lolling tongue in between the white fangs and the skirt made of tiger skin spoke a thousand words of his destructive power. Illu held his gaze at the statue, rolling the lipstick-smeared tissue in his hand. He told the demon about the inhumane humiliation from the arrogant lady in red. His stomach churned with anger and the need to take revenge. Finally, he lit a lamp directed towards the southeast direction and made his pact. Keeping the woman’s lipstick-smeared ball of tissue at the feet of the statue, he made his entreaty. He did not specify what he wanted, but he requested the demon that the haughty woman taste the consequences of her own words. In return, he would make an offering to the demon—a freshly decapitated goat.When the couple left the party, it was the wee hours of the next day. Lauraine was drunk, and Oliver had to help her into the vehicle and drop her at her apartment in the heart of the city. Lauraine was so tipsy that she didn’t even bother changing her clothes. She just sprawled on her queen-sized luxury bed and drifted off to sleep in a matter of seconds. She had a disturbed sleep full of nightmares where a blue-skinned humanoid figure stabbed at her legs with a trident.The day broke with the warm apricot hue of the rising sun. The city started a new day filled with gasoline fumes and blaring horns. People went to work, and the streets became busy by the minute. Oliver drove his Prado towards his workplace. He was tired and sleepy, but late-night partying was no excuse. On his way, he passed the spot where he stopped to get the service of the cobbler. It was empty. But as the vehicle moved forward, in the corner of his eye, Oliver saw a familiar figure slowly strolling towards the opposite direction, carrying a box and something like a wooden plank. In his sleep-laden state, he was not sure about what he saw. But as his brain registered, the man was none other than the crippled cobbler he met yesterday. But he was walking. Oliver hit the break abruptly, leading to a line of angry horns behind him. He quickly pulled over, got out of the vehicle and ran towards the man. But Oliver couldn’t find him. In his indecisive state, Oliver walked along the pavement until he came to the cobbler’s spot. There, he found Illu seated on the same wheeled bench, opening the box of tools to start the day. Sensing a panicked arrival, Illu turned his head to look at the first customer of the day.“Good day, Sir. How can I help you?” Illu did not show any sign of recognition.“Good day. Do you remember me? I came here last night with my girlfriend to get her shoe mended. The lady in the red dress.” Oliver recalled yesterday’s event, hoping for recognition from the cobbler. “Is the shoe all right, Sir? I hope it didn’t break again.” Illu’s answer didn’t show specific recognition but rather a generic statement.“No…well, not during the night. I hope it is in good shape. But…I need to speak with you. Do you have a minute to have a cup of tea?” Oliver was impatient to shoot out his line of questions.Illu pointed to a small stainless-steel cup next to him, filled with a light brown liquid. “My tea, Sir. Bought on my way to work.” Oliver realised that it was an indirect and polite refusal.“But…pardon my saying…weren’t you…umm…I mean…” Oliver searched for a polite word that would not offend the mysterious man.“Crippled?” Illu offered with his brown raised. He was unloading the toolbox and was not even looking at Oliver, who went speechless.“Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. But… I saw you …walking five minutes ago, so… I was just… curious.” Oliver staggered. “Given… how Lauraine behaved and spoke to you last night. Mr. I’m sorry.” Oliver looked down at his polished black shoes, now covered in a thin layer of dust. Illu looked at Oliver.“You are a good man. It was not your fault, so you don’t have to apologise to me. Give me those shoes. I will polish it for you.” Illu offered.Oliver smiled through his confusion. He bent and took off his shoes, gave the pair to Illu with both hands and stood on the pavement in his socks while Illu took the shoes and started polishing them.“I know this is none of my business, but you know, that woman doesn’t suit you,” Illu spoke as he brushed the shoe vigorously. Oliver looked down and flexed his toes, deep in thought.“Here are your shoes, Sir. I don’t need money.” Illu handed him the polished shoes. Oliver was speechless. He opened his mouth to say not to mind Lauraine’s harsh words about the balance yesterday, but Illu held the finger to his lips and indicated not to speak. He thanked the cobbler and drove away with a heavy heart and more perplexed than ever. In her apartment bedroom, Lauraine woke up past 10 a.m. She tried to roll on her back but instantly felt something was wrong. Her hangover was terrible, and her head throbbed. But beyond that, she felt something was very wrong with her body. She tried to sit up and immediately realised she could not move her legs. Her heart rate rose, and she went into a panicked state in seconds. She touched her thigh and felt an odd sensation as if touching cotton wool. The touch sensation was minimal, and her legs were clearly not working. She felt her breathing become rapid, and she groped the bed to find her phone. She did not know whom to call, so she dialled the first number on her recent call list, which was Oliver’s. As Oliver answered the phone, Lauraine started blurting out her words, masked by heavy sobs and panicked breathing.  Within an hour, Oliver and Lauraine were at the emergency treatment unit of a private hospital along with Lauraine’s nonplussed parents. Tests were performed, and her history was taken at length, but the doctors could not find a medically explicable cause for her condition. Lauraine was restricted to a wheelchair.Oliver, confused and scared, drove back to the old spot to meet the mysterious cobbler. He was sure something had happened, and the cobbler was the only key to finding it. But to his utter dismay, he found the cobbler’s spot empty. Oliver searched the whole expanse, asking for the cobbler and describing his looks to all the vendors he met, but nobody could give a helpful answer except for a beggar who sat near the traffic lights.“His name is Illu, a born cripple. Don’t know where he lives. One thing I know: he is a devil’s child. God forbid, I saw him walking towards his spot this morning.” The beggar put the sign of the cross and planted a kiss on an old and tattered prayer book. Oliver felt a chill run along his spine, and he rubbed his arms to calm down the goosebumps. Over the weeks, Illu enjoyed his newfound ability to walk. He roamed all the streets of Colombo and even found a small job at a street food vendor for a better salary than being a cobbler. As days passed by, he simply forgot the whole incident and his promise to the demon. He was busy with his job and dreaming of his own business. Three months passed in a bat of an eyelid. Lauraine wandered the whole country looking for a doctor who could cure her, spending hefty amounts of money on quacks and medications that didn’t work. As time passed, all of a sudden, Illu started having nightmares of elephants. He didn’t mind. He didn’t have time to waste on nightmares as he had a dream to achieve. Then, Illu started to feel the physical weakness and aches in his legs. He attributed them to the long hours of standing and just ignored them. When the pain was too much, he popped in a painkiller. But his world came to a crashing halt when, one morning, he woke up and found out that he could not walk anymore. Illu was back at square one. But that was not what horrified him. Instead of his old, emaciated legs, there were two hind legs of a black goat, complete with hoofs. Illu screamed in horror, pulling his hair and his eyes popping out, but he was too late. It was only then that he realised the grave mistake he had made. A pact with a demon was no game. He was again thrown to his old, wheeled bench, but this time, he had to throw a cloth over his disfigured and eerie legs to prevent people from recoiling. Distressed and out of his mind, Illu started his cobbler business once again at the old spot.One day, while he was sitting there without a business, a familiar Prado pulled over. “How are you? I just stopped by seeing you after a long time.” It was Oliver. He looked at the cover over Illu’s legs and sighed.Illu felt his chest drop. He wanted the man to leave.“Don’t worry. We are no longer together.” Illu knew who he was talking about. “But please tell me, what happened? I spent all these months wondering what happened. I couldn’t find you anywhere. I know you walked. And I know Lauraine became…well…her legs…she couldn’t walk anymore. She blamed it all on me and left. Please, I need an explanation.” Oliver begged.Illu sighed. After some thought, they moved towards a small tea shop, Oliver walking and Illu scooting on his bench. They conversed over a cup of cardamom-flavoured milk tea. Illu confessed, and he slightly lifted the cloth and let Oliver have a glimpse of his bizarre legs.  Oliver’s heart skipped a beat.“What can we do to make everything right?” His tone was severe. “Anything. I owe Lauraine that much.”Illu sighed. “The only thing I can think of is paying the demon. But have already tried that. It didn’t work.” Illu’s voice was dim.“How?” Oliver demanded.“A decapitated goat. But I tried it already and failed.” Illu looked down.Oliver thought for a moment.“A goat. Decapitated.” His eyes shone, and a trickle of sweat dripped across his temple. He looked at Illu’s feet and then looked at his face.Illu’s eyes widened. “No, Sir, please…No…no…no,” He stammered with his hands raised in defence.Oliver stood up, towering over the crippled cobbler. “You show me the way.”After that day, nobody saw the cobbler around. His belongings lay there in the sun and rain and were eventually stolen. Much later, during a drizzle, a beggar at the traffic lights saw a young couple hurriedly crossing the road and getting into a pristine white Prado, hand in hand, laughing. The curly-haired woman was almost running in red stilettos. And she wore blood-red lipstick.--------------
","September 10, 2023 17:50",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,q4zt98,Heart for a Soul,Nobody Nothing,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/q4zt98/,/short-story/q4zt98/,Dark,0,"['Sad', 'Romance', 'Fiction']",3 likes,"
Warning! : This story contains thoughts of suicide, references and talk of self harm, mental health issues such as depression and anxiety.	The rain pours down as I walk down the quiet rural road. Tears run down my face mixing with the rain as it soaks into my clothes. Although it's been over a year, my heart still hurts at the thought of my ex. He replaced me and broke up with me even though we had known each other and were close for many years. I loved him, still do. I thought that we would stay together. I was going to move many states away from my home for him, leave everything behind to be with him, but he had decided to replace me with a girl he just met, and dumped me.	For some reason it still hurts, and though I’ve tried to move on, I can’t. I’ve gone to therapy, not only because of him, but he came up multiple times. Yet somehow I'm still not over him. The dull hot pain in my heart is the only thing I feel anymore. Any other time I feel a crushing numbness. He helped me, he allowed me to feel safe, heard, and understood. He gave me hope that there was hope for me, now I don’t have any. I moved out a couple months ago, since then my pain has only gotten worse. I feel horrible consistently, struggling to get up, eat, sleep. All I want to do is disappear. Leave this life of pain, numbness, and unfairness behind.	I walk slowly, thunder sounding far away. I reached the bridge not far from my house. I stop and stare blankly down at the brown, roaring river below. There is no justice in this world. No God, if there was, why do I feel like this? Why couldn’t I just be happy? I just want to be okay. I just want to feel better. I take another step close to the edge of the bridge. I miss him, and I bet I never enter his mind. I was okay with him, oh, what would I do to have him back. I think to myself.	I shift a little closer to the edge of the bridge as the sound of thunder comes a bit closer. All that time. All those years, they meant nothing to him. He gave me hope, now, I’m nothing but an empty shell. I lean over and look at the water far below. “Thinking about jumping?” a voice behind me makes me jump slightly. “Yeah, I don’t blame you.”I turn to see a man in a suit holding an umbrella, his clothes completely dry. I look around wondering where his vehicle is. “Uh, can I help you?” I ask. “I’m kind of busy here.”	“I’m sure you are. I was just wondering why such a pretty young lady is standing so close to the edge of a bridge in the pouring rain, so late in the evening,” he says innocently.	“Just debating life. And love,” I say shortly avoiding his brown eyes.	“Yes, I often debate the morality of life, and the heartbreak of love,” he says. “I also wonder about the karma in it all. How you could give everything to someone, yet they can throw it all away so easily.”	I lift my eyes to meet his. A flash of lightning from the closing storm lights up the sky, and his face as well. In the light, the man’s brown eyes turn red. I step back startled and trip over the edge of the bridge. For a split second I feel my stomach fall as I feel myself tip backwards. I stop though, the man’s hand around my outstretched arm. He stopped me from falling off.	I straighten up and step away from the edge slightly. “Who are you?” I ask as another flash of lightning lights up his eyes showing their red hue.	“I am one of Asmodeus’ lesser demons,” he says politely. Asmodeus? I think to myself. Who is that?	“Asmodeus is the devil of lust, one of the seven sins,” he says almost reading my mind. “And you, milady have been sent an offer.”	I look at him in shock. “A devil? Doesn’t that mean God is real?”	“Yes, well that is relative,” he said mutely so I didn’t press more.	“Okay, well what do you mean an offer?”	“Ah, yes. My master, Lord Asmodeus, has heard and felt your pain towards this boy of yours. While he has distaste for your lack of wanting lust, he commends the love you have for him. He has sent me to give you an offer to get him back,” the demon explains.	“To get him back? How would you do that?” I ask suspiciously. “Because I don’t want him to love me if he really doesn’t want me, that isn’t right.”	“Ugh,” the demon grunts distastefully. “He is very lustful isn’t he? He can love you in a way you both will like, like how it used to be for you. This also will allow you to become lustful again, since the most lust Lord Asmodeus got from you was while you were with him,” he explains shortly.	“But it will be him who loves me right?” I ask doubtfully. The demon nods and holds out his hand. I take it and step under the umbrella where my clothes dry instantly. He lets go of the umbrella which suspends in mid-air and in his open hand a contract appears.	I hesitated for a second then a memory of a conversation me and him previously had, came to me. I’d sell my soul to the devil for you. The words run through my head and pierce my heart. You may not have meant it, but I do. I think as I take the pen floating beside the contract and sign my name at the bottom. The second I finished writing my name a fiery pain filled my chest, near my heart. A moment later it subsided.	“Very well then. Now that that's been done, all you have to do now is find a way to kill his current girlfriend. After that he will be yours once again, and will be for eternity. The only thing is, it must be done soon. Waste no time,milady and may you and your love be together, until death do you part. I wish you much haste and godspeed young lady.”	The demon bows and hands me the umbrella,with the next flash of lightning the demon disappears and I start to walk home. As I walk I get a sense of importance and a new form of knowledge comes to me. I know where his girlfriend lives, and now finally I have a purpose. When I get home I start to plan. I have about a thousand dollars saved up which will get me to and from the state she lives in. This should also cover any other fees, or contingencies.	After about an hour of planning I decide to take a shower and go to bed for the night. As I go to take a shower I look in the mirror and notice a mark I have never seen before. Above where my heart should be is a heart with an infinity symbol embedded in it, it seems to be burned into my skin. I touch it lightly and feel heat from it. After a few seconds of touching it, the heat burns my finger and I jerk my hand away. I take my shower and lay down for bed, ideas for the upcoming murder running through my head.	Over the next couple days I devise my plan. Three days after the confrontation at the bridge I find myself on a plane heading to a different state. Within hours of arriving in a foreign state, I pay for a hotel room in cash and start to put my plan into action. I know I have three days to kill her so I start to wander the city, looking for her home. I let the mark guide me. The closer I got, the hotter it burned. After a day I find myself outside the girls home. Two days left. I need to get this done. I think soddenly. I track her for a day watching what she does then I follow her back to her apartment. She lives in an apartment on the top floor, ten stories up. On the night of the final day I sneak into her home, and into her room. I had typed up a suicide letter and signed her name at the bottom. That night at three am I pushed her out her window sending her hurtling down to the street. I sneak out of her apartment and make sure she is dead. When I find her body her head is cracked open on the street and she lies in a pool of blood. Satisfied, I go back to my hotel and prepare to leave in the morning.	I wake up the next morning and head to the airport. As I wait for my plane I watch the news on the screens overhead. Girl found this morning dead, outside her home. Her head was cracked open on the sidewalk, her boyfriend was first onto the scene. Police have taken the young man into custody. While some believe it was an act of suicide, detectives believe the boyfriend had something to do with it.Well hopefully they will figure it out that it wasn’t him. I think to myself. But the contract should do something about that. He is supposed to be with me after all. That was the deal. Thirty minutes after the original broadcast an update aired, so while I was still waiting I watched. Boy suspected of killing his girlfriend committed suicide while in questioning room. Authorities say he hung himself with his belt while they were in the next room discussing the case. He killed himself? Over her? But he was supposed to be mine. This wasn’t the plan. I think to myself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “Ah, what a shame,” a voice says beside me. I whip my head around to see the demon sitting beside me staring up at the screen. The demon is in his same suit only with a hat shading his eyes.	“What happened? He was supposed to be mine again. That was the deal,” I say sharply.	“You wanted him to love you, as long as it was him loving you. You should have been more specific in what life it was you wanted him to love you,” he says cooly.	“You used me,” I accuse him. The demon chuckles showing his pointed teeth. The mark above my heart starts to burn more with every chuckle.	“Milady, I'm a demon. What is it you expect of me?” he asks standing. “You will see your love soon enough.” The demon bows and walks away disappearing behind a group of people.I stand to go after him but fall to the ground and I notice a small pain in my arm. I look down to see a needle in my forearm. My eyes widen as my vision starts to blur and my body starts to seize. Another girl has died today making it the third death today. Girl dies of heroin overdose at the airport. Video shows the girl talking to herself as she sticks the needle into her arm. Paramedics arrived a few minutes later but were unsuccessful at saving her. The girl had a tattoo above her heart of a heart with a broken infinity symbol in it.
","September 15, 2023 04:18",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,lewpvf,Mr. Slaters' Enterprise,John Jenkins,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/lewpvf/,/short-story/lewpvf/,Dark,0,"['Urban Fantasy', 'Funny', 'Horror']",3 likes,"
[Note: Yes, this story contains references The Devil]
“Hi, I’m Mr. Slaters,” said The Devil. “Want to make a deal?”
“I don’t even know who you are,” said Timothy. “You just randomly walked up to me. You could’ve been a suicide bomber.”
“I still could be. Deal’s on the table. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Wait a minute. How did you…? Who told you I was…?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly a secret. You’ve been applying to that Amazon warehouse job for five years now. You’ve told everyone about it, even your ‘Bey’. It was only a matter of time before I found out.”
“I can drive a forklift, you know…”
“We’ll see about that. Deal’s up. Whoever wants it. What do you say? Are you in?”
“What’s the deal?”
“I should warn you.”
“Yes?”
“This is a premium deal. I don’t just share this withy any Tom, Dick and Harry that walks by. This is the sweetest saccharin, the most beautiful Picasso. This is the deal that will make you or break you. You in?”
“Oh my God!”
“What?”
“Oh my God, you’re…you’re the…the…”
“The what? What am I?”
“You’re The Devil!”
“I am? Who told you that? My name is Mr. Slaters and I-“
“Your skin is beet red and you have horns.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes you do.”
“Prove it.”
Timothy then took a picture of The Devil with his smartphone. Turning the screen around to face the devil, he showed The Devil that he did, in fact, look like The Devil. Not only that, he had a rather long tail that was curling up into the sky. 
“Handsome Devil,” said The Devil. 
“So, you are The Devil,” said Timothy. 
“Well, it’s a question of semantics.”
“No, it’s not! It’s a question of life and death and eternal hellfire! Imagine standing at the top of a mountain and having your guts ripped out by an Eagle or a Gryphon every Football Sunday!”
“It can be quite fun once you get used to it. Although that’s more of a Greek thing.”
“Same God.”
“No, I don’t think you’re getting your Gods mixed up properly.”
“Not getting my Gods mixed up properly? Now I know you’re The Devil.”
“Okay, okay, I’m The Devil, okay. Let’s just hurry up and get through this. How many flames? I mean, how many…days per week do you want to work at the fulfillment center?”
“Wait, you have an identity crisis.”
“Identity crisis? I just said my name is Mr. Slaters.”
“Freud called it an Oedipal Complex.”
“Well if you saw what Freud was doing today, you wouldn’t be quoting him. That’s for sure!”
“It’s true. The Devil has an identity crisis. This is amazing.”
“I do not have an identity crisis,” said The Devil, spitting fire, “and I’m not The Devil. I’m Mr. Slaters, and I-“
“Prove it!”
“Prove what?”
“That you’re not The Devil. Prove it!”
“How do I prove that I’m not The Devil? Haven’t you ever seen a forked tongue? They’re quite common in India.”
“Okay, what would you do if you were The Devil?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what would you do to me if you were The Devil?”
“Well, I’d show up, unannounced,”
“Yup.”
“And I’d promise to give you something that you didn’t earn.”
“Yep.”
“Then I’d have you sign this contract,” said The Devil, pulling a form from his sport coat.
“Then what?”
“Oh, you don’t want to know what happens after that.”
“So, what would be the opposite of all that?”
“The opposite of what?”
“The opposite of everything you just described. What would be the opposite of that?”
“What? Well, I’d tell you that you’re extremely pretty.”
“Yes?”
“Then I’d offer you a CEO role…with a bonus.”
“Yes? And?”
“Yes, and three months’ vacation? Two months’ vacation, and a craft services table.”
“What kind of food would be on the craft services table?”
“Well, I suppose, a few fruits and vegetables. Some cheese. Some bread…”
“And?”
“Well, I don’t know. A box of Krispy Kremes, I guess.”
“What would I get to drink in this scenario?”
“I don’t know…Kool Aid?”
“Not everyone was born in 1985, buddy.”
“Okay, maybe some almond milk. Maybe some RC Cola? Sounds good enough.”
“So, does the CEO get a private jet?”
“A private jet? I’m not made of money! I make the money! I…”
“Well?”
“Okay, a private jet.”
“Now that’s better.”
“Less than three bathrooms.”
“Ooh, I knew you were The Devil.”
“Okay, okay, do we have a deal?”
The Devil put out his hand to shake.
“Where’s the contract?”
“What contract?”
“You had a contract before!”
“This is a shake deal.”
“What do you mean shake deal? What is this some kind of…Devil’s deal?”
“I assure you, I’m not The Devil. My skin is red because I was at the beach…looking for…turtles in bikinis. I don’t know. So, what’s the deal? Do we have one? Or are we just going to just sit around looking like we’re The Devil’s minions?”
“I’m no minion.”
“Neither am I. Do we have a deal?”
“Deal,” said Timothy, reaching out and grabbing The Devil’s hand. 
They shook hands. And then suddenly, Timothy was transported to his new CEO headquarters in Silicon Valley. He was standing in a grand office, and The Devil was standing right there, still shaking his hand. Still shaking his hand. 
“What are you doing here? This is my fantasy. You can leave now.”
“Not so fast.”
“What?”
“This is a handshake deal.”
“What?”
“The deal is, that you get whatever you want, whatever your heart desires, but you must ‘get it’ while shaking my hand. My hand won’t let go, and whatever you do, wherever you go, even on your ‘private jet’, you must take me with you.”
“You are the friggin’ Devil!”
“I am not ‘The Devil’. Would you stop calling me that? I’m simply an investor.”
“Yeah, what exchange do you use? The NASDAGGIT?”
“Funny. Now, are you going to use the bathroom, or…?”
“Noooooooo!”
Timothy had to drag The Devil with him wherever he went. Whether it was to board meetings, the museum, the park, or on his two-and-a-half month vacations that he was able to negotiate. Sometimes, The Devil would go willingly. Other times, The Devil would not want to go. He would just stand there, looking directly at Timothy. 
Sometimes he would blink, other times he would offer a witty remark. Still other times, he would make a joke about the situation, one that seemed rather suspect and inappropriate, but well-deserved. Timothy was lucky. His company, Soot and Sandals Therapeutics, made record profits for many years. A tour de force. 
 
 
 
 
 
","September 11, 2023 15:41",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,cqzrax,Even the Devil gets lonely,Marie Munch Keiding,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/cqzrax/,/short-story/cqzrax/,Dark,0,"['Fantasy', 'Funny', 'Adventure']",3 likes,"
	Who reads the terms and conditions anyway? Honestly. Here I am, tethered to a pole in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with nothing to keep me company but my regrets and a killer body. And I still can’t think of a single person who would actually read five hundred pages of fine print before signing the deal of a lifetime. I turn my head to have another person confirm my opinion, but the other “treats” are perched out of earshot. That’s okay. I have no desire to share my final moments on earth with strangers anyway. 
 
 
	I think it all started when Justin showed up to class after the holidays, forty pounds lighter and sporting a serious sixpack. No, that wasn’t it. Maybe it was when my bank called suspecting someone had stolen my brand-new credit card. It had been used seventeen times at the same candy store in a week. It hadn’t been stolen. Embarrassing as that was, the credit card incident wasn’t what got me moving either. I might as well be honest, here on the brink of death and all. The whole thing started because I wanted a girlfriend. Not just any girlfriend, but Hannah from next door. I fell in love with her when we were around twelve years old, and my heart is a faithful companion; I have never wanted anyone else. 
	I am, unfortunately, also hopelessly devoted to crisps, candy bars, and soft drinks. I was becoming chubby and my already lacking confidence couldn’t fight through the double chin and pale boy boobs. I pined for Hannah from afar. 
 
	The banner adverts started popping up on my social media accounts. “Get in shape without exercise only $ 6.66 a month. Join the Mean&Lean Crew” and “Eat your way to a striking sixpack. Join the Mean&Lean Crew”. 
	I didn’t pay much attention until I looked out the window one evening and saw Justin knocking on Hannahs door, a bunch of flowers in one hand and straightening his tie with the other. My stomach clenched and I tapped the banner ad.
 
	A few days later I received a real physical letter in the mail. Of the thousands of interested people, I sported the profile Mean&Lean was looking for. If I showed up at a fancy address downtown the following day, my life would be transformed in a week. A week! Was I sceptical? Of course. I was also bored, home alone and more than a little worried when I pictured Justins expectant face outside Hannahs door, so off I went.
 
	A doorman in a dark green uniform greeted me at the stairs of a tall, elegant building and he pressed the button for 32nd floor wishing me a pleasant journey. A very pretty brunette greeted me when the elevator stopped with a soft thud. “We have been waiting for you,” her dimples made her cheeks look like they were made of the purest silk.
 
	The office was bigger than our house. Floor to ceiling windows framed a dazzling view of the city. Caramel coloured leather couches with heaps of throw pillows in all shades of red made it look more like a lounge than an office. Soft music drifted out from invisible speakers. 
	“Kevin! It’s good to meet you. Lucifer Typhon.” A tall, heavy-built man in his fifties strode towards me, holding out his hand. His hair was dark and thick and greying at the temples. And was that …. horns? Two small peaks were just visible through his hair where horns would be placed had he been a goat. I shook his warm hand but leaned back.
	“Yeah,” he grinned and ran a hand over the stubs. “I keep them short now.”
	I couldn’t stop staring at the trimmed knobs.
	“Soft drink?” 
	“Oh,” I panicked slightly, not sure if it was a test.
	A laugh rumbled in his belly.
	“Don’t worry. You can drink all the soft drinks you want.”
	I took a gulp.
 
	There were six other people in the room. Only one of them chubby like me, but I didn’t get to dwell on that because Mr Typhon took the floor. 
	“Welcome. You have all been chosen to go through our program. For free. We want to record you and use your progress for advertising.”
	My neighbour on the next couch nodded his head like he had been expecting that.
	“To get the perfect background for the shots we are flying you all to the island of Sankt Helens. Are you ok with that?”
	Screen light gave our faces a bluish tint as we searched the location of Sankt Helens. 
	Laughs of disbelieve erupted around the room. “Hell yeah,” someone shouted.
	A thick stack of paper appeared in front of each couch.
	Mr Typhons voice boomed. 
	“Sign the contracts and we are ready to go.”
	Even the pen provided felt luxurious as I scribbled my name on the last page. 
	A girl wearing designer clothes from head to toe took her time leafing through the stack. Mr Typhon hovered over her, and I swear the lights dimmed for a second as I heard him hiss.
	“Just sign the damn thing.”
	The girls’ cheeks flushed, and she doodled her name.
 
	A few hours later I was lounging in a cream-coloured leather seat of Mr Typhons private jet. We all had a row of seats to ourselves. When we were airborne, Mr Typhon dropped his large frame in the seat next to mine. 
	“So, you want a killer body?” 
	“Yeah,” I stammered. “I … I just need to get in shape.”
	“I know what you mean.” He said and stroked his protruding belly. “I need more exercise too. That’s why I’m getting a pet.”
	“A pet?”
	“You know, to go for walks with, get some mileage in and keep me company at the same time …” he trailed off. 
	“You have no idea how lonely it gets.” He continued.
	“You people are good company. Well, some of you.” He sent me a feral smile. “But your lives are so short and then I have to start over with someone new.”
	He stared out the window for a while.
	“So, I’m getting a pet.” 
	“Good idea, sir.” It seemed like the right response.
	He let out a bellowing laugh and slapped my thigh so hard I think the bone fractured a bit.
	“No need for that. Call me Lucifer. I am the Devil after all.”
	A roll of thunderclouds passed through his dark eyes.
 
	The island was the epitome of paradise. White beaches, palm trees and all the seafood you could eat. Every morning my stomach had shrunk a bit and on the fifth day my double chin was gone. I felt an urge to move so I spend most of the day swimming in the clear water and walking on the beach. My tan was nearing a golden brown. 
	On the sixth morning after a breakfast of croissants and pineapples we were summoned to a beach hut with a thatched roof.
	Lucifer was wearing an enormous blue shirt with flamingos and watermelons.
	He clapped his hands together with a loud thud.
	“Today is the day you uphold your end of the deal.” He started.
	Seven pairs of eyebrows shot towards the sky. What deal?
	He snickered. 
	“On page 379 of the contract you agreed to help me acquire a pet.”
	He produced a picture of an octopus. An enormous octopus.
	“And not just any pet. This,” Lucifer beamed like a proud father, “is the Kraken. Mythological beast, Terror of the seas and Slayer of ships.”
	A cold shiver ran down my spine.
	 “It cannot be bought; it cannot be commanded, and it cannot be forced.” The admiration dripped from Lucifers voice, and his eyes shone as he explained his plan. “We have to lure it into my intricate trap.” 
	The words left my mouth on their own accord.
	“What do you need us for?” 
	My six pack was starting to show, but I was pretty sure that I was no match for a thirty feet raging monster.
	“You are the bait,” he shrugged.
 
 
	It’s more comfortable here on the pole than you would expect. A large platform surrounds the substantial trunk and it’s equipped with a comfortable chair and a parasol. Even the chains are lightweight and padded. You might think the perks are for my benefit, but on the boat ride, we were given stern instructions not to pass out or die from exhaustion. Apparently, the beast only eats fresh meat and has a fickle stomach, the poor thing. 
	A picnic basket appeared a few hours ago. It’s filled to the brim with candy bars, crisps and soft drinks which seems an odd mix of care and cruelty considering that’s what got me into this mess in the first place. I wonder if the “lust” guy got a woman in his basket? Or a man. Maybe I forgot to mention this, but as a nice little flourish on the Devils’ part, the seven of us chosen for bait represent the seven deadly sins. I’m gluttony, obviously. We are placed around 400 yards apart like pearls on a string. My pole is located furthest from the trap. The seventh pole, carrying the laziest girl I have ever met, is placed inside the intricate trap. I strongly suspect sloth is the Devil’s favourite human trait and that the placement inside the intricate trap is meant as some sort of honour. I also think calling it an “intricate trap” is overselling what is essentially a very large steel cage, but who am I to argue with the Devil?
 
	The raw wood of the pole is coarse against my back. A can of soft drink rests on my knee. Ten bags of crisps are scattered around the platform, not cleaning them up seems like the only possible act of defiance left. To the west the sun is setting over the ocean, the last red ray of light plays with the agitated waves. It’s beautiful.
	 I rest my head against the pole. It’s been a long day and you can only stay petrified for so long, I guess. Maybe Lucifer was wrong? Maybe there is no Kraken, maybe it doesn’t live here, maybe it’s gone vegan? Maybe I get to go home and ask Hannah for at date? 
	Just as I imagine her smile, the air goes cold and a stench like no other followed by an ear-splitting roar overwhelm my senses. I scramble to my feet and make a futile attempt to hide behind the chair. 
	The beast sort of hovers at the edge of the podium, one enormous tentacle encircles the whole platform, while its face sways from side to side. The fangs look like swords.
	A slimy sucker runs up my leg, pads my ass and continues up my chest. I am nothing but a piece of fruit being squeezed at the grocery store. A piece of fruit with a sixpack, my mind points out, irrelevant and out of survival tips.
	The tentacle grabs hold of my waist and hoist me up over its gaping void of a mouth. I vomit and hope the beast chokes on it.
	In the distance a swoosh swoosh sound announces a helicopter approaching. I glimpse a large figure in a blue shirt with flamingos and watermelons hanging out the side door.
	I guess the Devil won’t be lonely anymore, is all I manage to think before the beast releases me, snaps its jaws and darkness consumes me.
","September 15, 2023 16:18",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,vjg6ru,The Golden Foxes,Maverie Durham,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vjg6ru/,/short-story/vjg6ru/,Dark,0,['Fantasy'],3 likes,"
	As a Goddess, Asura was alone in her realm. So to do her bidding, she plucked two foxes from the white forest at the base of the mountains. She instilled in them a portion of her own power, turning their blood to ichor and their fur to gold.The two creatures, a densely packed female and swift, nimble male, were outfitted with collars meant to hold scrolls of the Goddess’s messages. Off the pair went, running across the surface of the Earth, spreading the word of Asura. An interaction with these foxes in nature was said to be a visit from the Goddess, bringing a message from the deity herself. 
	Across the hills, these two scurried. The smaller one darted across the path, hopping from ledge or ledge and sprinting ahead in a blur. He moved like a nugget of gold, pinging down the foothills. The older, larger fox kept her distance, and watched the little one move. It watched and recorded everything. 
	Deeper into the hills they ran. The crests grew around them into icy peaks, until a mountain range encased the foxes on all sides. It was a playground for the foxes; to leap from mountain to mountain, unafraid of the scale. At any moment of danger, Asura could recall them to her side, and away from threats. But there was no need for that now. They rolled in the snow, allowing high-pitched titters to echo their delight. But between the mountains, the valley trenched further, deeper than the realm itself. The foxes rolled, the snow slipped, and they tumbled into the chasm. Rock and ice followed them down, splitting them apart. The sheer white light blinked out in a moment, and the second the foxes crossed into the darkness they had left the realm. 
	The pair had never left the Earth's surface aside from their divine birth. They called to Asura, praying her powers reach across realms, but they lost their hope as they tumbled. Further apart the two drifted, until all was left was the rushing darkness in their ears. 
	Above this dark realm, in her own world, Asura felt the fragment of her power separate from her.
	The fall suddenly stopped. First, for the bigger one, who had been tumbling down with the debris. She knocked into rocks and rubble, crashing into the stone floor. A boulder followed, crushing her back half and pinning the creature to the ground. She lay there, unconscious and out of reach. 
	Unknowingly far, the smaller fox fought the fall. He clutched to a descending boulder, leaping upwards into the darkness from rock to rock. But there was no opening above anymore. No more light to reach for. He braced himself, jumping off the boulder at what he thought was the last second and rolled across the ground. 
	The darkness dispersed, and the fox looked around after recovering. Across the horizon, a red haze rose up, providing its own smoky light in the distance. There was no silhouette, no reflection, from the other golden fox. The little male fox turned in all directions, crying out for its counterpart. With no response to his calls, panic began to set in for the poor little creature. His screeches became sobs, and soon enough he collapsed to the ground, begging to be found. 
	Although out of sight, beings heard the cry for help. Demons crawled up from the ground, inky blackness shrouding their true form. True devils banished to this underworld rose at the sounds. The fox cried and cried, leading them in his direction. They came in closer and closer, encircling the distraught creature. He lamented, unaware, of the danger surrounding him. 
 Calm yourself, pet. A voice floated, breaking through the little foxes' cries. He looked around at the whirling shadows, and his fear and loneliness twisted into tangible despair. The red haze was now blocked on all sides by shrouded demons. The voice spoke again. The fear will be gone soon. As will all else. 
	The fox snarled. A throbbing blackness floated into the center of the circle, and the fox kept moving sideways, constantly moving and out of reach. The disconnected voice boomed around, sending a jolt of fear 
	“How did I end up here?” The fox asked. There was a chorus of snarling laughs, and the fox could barely distinguish one shadow from the next. 
 It has been eons since our last meal. We heard your joy, so close to the mouth of this realm. For it, I ripped the roof down, pulling you to us.
	“You cannot consume me,” the fox said. “I am made from the Goddess Asura. She will pull me out of here before you lay a touch upon my fur.” 
 Ahh, that beautiful golden fur. And why has she yet to recall you now? Why do you cry in the darkness for help, if she could do so herself?
	The fox didn’t know how to answer. The devil in front of him writhed with each passing moment of hesitation. He yearned for the other fox. The bigger fox. She was older, smarter; she would know what to say. 
 You have been separated from your friend, who is now as alone as you are. Too far from each other and escape. I can smell the ichor under your skin. Allow me to relieve you of it. 
	The shadow neared. 
	“Wait,” the fox yelped. “I can lead you out of here. Then you can scour the Earth for meals. My Goddess will reward you for my safety.” He was unsure of the fate of his friend. The devil could be lying, as they are capable. But foxes, blessed with silver tongues, were also capable of lying. “I must be with my friend. We can travel between realms on our own, as long as we are together. Help me find her, and we will bring you with me.” It was a lie, but the other fox would know how to escape. 
	The shrouded demons twisted in agony, their guttural moans increasing as they listened to the deal presented. The devil directly in front of the fox slowed, considering his words. 
 Either you are truthful, and I may escape this banishment. Or you lie, and I have enough to savor.
	A moment passed and the demons around fought against an invisible barrier, wishing to collapse atop the fox and consume him entirely. Or to take the deal themselves, and escape into the Earth. The little fox thought of its friend, and prayed for her safety. The devil in front tensed its shadows, and in a burst the horizon was revealed. Any shadowed demons were dispersed into the air, opening up the circle. Where the plain was once flat and barren, the fox noticed silhouettes of rock and glints of red light bouncing around. 
	A flash of orange, or red against gold, and the little fox ran towards it. There she lie, limp and dull. Her muscles had withered in the short time, and dull yellow tufts of fur scattered around in clumps. A breeze the fox could not feel carried the tufts away into the darkness. Sprouting from the base of the boulder, the female fox shuddered out light breath. Her eyes remained closed, and she did not react to the presence of the other one. He nudged her head to no avail. Where her legs should be, a boulder squished ichor across the ground. 
	“Remove the boulder,” the fox demanded. 
 That was not a part of our deal.
	“It is now.” The fox pushed his little head against the base of the boulder, but no amount of effort could budge it to the slightest degree. “I need her to be conscious and aware.” 
	The inky shroud tensed and dispersed the blackness in a burst of shadow. Darkness overtook the foxes, but lifted within the same moment, taking the boulder with it. In its place, the mangled legs and tail of the fox was revealed. 
	Where beautiful golden legs once were, there was a table of bone, fur, and luminescent ichor. The substance of their life force painted splotched across the ground, dark red and reflecting the haze around them. The devil looked over the fox’s shoulder at the damage. He heard the drawn out inhale of a sniff as the devil surveyed the damage. The fox spun and snarled at the monster, warning him to keep his distance. 
 It is now time to fulfill your end of the bargain.
	He looked at the crushed mass of his friend. Tears welled, and he growled at the sobs working their way up. No more would they run across the Earth, leaping like they once did. Perhaps she was gone, and would no longer be there with him. Her breaths continued to come, but without the goddess Asura, she would not heal in this darkness. 
 Or were you lying, little creature? 
	There was no escaping it. He curled into the underbelly of his friend. He did not consider this being the state she was found in. He hoped she was as lost as him, perhaps surrounded and needed the interception. But as alone as he was, there were no contingencies. He prayed and prayed, screaming his hopes towards his goddess. Any semblance of power left in his own ichor, still coursing through his body, or any of the divine substance spilled across the ground - he called on it. 
	With each passing moment, the golden fur of the female fox dulled. Its light leaked away, and the devil watched it seep into the ground. It released a chattering sound, a so-called chuckle. 
 Poor foolish creatures, it said. I have lured your kind down here for eons. You are not the last. 
	The devil wretched around, and the shadows began to fall away. A scaly, wet tentacle shot out from above. More crawled across the ground towards the fox. The haze reflected a gruesome red slickness against the slime coating the monster. The blackness melted down, into the ground and the silhouette of the devil blotted out the horizon. It was large, and stood over the foxes with a large head and a mane. 
	The tentacles slithered closer, and the prayers left the fox’s mouth. He stood over the unconscious fox, snapping at the encroaching limbs. 
	Above, Asura scoured the Earth's surface, knocking against the plains and pulling up the forests. She sniffed and listened for any signs of her foxes. 
	His prayers boomed across the realm as Asura passed over the mountain range, the one that swallowed her creatures. She heard the echoes of her name, and pulled the Earth apart once again.
	Rocks rained down, showering the scene. The closest tentacle was pinned by the ruble. Streaks of light cut through the darkness like pillars of hot iron. They burned through the shadows shrouding the demon, revealing its horrid form. The monster, with the bottom half of long, grasping tentacles, violently convulsed. More boulders pinned the feelers. The upper body was similar to a horse, covered in glittering scales, a lion's mane, and the head of a serpent jerking the fur around. It stood as tall as a giant, screeching as each slimy limb was crushed by rubble. Light burned away any shadow, and the demon's scales curled and withered as the light ate away at the demon itself. 
	The fox watched the demon crumble under the caving roof. The entire realm shook, and he looked upwards to the face of his Goddess. Her great divine form did not fit through the crack, but her arm reached down. Only a few leaps above, her hand reached for the foxes. The sky continued to fall, widening the column of light. It spread out with each moment. Shadows raced away at its edges, escaping the fate of the demon. 
	The little fox crawled under the bigger one, using any last strength to lift its limp form from the ground. She grunted in awareness, but the weight wobbled the little one underneath. He regained balance, leaped atop a rock, and jumped from descending boulder to boulder. Closer and closer to the hand of his patron. 
	He sailed into her grip, but lost his own on his friend. Asura caught the two of them, pulling them out of the cavern. She carried them in her enclosed fist away from the ravine, placing a seal on it herself. When she released her grip, the female fox’s legs and tail had been restored, yet the tufts of fur had never grown back. 
 
","September 12, 2023 00:27",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,5jmu9n,Safest place on earth,Parker Parker,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/5jmu9n/,/short-story/5jmu9n/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Sad']",3 likes,"
Once again
Back and forward
creak and creak
In and out 
creak and creak
Once again
          I have time now. I never had the time before. Maybe I just never took the time I needed to notice these things. Swept in the mix of life, I never saw the changes or rather I call it as it is the deterioration. As I sit in this rocking chair, I now have time to notice all the faults of my family home. This home has been my home my entire life. It has been my safe haven since the day I was born. My mother went into labor with me as she sat in the living room just beyond the door to my left. She, my father , and grandfather have sat in this same old rocking chair and watched me as I frolicked and played in the high grass of our front yard. Swatting away bugs and with a face painted in sweat and grime, I held my head high and smiled as bright as the evening sun. My blond hair and blues eyes gleamed with my happiness as our neighbor sat on her own porch and watched. Whenever Mrs. Pepperfield leave her porch she would reach deep into her old brown leather pocket book and hand be a mint from the bottom. “Well look who it is. Isn’t you the sweetest southern belle” she would say before walking up the street.
          Eventually, Mrs. Pepperfield passed away sitting on that same porch. She was missed, but even her passing couldn’t make this home feel less safe. Its white painted wood on the porch dulled. Broken pieces of rotten wood replaced. Popa wasn’t very good with a hammer, so some of the new wood didn’t quite fit and made uneven gaps or loose nails in the floor boards. Me and my best friend Daniel called the large gaps the devil peephole since we swore we saw someone looking up through the floor. We called Popa to check and no one was there. This was still my home. I still have the five inch scar on my leg from falling against a jutting rusted nail when I was twelve. Moma was so mad at Popa that day. It was Sunday and like every Sunday we were on our way to church. Leaving out the door, my foot got caught in the devils peephole. I fell down the porch and the nail tore through my new white stalkings turning the spot red. Oh how bad I wanted to cry, but Popa said big girls don’t cry. Moma rushed me to the doctor and later gave me the prettiest little gold cross necklace for being so brave. I still wear that necklace till this day.
          Time went on and I still never took the time I needed to notice these things. The wood creaked as we stepped on them. Nonetheless we kept moving. Life kept moving the white paint chipped. Two of the wooden sticks on the back of the rocking chair forever missing since they made very good fighting swords for me and Daniel one evening. Grandpa passed and we missed him dearly, but life kept moving. Moma got sick one year. A terrible illness it was. We found out she had breast cancer, but she beat it. To celebrate, we painted the old rocking chair the prettiest of shade of pink to match our ribbons. Then life went on. The rocking chair was now more brown than pink. The city people put up four new stop signs on the corner. They said people drove too fast down the street. I stood there that day and questioned the worker as he laid fresh cement. “We don’t want nobody to run this corner and hit such a sweet little girl such as yourself” he said. Then he let me and Daniel write out names in the wet concrete and told us that when it dries everyone will know we were here that day forever. Time kept moving and I never noticed the creaks.
          Daniel stole a kiss from me while we were hiding underneath the porch. He said I had to be his girlfriend because he kissed me and only boyfriend and girlfriend can kiss. In my young mind we kissed so I guessed it was true. We became high school sweethearts while the porch creaked. New houses were build on the other side of the crossroads and we welcomed new neighbors. Moma and Popa left the house to me as they moved away in their old age. Daniel moved in with me and then we got married. Together we made a little girl with my face and Daniels’ attitude. We named her Gabby because even on the day she was born she made so much noise we knew she was going to be a talker. God gifted me someone so precious and I adored her with all my heart. As a baby she would hold onto my cross and laugh the sweetest little sound. We took her to church every Sunday like I did growing up. Time moved on and she grew as the porch creaked. She made her own little friends and they played in the tall grass as I did when I was her age. I stood on the porch and warned her not to go near the crossroads as my mother did me. 
          I never thought playing in the yard was dangerous. I never took the time to think about what would happen if someone was to run the stop signs. They have been there for years and became a mundane part of our lives. I never thought the red paint the city used to paint them was the color of fresh blood, which could be spilled if someone ran them. My mother warned me of the crossroads but never the yard. I never heard the warnings nor the creaks. Since two weeks ago I’ve heard them both. Gabby was playing in the grass as always. I stood on the porch looking down at the devils peephole. I made plans to finally fix it before Gabby gets a scar to match mine. Then I looked up just as a car came speeding out of control. Gabby was playing with a bright smile that matched mine when the car spun in circles and hit her. I rushed off the porch to get my baby. When the car stopped it was by the corner and my precious Gabby laid on top of me and her fathers’ name. I held her as she took her last breath at the stop sign. People will forever know that me and Daniel was here but not that this was where we lost our child.
Once again
Back and forward
creak and creak
In and out
creak and creak
Once again
          Now I hear the creaks. Gabbys’ funeral was earlier today. This is the most noise this house have had in years, yet I can hear the porch creak. As the rocking chair swings back and forward a creak follow every movement. My heart is shattered and every breath feels like my last. The creaks reminds me to breathe. In a sea of familiar faces, I do not recognize them. The looks of pity never registered because my heart is shattered. No longer time moves on. I am stuck on this porch looking at the stop sign. They put a new one up and I can’t stop the tears. It’s as if life is moving and i’m just not moving with it. Daniel is holding on by a thread. My thread broke the day I held my baby lifeless body in my arms. Now I sat rubbing the cross around my neck. I wonder why was she gone and how come I didn’t think about the danger I put Gabby in. I worried about everything else, but I never worried about my safest place on earth. I would give anything to have my baby back. As the porch creaks I look down at the devils peephole. Then I saw a foot, covered in the finest leather shoes, step on the porch. Golden was their color. They shined as if they was real gold, but they were fabric so it couldn’t be so. 
          I looked up and he stepped on the porch. It didn’t creak. Wearing a suite that fits his body to perfection was a man too perfect to be real. He stood so tall and strong that I smelled his confidence even though confidence doesn’t have a smell. I couldn’t see exactly where his green eyes was looking but I felt as if he was staring at my cross. I felt uneasy holding it in front of him. I have never been ashamed of my faith and never questioned it until recently. Two weeks ago to be exact. So I let the cross drop as it sat on my chest. The guy smile and introduced his self as Samuel. His smile was amazing. Straight white teeth and dimples deep enough to get lost in. The new face was welcomed but a shattered heart made it impossible to smile.

“Can I ask you a question”, he said
go ahead
“If life was a crossroad, which way to go?”
Confused, I replied, “I don’t understand.”
He points at the street. “A crossroads has four sides, right. Then you can only come up one, but that leaves three roads to take. Which one do you take?”
“I don’t know. Which one would you take?” I relied still confused about the stranger and his question. 
The one that makes me feel happier because I can only control what little pieces I have while living. Death and whatever may follow is out of my control”, he stated nonchalantly. 
“Okay sure.” The topic of death made me glance back at the stop sign. 
“I have another question. If a man run into a bank and robs it, is he wrong? I mean he didn’t hurt anybody and money is replaceable paper. So is he wrong? By wearing that necklace, i’m going to assume you are a Christian.” Nodding his head, he pointed at the cross around my neck. “So should he burn in hell for stealing? What if I told you he needed money because his son was dying and his insurance didn’t cover the medication he needed. The money is insured and he could save his childs life. Should he burn in hell for stealing then?”
“No, absolutely not!”
“So, as you can see, he did not have much control. He couldn’t control his sons’ sickness. He couldn’t control where his soul goes after death. He could control what he was willing to do to give his son another chance. Now I want to ask you, what do you want to control?”
“I can’t control anything.”
“You can.”, he smiled and once again nodded his head. “What would you do to get some control? Would you stop that drunk driver from hitting you precious Gabby? Would you have her again playing out here trying to catch butterflies. Would you want her to experience finding the boy of her dreams and sneaking kisses underneath this very same porch?”
“Yes I would”
“What will you give for the choice?”
“Anything”, was the only reply I could think of.
“How about everything from this life through the next”
I gave him my answer in less that a second. “For the chance to get my Gabby back I will give everything. My soul was with that little girl and without her here every second is torture.”
“No darling I’m afraid you still have your soul; even if you don’t have your daughter. Will you give it up for her?”
“I already said everything.” There wasn’t a doubt it my mine about what I would be giving up.
“That is all I ask. You have just made your decision at the crossroads. Now, to seal the deal just remove your cross and drop it down that peephole”,he said with a wide dimpled smile.

And so I did. 
","September 12, 2023 07:01",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,8hbk0n,Lucifer and Luca Pty Ltd - a Deal with the Devil,Sam Fuller,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8hbk0n/,/short-story/8hbk0n/,Dark,0,['Fiction'],3 likes,"
Lucifer and Luca Pty Ltd – a Deal with the Devil
My third knock to the door of the penthouse suite of the luxury Waldorf Astoria Hotel in Manhattan missed as the door was opened from the inside. “Welcome Mr. O’Connor, the Devil is most delighted you’ve come,” - said the most exquisite woman I have even seen in my life, in the sultry voice of a 1940’s actress - “Please see yourself through to the next room.” She said pointing to a door that had been left ajar. She turned and left and with trepidation I walked through the doorway into a luxurious room filled with the odor and smoke of Cigars. A large well-built, good-looking man in an immaculately tailored grey suit came from behind huge oak desk to greet me. He looked to be in his early 50’s, pitch black hair, only greying around the temples a little and clean shaven so it was hard to get a read.
“Welcome Mr. O’Connor,” - he said in a prim voice - “Please, have a seat.”- He pointed with an upturned hand to a large Leather swivel chair on the opposite side from where he’d come - “You met Luca I see?”
Taken back, looking around the large room adorned with huge portraits of this man, I could only nod, then stutter, “Yes, ah yes.”
He laughed, “Most men are like that around Luca,” - laughing to himself again he added - “She sold her soul for those looks only 40 years ago. With the rise in population, more people contacting me, well, frankly my admin workload was getting too much. I offered a deal – soul back in 200 years’ time and the look of the day. And there you have it! Now look how far she’s gone,” - he said motioning around the room at all the portraits - “She’s turned into a sycophantic interior decorator.”
Looking across the desk to him I felt at ease, he seemed genuine. I also saw for the first time he wore a name badge similar to the attendants at the Waldorf which read, ‘The Devil’. He said, “Oh yes, the nametag. People expect a red-scaled Demon with yellow eyes and little horns, so I wear this to identify myself.” Laughing again.
Gaining confidence as this man had a tone that put me at ease, I asked., “So you and Luca are an item?”
“Dear no, though it does come with the expected fringe benefits, as you would expect.” Gauging my look he added, “She’s no different to them,” and he pointed straight down, “and I don’t mean the ones in my supposed dungeon being the fiery pits of hell. I mean the streets 46 floors below selling their souls for 50 bucks a piece in some back alley. Shop around I say, I pay far better.”
“You said you only got Luca 40 years back, I thought you’d been around for eternity?” I asked. I’d had quite a bit to drink before coming here to build some courage and it was paying off.
“Myth,” he laughed. “Best analogy I can give you is that you should liken my existence to dog years. Dogs aged seven for every one human year, multiply that by about somewhere between a hundred and five hundred, take the inverse, that’s me, frankly I haven’t done the math. That is why the bible is ridiculous, timeframes, who came about and when, who can remember back that far? I just watch people come and go, look at their time in existence, how they look at certain stages in life and make a rough estimate based on how I look. I’ll be gone in maybe another 1500 years, give or take… Rotting in hell for eternity, a story made up to scare children.”
Luca appeared beside me, “You had been drinking Animus Gin and Tonic at Peacock Alley downstairs, here’s another.”
“Thank you, Luca, that will be all” – the Devil said as she left, he then turned his gaze to me, “Now, let's get down to brass tacks” - Taking a folder from a drawer in the desk he spoke while reading, head down, - “You first pleaded for my help July 11, 2022, just over a year ago. I presume several attempts with God had failed by that stage?” He looked up to me, indicating he wanted an answer.
“Yes, nothing changed.”
“And when nothing changed, you begged to me with the willing to sell your soul spiel” - He was still looking to me with his steel blue eyes but held up a finger - “Before you answer, I didn’t immediately get you results, you went back to God, no luck again, so back to me?”
“That about sums it up.”
“Usual recipe.” He said, “What people don’t understand is there is a process and I’m a busy man. One plead to me, well put it this way, I’ve acted on one pleads and always find the person wasn’t serious, it was a throwaway line, wasted my precious time.” He shook his head, “No, now I gauge how genuine people are by multiple parameters. Time between pleads, nature of the plead, character of the person, the list goes on. I’ve developed a 23-point checklist that will ultimately give me a score out of 100. Tally to above 92 and I will act. Previously the pass mark was set at 87 which is still tough to meet but I found still too many ‘Tyre kickers’, you scrapped in right on 92.”
As he was explaining this to me, the Devil lit another Cigar and had reached down to the bottom draw and taken a bottle of Cognac out along with a crystal looking glass and poured himself three fingers.
“You’ll no doubt have questions of me?” he asked politely.
I had been waiting for this moment. “What happens to me, I mean in the near future if I am soulless?”
“You won’t notice a change for the most part. You’re of an age where you have formed your conscience, convictions, emotions, desires, how you view the world. It will be after your death, your soul won’t move on into the next incarnation, the soul of the last incarnation, being you, Joel O’Connor won’t be reinstated until after my death. That’s when the being that your soul is inhibited will wake up on day and find serenity. Along the lines of how people say they found happiness or hate to say it but ‘found God’.” He held up two fingers on each hand making commas.
Taking all this in seemed preposterous, though when looking around the room of the Waldorf Astoria, as smoke filled the room once again, I had the overwhelming feeling the man, if that is what he was, was being truthful. “Next question I have is, what do you do with the souls?”
“Easy, they mostly go into unborn children, the ones who are criminals from day one. Sometimes souls are put into those people who just snap one day, it all depends on my needs at the time”- He gave a long-drawn-out sigh, interlocked his fingers and stretched pushing his hands outwards - “And this is where everybody’s moral dilemma kicks in…” Again, he looked at me waiting for a response.
“But why?” I asked.
“How do you think this place is paid for? I’ll tell you how, credit card theft. I need bank robbers, murderers, car thieves, arsonists, you name it. You would not believe how hard that other guy tries to get one up one me. He doesn’t understand their needs to be a balance, besides, I’ve grown accustomed to certain luxuries in life. Yes, most of my disciples end up doing time, pleading their innocence, ‘No your Honour, I didn’t use the stolen credit card to stay three nights at the Waldorf!’”
“Why not just make all this happen for yourself, through your magic or whatever it is you do?”
“I don’t create, I manipulate. The other guy creates.”
Looking around one more time at the opulence, astounded at what I was hearing, that sultry voice came from my left, “Why don’t you two gents take a ride to uptown to the Bronx?”
“Yes, good idea. Are you up for a little field trip Mr. O’Connor?”
With no reply from me, Luca spoke up. “Limousine is waiting out the front”.
The Devil stood and headed for the door. I simply followed his lead. As we headed uptown, the lights of stores names transitioned from being lit from behind with the associated marketplace sparse but with women dressed in black stalking the floor to signs being lit from below to simply stores where you couldn’t read the sign because there was no light illuminating and they were covered in grime. Enjoying the drinks afforded on the Limo, but also feeling in this part of the world I had the ultimate protection, I took in the different world this was, I was from Charlotte, North Carolina, and an upper-class area there.
“Driver, slow, really slow around this next left.” – as we rounded the bend, he pointed to a man in the shadows who seemed to want to approach the slow-moving Limo but knew something was off – “That man there, his name is Paul Rigby, my best drug dealer in the Bronx, used to be number two to one of the other guy's men.”
“You mean God?” I asked.
“I won’t refer to him as that, but you’re on the mark” he said continuing, “Paul was a pre-birth 26 years ago. One of the other guy's grapes turned sour and was forcing my disciple out of business. Now if we were to take a trip to Rikers you could meet the other disciple that put Paul in number one, a little drive by the cops got him on. He’ll die there, but I’ll still own his soul, at least for another 1500 years. I think that soul has been being recycled since the days of Alexander the Great, don’t quote me though, I lose track, maybe early onset dementia?” he laughed. I did too which scared me. We continued on down the dark streets with people about, only they were loitering like they didn’t want to go home whereas back in Manhattan everyone seemed to have a purpose, accomplish something so as to be able to get home. The Devil pointed out at least another 4 souls ‘implanted’ over the next hour, apologizing there were no ‘donors’ he could find but in this neck of the woods, odds tipped implants. Heading south toward the hotel the Devil visibly tensed, “Next right driver, next right!” - he demanded, giving a series of left and rights we pulled up outside a dingy bar – “come let’s go meet someone interesting.” Again, I dutifully followed. The place had a scattering of people, all men outside of the bar tender. Booths lined the wall opposite the bar and around it in the back making an ‘L’ shape of booths. It was generally one man per booth, two in some in quite conversation. Everybody was keeping to themselves, all looking very solemn, dressed in dour, dirty clothes, staring at their beers like the beer was trying to purvey a message to them. There was a man in the back who looked like the others who I could see the Devil was heading for, only this man appeared jovial. The man who I was introduced to as Leroy looked to be in his early 30’s, wore a dirty big green overcoat and black beanie. He looked up as we approached and slurred laughing “You again? I’ve only one soul to give, isn’t that the line out of a song…. Or let me guess, you want a refund?” he laughed harder this time.
“No Leroy, I just want you to Joel here a very brief run down on what happened in Afghanistan”.
Leroy smiled and nodded, “Easy, Intel got it wrong, that village was full of Taliban, the woman and children had left, the men were tying up loose ends when we took them out. God, whoops sorry Devil” – he put his hand over his mouth to silence a laugh – “Who knows how long we shortened the war by on that one hit?”
The Devil threw a $100 bill on the table and said, “Be seeing you around Leroy.” And we turned and left.
He called after us, “You’re a good man, you know that right?” breaking out into hysterics.
We made our way back to the Waldorf, the lights again grew brighter, sidewalks fuller, people moving with more speed.
“Leroy, he’s a donor, isn’t he?” I asked.
The Devil smiled, “His story is true. He was the commander of a platoon in Afghanistan that took out an entire village of 40 people one night. Snuck up on them and hit the place with huge amounts of mortar fire. Something like 12 huts, then went in and sprayed anyone trying to escape with machine gun fire. Cold light of day showed the Intel had been correct, it was a small village of peasant farmers and their families, predominately women and children. A Court Marshal ensued, somehow, he only got a dishonorable discharge but returning Stateside found he couldn’t live with himself.”
“And that’s why he came to you, he wanted to be able to live with himself.” I stated as the Devil nodded along. “But why not ask for more, he looked like he was living a rough life?”
“I can only grant so much; things seem to have to be within the realms of possibility for the individual. Don’t ask me why, I don’t have a teacher I can go to, any books at the library I can research. I learnt that back in the Roman days, people asking for untold amounts of gold and jewels, they’d end up with a couple of gold bracelets, enough to pawn for a decent life but nothing near to what they’d asked.” – there was a pause in the conversation as we made our way through the Lobby and back up to the room. Taking our seats at the desk once again, where there was a fresh G&T and Cognac poured, the Devil continued – “What I began to find was the souls of the people who didn’t end up with their full request underperformed in the implanted person. That’s another factor considered on my scorecard.”
I looked around the room, thought of Luca, looked at the Devil who had a look of contentment on his face, he seemed to be a happy businessman.”
“One last question?” I asked.
“Fire… and brimstone away. Sorry, insiders' joke.”
“While my soul is waiting out these 1500 years to come back as previously having belonged to Mr. Joel O’Connor, what happens to me, the soulless person?” It was hard to grasp the concept of myself dead but no soul moving out, or however the whole thing works.
“I’ve been told it’s akin to being asleep, or more so like being under a general anesthetic, not that I’d know but that’s how it has been described to me.”
Luca appeared by my side. She had a magnum with ice containing a bottle champagne and three glasses. “A celebratory drink is in order!” she stated.
“But wait, how did you know?” I asked incredulously.
“Oh, I get these feelings, besides, the Devils scorecard is very well refined!”
As the Devil popped the cork and filled the three glasses. Holding his up for us to join he said, “You shall have your wife, and life back within a month, and because I’m in a good mood, maybe a job promotion to help with the wife and life… cheers!” - We clinked glasses, and all took a sip. Putting his glass down, the Devil held out an outstretched hand – “Pleasure Mr. O’Connor, Luca will see you out.”
The end
 
 
","September 12, 2023 09:25",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,opfaws,The Devil Will See You Now,Mike Ramsey,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/opfaws/,/short-story/opfaws/,Dark,0,"['Fantasy', 'Funny', 'Fiction']",3 likes,"
Dan wasn't sure what to expect when the door opened to the Devil's office, but this wasn't it. 
 
First, it wasn't the Devil sitting there, it was an attendant of some kind. And second, the room very much looked like the waiting room for a chiropractor or something. 
 
""Uh, I am here for my appointment, with, um, you know, the Devil,"" Dan sputtered out. ""I've been waiting, on and off for months, but most recently a few hours now.""
 
The attendant -- secretary? Was that a word that was still used? The administrative assistant looked up from his phone, where he had been swiping right with some frequency.
 
""Yeah,"" and then he checked something on his computer terminal, ""She knows. It'll be a minute. Take a seat.""
 
Dan, mildly surprised that the Devil was a ""she"" slumped into what looked like a cheap Ikea chair along the blank white walls. Across from him was a door and he guessed that was where it would all go down.
 
The doctor's office vibe had the effect of quelling some of his misgivings. There was no smell of brimstone, torture racks or demons with bullwhips. The secretary was back to playing with Tinder and Dan was growing bored. He really had been waiting for several hours after getting a text from the Devil.
 
He supposed that it made sense that the Devil would take advantage of texting - it was convenient to get the notice on his phone - but it was a bit of a letdown. After deciding to make a deal with the Devil, Dan was looking forward to a supernatural encounter.
 
The secretary looked up from his phone. ""You can go in. She's ready for you.""
 
Dan got up and walked through the door, prepared for anything. 
 
There was the Devil. She sat behind a wooden table staring at a MacBook. It was a newer model, not the newest, Dan noted. The table was nice, though. It looked like mahogany. 
 
""Hello Dan,"" she said, not looking up from the computer at first. And then she stood and held out her hand. ""Don't worry, this is just a greeting. All contracts are written - in blood of course - if we can come to terms.""
 
The Devil, apparently, was a woman in her mid-40s who probably went to Orangetheory. She was classically pretty, with black hair, large brown eyes, a straight, small nose and arched eyebrows. She didn't even have small horns. No tail, either. 
 
""Not what you expected?"" she said with a smile. ""I find that this look suits me. And it works well with your sort.""
 
""My sort?"" Dan said, a bit peevishly.
 
""Mid-50s, white guy, thinks he's a good guy, obviously isn't,"" she said, smiling again. 
 
""I don't have to look like this,"" she said. ""We have an algorithm that picks the look. It's just too much energy to try to figure out what works, so I just follow the tool's recommendation.""
 
Dan was a little offended. He hadn't made the deal yet. He frowned and tried to look serious. An algorithm?
 
""I haven't agreed to anything yet,"" he said. 
 
""Neither have I Dan,"" she said, her eyes narrowed very slightly. ""I have your petition here and see you are looking to do a standard lien on the soul in exchange for, essentially, charisma, right?""
 
""Well, not just any kind of charisma,"" he said. ""I want people to like me, right away. I want every conversation to go my way.""
 
Dan had thought about it a lot. So many things would be better if he had this kind of mysterious appeal. He would get any job, run for office and win, have any woman. It would solve every problem he had. 
 
""I want it to be subtle though - like I would actually like to say the right things and be -- you know -- beguiling, not just switch people's brains off and make them like me,"" he said. 
 
The Devil nodded. ""It's not the worst request,"" she said. ""It's flexible in the outcomes and you can stipulate that in the contract if we can come to terms.""
 
Dan crinkled his eyebrows. ""Terms - I mean - I thought it was pretty straightforward. My soul for the charm,"" he said. 
 
The Devil shook her head. ""Look Dan, you're a businessman,"" she said. ""You took economics, I assume.""
 
He nodded.
 
""I have plenty of supply of souls and frankly, yours is not really in doubt,"" she said. ""You're going to be joining my permanent workforce eventually. You're 52. You could turn it around, I guess, but unlikely at this point. I don't make it all that easy, obviously, to get an audience with me, so by the time you get one, I already know you are a bad person, pretty much.""
 
""So, you won't grant me this, even if I offer my soul?"" he said, a small hint of desperation sounding in his voice. 
 
""Well, I do like guarantees,"" the Devil said. ""It smooths out the books and helps me plan. But I am a businesswoman myself. I like scale. So what I am really interested in is getting a return on my investments so I can get many more Dans in here.""
 
""OK, so beyond my soul -- you need -- like consulting or something? It's been awhile since I left that line, but I could help .."" he said before she cut him off.
 
""No way Dan - I do not need your effing consulting advice. I have a legion of former Goldman Sachs employees at the snap of a finger. I need people, on Earth, to help me scale some of my new ventures,"" she said. 
 
""Look, I believe in the power of digitalization,"" she said, waving at the computer. ""I can reach so many more people now and without all the annoying meetings -- like this one. And I have been working on some really good stuff.""
 
""So what would I be doing, exactly?"" Dan said.
 
""This skill you are looking for is very useful in business development,"" she said. ""I need you to simply spread the gospel about an excellent technology, one that stands on its own, and help it grow. To be honest, it probably doesn't need my help, but I don't take chances.""
 
""So, I use my new skill to promote this technology and I pledge my soul and everything else I want to do, I can just do?"" he asked, a bloom of hope arising in his mind. He already was envisioning his first trip to the Lululemon store near his house to try out his guile on the manager. She had patently ignored his flirting last week when he went in.
 
""Well, of course, I need you to commit to the success,"" she said. ""I need this to work and therefore I need you to work, which means that I need a bit more commitment from you than you normally put into things.""
 
""What do you mean by that?"" Dan asked, growing irritated again.
 
""Well, look at you Dan,"" she said, flinging her arm up. ""You're not ugly as it is. You make a living. You even were something of an athlete at one point, or at least you weren't unathletic. You don't need me to be successful. You're weak and pathetic. You have no discipline. You have a drinking problem and you eat too much cheese.""
 
""I eat too much cheese?!"" Dan said, getting angry.
 
""Look, like I said, I don't need your soul Dan. I have plenty and yours is coming anyway,"" she said. ""I am doing you a favor and I see a bit of potential in you. You get to ride out your life getting what you want - mostly - but I need commitment. So in addition to your soul, you also have to agree to a small incentive.""
 
The Devil stood and for a moment Dan saw a black shadow imposed over the pretty woman standing there. 
 
""If you don't perform, then not only will you lose the guile, I will take away some of the guile you already have,"" she said. ""You will find that Megan, the assistant manager at Lululemon, won't even give you a sympathy smile at your jokes after that.""
 
Dan froze at the last remark. He turned and looked at the door and thought about leaving. He looked down at his shoes, over his slightly protruding belly and then back at the Devil.
 
""You are free to go, Dan,"" the Devil said.
 
 ""OK, I will do it,"" Dan said, getting a slight spurt of motivation. ""What is this technology you want me to proselytize?""
 
The Devil smiled and pulled out a sheet of paper, a small knife and a quill.
 
""Have you ever heard of something called ChatGPT?"" 
 
","September 12, 2023 19:20",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,ydszrm,"I won't make a deal with the Devil, but he'll make a deal with me.",Zoe Lindgren,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ydszrm/,/short-story/ydszrm/,Dark,0,"['Funny', 'Contemporary', 'American']",3 likes,"
Lilah had been sick of attending her parents’ lavish high society parties ever since she’d turned 19 and the notion of an unguarded open bar had lost its luster. Now at 25, entertaining New York City’s crème de la crème had become a promethean bore. She could have been in a karaoke bar with her friends right now if it weren’t for her parents bribing her with payments towards her post-grad education. So instead of drunken ABBA sing-alongs, tonight she was fulfilling her duty as a daughter and a student.How was this night different from any other night like it? Trick question; it wan't. Tonight, and like many of her parents' parties before it, Lilah smiled at the guests wide enough to hurt her cheeks, shaking the hands of the wealthy and powerful with a crushing grip. She didn’t rub elbows with her parents’ associates so much as thrust those elbows into the ribs of passersby, using her charm, wit, and low cut dress to get away with it.With grit as tough as aging sandpaper, she loomed in the small conversation circles, teetering in her stilettos, and trying to avoid the cigar breath coming from behind blinding veneers.Her barbed responses were charming. Her blatant insults were daring. Lilah figured at that point, she could slap someone straight across the face and she would only be called avant garde. Frankly, she was getting close to that point; the next person to try and talk to her about an investment opportunity she just had to try, or tried to get her to agree that homeless shelters bring down real estate value, was going to get a punch in the throat. The only thing holding her back was her need to finish her Master’s; it was a hard life, but someone had to do it. Lilah had been present at this evening’s party for a full two hours before she was able to extract herself from the prying eyes and hands of the guests. Tonight had been a fundraiser for someone’s million dollar yacht after it had been destroyed in a hurricane. And won’t somebody please think of the poor yacht owner? Won’t anyone please think of the poor yacht owner?! That open bar was becoming more and more necessary for survival than for fun at that point, and at the two hour mark, Lilah could feel her pasted on smile chipping off her powdered face. Thankfully, the venue had a private roof garden, and Lilah knew exactly which bottle of champagne to steal away to accompany her and her hard-fought freedom.  Slipping away through the stairwell, Lilah emerged into the crisp night air of the roof garden. It was quiet up there; the lights of the city twinkled in contrast to the gaudy sparkle of diamonds, rhinestones, and crystal chandeliers below. She sat down on a little marble bench next to the jasmine bushes, and slipped off her sky-high stilettos. With an incredible sigh of relief, Lilah relaxed into the bench, the air, and the peaceful atmosphere of the roof. Sometimes it was all worth it, just to feel that sigh. Granted a stolen bottle of $500 champagne certainly didn’t hurt the situation either.  Lilah had drunk about half the bottle when she suddenly heard footsteps approaching her little bench. Shoving her feet back into her shoes, Lilah was only sober enough to make herself physically presentable to this stranger. Emotionally, her internal Pissed Off New Yorker™️ was winning in its fight to become external. She came up here to avoid people at the party, not to bring the party with her, dammit!A man emerged from the corner, rounding the bushes that hid Lilah from the view of the roof entrance. The look on his face made Lilah think he somehow knew beforehand that she was up there. He didn’t say anything right away, instead just standing there, staring at Lilah. She was having none of that bullshit. Standing up to turn directly towards the mystery man, Lilah huffed out, “And who are you? It’s polite to announce yourself to a lady, you know.” Her tone seemed to knock some sense into him.“Ah, I apologize. You are correct,” he replied, sounding mildly apologetic; his accent’s origin was indiscernible, but obvious in its class. “I was about to, but you looked so deep in thought. Are you quite alright?” He was handsome, young, and almost pleasant looking. As Lilah tried to make out the details of his visage in the dim light of the roof, she saw his suit was well tailored, his hair styled to look soft and natural instead of the severe gelled look like many of the other Wall Street bros downstairs (someone really needed to tell them that Gordon Gecko was the villain in Wall Street). He looked… nice. Inviting. But Lilah had gone to the roof to let out the ornery old bitch she truly was, and she had no desire to go through the effort of hiding it again in order to turn her own pleasant visage back on; she was done being nice, and if this guy didn’t like it? Tough titties. “I'm fine. What do you want?” She replied, more as a demand than a question. “Well,” he started, undeterred and even spurred on by Lilah’s continually sharp tone, “I saw you leave the party, and I thought that might be a good time to see the pretty young lady herself. Shall we take a walk?” The man was really slathering on the charm, his voice warm and melodic like honey. It was becoming obvious that he was a man who wasn't used to hearing ‘no’.“Thanks, but no thanks, pal. I’m perfectly fine here. Alone.” Lilah sat back down, taking another swig of her bottle. “But I came all the way up here for the pleasure of your charming company and an invigorating walk together; I must insist.” He was irked at her comment, his own composure visibly slipping. As smart as Lilah appeared to occasionally be, sometimes she just liked poking the metaphorical bear more than listening to her own sense of self-preservation.“Oy vey…” she sighed, “I said no thank you, buddy. Now, unless you want me to call security on your ass, you should really vamoose and get the hell out of here.” She took out her phone and started dialing the number for the venue’s head of security, hoping the strange man would take the threat seriously. At this final dismissal, the man lost it.“How dare you refuse me!” he boomed, “I am the Devil himself!” The roof shook as it reverberated with his celestial anger. He was red faced, (or perhaps he had been this whole time?) and appeared to be growing horns from the top of his head. Though he remained the same height, the air around him felt like it was expanding, as though his current form could barely contain him. “And you shall obey me and my requests, lest I bring Hell down upon you!!” he commanded, ironically righteous in his anger. At his last announcement, Lilah couldn’t stop herself. She started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh.Confused, and with his feelings slightly hurt, the Devil blurted out, “IS SOMETHING FUNNY TO YOU?!” He was obviously lashing out in confusion at this point; no one had ever been able to resist his charms, or his commands. Who did this woman think she was??Lilah was now doubled over on her bench, pointing at the Devil’s head, “Holy shit, and you have HORNS! You absolute schmuck!” she was laughing at him mercilessly. “WHAT?” he sputtered.“You're actually him! The horns, the red skin! Ah!” Lilah wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes, careful of her mascara. “You absolute fucking schmuck!”Finally pulling herself together after a few moments with a last hah, Lilah took another swig of her bottle. “You don't know who I am, do you? Or did you just see a random young woman off by herself and think of her as easy prey?” Lilah asked sardonically, “You absolute dumbass…” She laughed once more, shaking her head at him in pity.The Devil was dumbfounded, but with his anger finally deflated by confusion and resignation, he was able to stop and think. There wasn't a being in this world who was immune to his charms. There was no one who could outmatch him, or outwit him, or outsmart him, unless…He turned his head to Lilah, still horned but no longer red, add asked, “Do you happen to be Jewish?” It was surprisingly polite compared to the vitriol of only a minute ago. “Ding ding ding! You got it in one.” She winked, slapping her thigh. The Devil knew his powers didn't work on some people, but he was rusty on the rules and regulations after these long millenia going after easy targets.“Fuck.” The Devil replied, summoning his own bottle of champagne from the ether. Now properly defeated, he asked meekly, “Mind if I sit down for a bit?” “Knock yourself out,” Lilah said between sips. Now that he wasn’t posturing and being all Devil-y, Lilah felt a little sorry for being so harsh with him; she may be a bitch, but she wasn't heartless. “I plan on knocking myself out soon anyway,” she continued, pointing at the bottle. She laughed again. “Yeah, laugh it up. It's not easy, you know,” he groaned, taking a mighty swig of his own bottle. “There's only so many people to tempt these days. No one takes my deals, and they all think they're lawyers 'cause they read something online. Pshh!” “Oh, yeah, I'm sure life is really hard for the devil,” she replied sarcastically. “Lord of all that is unholy and evil, master of the underworld. Yada yada yada,” she joked.“I didn't have the best upbringing, you know,” he huffed, very much indignant in his tone, “I mean the daddy issues alone...” Lilah held up a hand to stop him. “Look Luci– can I call you Luci? You are Lucifer, right?”“I have many names and many titles. The King of Hell! Beelzebub! Metist–”“It’s a yes or no question. I’m trying to be nice here, dude.”“Fine. Yes, I am Lucifer, and no, you may not call me Luci.”“Cool, so anyway as I was saying, Luci–”“Don’t call me that.”“–we ALL got daddy issues. Doesn’t mean you need to wallow.”“Wallow?! I think I’m allowed more than anyone to wallow! I was punished with an eternity in Hell!”“And how is that my problem?? Work on yourself before lashing out at others, Luci. You’ll make better friends that way. Capisce?""No one had spoken to him like that for centuries. Not since he had that fling with Joan of Arc and that was...fiery. There was something so intriguing about this strange woman on her bench. “What is your name, by the way?” he asked after a second.“What, do you go after every random chick without learning their name?”“Well, it doesn't usually matter,” he offered. “I'm Lilah.” She stuck out her hand, ready for the first friendly handshake of her evening. “Pleased to meet you properly.” “Well, everyone meets me in the end,” he said in jest, returning the handshake amicably.“Well not really,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “Have you even read the Torah?”“Is that one yours?” He asked. Lilah hummed in the affirmative. “I could never read all those religious texts, and the newer ones sound especially atrocious. Vile sorts of things,” he shuddered, “but I’ve gotten the gist over the centuries.”“Well long story short, we Jews don't believe in you, you know. Well, we know you exist in our text, but the whole ‘hell’ thing?” Lilah put up her fingers to mock her own tone when saying ‘hell’, “Doesn't exist as far as we're concerned.” Lucifer didn’t reply to that last bit. Mostly silent now, he thought about Lilah’s response for a moment, humming softly in thought as his eyes looked out over the city lights. Though Lilah had started out the night thoroughly expecting to hate her evening, this strange little turn of events had been almost pleasant. Odd, for sure, but with the usual crowds at these parties, this had been the first conversation she found herself properly engaged in in years. “Well, then I believe we’ve found why exactly my wiles don’t work on you, Miss Lilah.” Lucifer finally said, looking back at her from his gaze over the skyline. Gingerly, he stood up, brushing imaginary dirt off of his suit. “It’s getting late. I figure it might be best if we bid each other adieu.” He said, sticking out his hand for a farewell shake. Lilah then stood up herself, able to look him in the eyes only due to her heels. Taking his hand in a firm but friendly grasp, Lilah replied, “Actually, I was wondering if you would make a deal with me, Luci.”“Pardon me?” Lucifer replied, confused enough to not realize she’d used his new nickname again. “A deal with me won’t work on you. Did we not just have a whole conversation about this?”Still holding his hand, Lilah continued as though he hadn't spoken, “Let’s make a deal to get coffee next week together. You’re right; you’re the Devil. And while I may not be affected by your powers, it doesn’t mean you aren’t the most interesting person I’ve ever met at one of these stupid functions. I actually want to get to know you better! And for my end of the deal, I’ll pay.”Lucifer blinked at her, still confused. “So you…” he started, “You want to hang out?”“Yes, but I figured it’d be funny if I positioned the offer like a deal.” Lilah replied with a wide, warm smile, the mirth clearly visible in her eyes. Lucifer hesitated for a moment, but soon any doubt about whether or not he would take the deal was quickly rid of by the sheer fact that they were still joined at the hands. Hands, which he was now shaking vigorously, as a smile spread across his handsome face.“You know what, Lilah, you’ve got yourself a deal.” —---------------------------------A week later, Lucifer and Lilah were sitting at a cafe, enjoying the easy conversation and the lovely view of people watching in New York. During a moment of comfortable silence, Lilah was struck with a thought. “Say, Luci,” she said, swirling around the straw in her iced latte.Lucifer took a big sip of his extra-large black coffee, “Yes?”“What are you doing in New York City anyway? Why not somewhere else, anywhere else in the world?” “Well it’s always easy to get here, so why not?” Lucifer replied, then paused a moment before continuing, “I mean, I do live in Jersey.”
","September 12, 2023 22:27",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,4cm4yk,REGENERATOR,Jolanta Polk,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/4cm4yk/,/short-story/4cm4yk/,Dark,0,"['Horror', 'Suspense', 'Thriller']",2 likes,"
 REGENERATOR
	She was starving. At least, that’s what the human who fed called this gnawing feeling in her gut. She could hear the intense grumbling in her stomach as hunger writhed inside her like a viper. Her salivary glands, triggered by the thought of food, squirted gallons of a viscous liquid, not unlike burnt gasoline, straight into her gullet. It was pure fire. 
	She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten anything. When was that exactly? A year ago? Two? The yearning for food was so intense that it almost tore a hole in her belly and muddled her brain to the point she couldn't think straight.
	For some, food was an emotional pick-me-up, a reward. But for her, it was a necessity, pure and simple. She never ate mindlessly or on autopilot. She ate only when completely empty  - one bite after another, slowly savoring assorted flavors and textures. There were things that she liked better than others, but, in general, she was not fussy. She ate because the empty space in her gut screamed at her to fill it. Benign at first, the void grew stronger, blowing up like a puff fungus, only to explode in a shrill roar.
	""Feeeeed meeeee!""
	All she could do was ignore the command. She could not move. She was stuck in the cellar, listening to the void’s laments, waiting for food to be delivered. She could only hope the human who had promised to look after her would do the stalking. And the hunting. Soon, or she’d die. 
	***
 
	Halfmoon Valley, population 434, is just a tiny dot on the edge of Kootenai National Forest, Montana. Summers in Halfmoon Valley are warm, but come December, thermometers rarely rise above 15 degrees Fahrenheit. Local folks say they remember winters when spit would freeze in midair before hitting the ground, and if a man had to piss out in the open, his pecker would turn into an icicle and fall off.
	Martin Jarvis was not a native Montanan. No one knew his exact age or where he’d come from. He seemed timeless, placeless, and limitless, like the lichen that had taken over Halfmoon Valley's rooftops. Lured by the offer of a ""job and a cabin"", he’d arrived in the town more than thirty years before. The job was lumberjacking, and the cabin was Deer Lodge, a 200-square-foot ramshackle log structure with high ceilings and a brick chimney. Even back then, the place looked like it could barely stand upright, and even the mildest gale might topple it down, leaving nothing but a pile of rubble.
	After he had worked in the sawmill lugging logs and wielding an axe for nearly three decades, the place went bust. So, with the job part of the initial offer gone, only the ""and a cabin"" feature remained. By then, Jarvis had long lost touch with his family, wherever they might be. He thought he might still have a distant cousin around Eureka and a niece in Tallahassee, but he barely remembered their names, and, for sure, he didn't know their exact addresses. At seventy-five, he was so used to being on his own that he chose to stay in Halfmoon Valley. Right in the middle of the forest, in Deer Lodge.
	He was generally left to his own devices, and, in the best tradition of loners, he subsisted on what he could pick up in the woods. When autumn came, he also harvested the potatoes and corn he planted on one of the sunny slopes behind the lodge. Occasionally, he managed to trap a rabbit or find roadkill that had not yet gone off completely to put in his stews. He was not particularly picky about what he ate and needed just enough to keep his body from shutting down.
	To earn some cash, he’d walk down to the Meat Hook and offer Mike Lambert, the owner, to butcher one of the hogs or bone and fillet the ones he'd killed earlier. For a few bucks, he chop-chopped through breastbones and hips, sprinkled salt on hocks and knuckles, gathered spilled guts into a bucket, and washed the liver and heart Lambert sold by the pound over the counter. After he was done, he cleaned the blood and skin from his hands with lime soap and warm water, then headed to the smoke shop to spend his hard-earned money on an ounce of Cavendish tobacco.
	If Lambert had no hogs to slaughter, Jarvis would trim Mrs. Taylor’s wisteria bushes, rake up leaves in the kindergarten yard, or hose down the pavement in front of the barbershop. It all added up to a few dollars, which was more than enough. Apart from that, workwise, there wasn’t an awful lot to do, but he didn’t complain. He got by.
	He had a well-established routine that he enjoyed. He got up late, boiled water for tea, and fried the cornbread he'd made the night before. In the summer, he sat in front of the cabin, listening to the forest hum and haw around him. Then he lit a pipe and took long, leisurely puffs, making the tobacco last as long as possible. He'd rather run out of tea and sugar than do without his Cavendish fix. After lunch, he worked in the garden, carried wood or water, or went hunting. If he were lucky, he caught a squirrel or two, which would last him a week. In the evenings, accompanied by a kerosene lamp, he went to the clearing at the side of the house, filled the second pipe of the day, and listened to the town below speak to him.
	He knew Halfmoon Valley by heart and could name every building there. At the end of Main Street was the Buckhorn, a bar where he’d gone for a single malt every Friday when he still worked in the sawmill. Prendergast’s fishing supply shop for all those khaki-clad townies who came to Halfmoon Valley to catch trout was two doors down. Everyone knew the Montana trout were the best in the world and required extra-strong nylon. Legend had it that specimens as heavy as seven pounds had been caught in the Wopanga Brook. Old Pendergast, a nasty piece of work,  sold the anglers things they didn’t need, from reels and floats to baits and lures. 
	“And they always fall for it—hook, line, and sinker. No pun intended!” he bragged. 
	Opposite the tackle shop was the Tough Nickel, open seven days a week from 6 a.m. until midnight. John Spruce, owner, cook, and general drudge, presided over the counter in a white grease-stained cassock and a chef’s pointed cap, serving soggy hash browns and mud-black coffee to truckers who circulated along Interstate 15.
	After an hour or so of watching the distant lights twinkle and talk to him, Jarivs would return to the cabin, turn on the radio, and listen to the Montana Outdoor Show, his favorite program.
	But, as of late, he noticed that the lights in the cabin flickered and the radio crackled like an asthmatic with one lung, then went off in the middle of the show. It made his blood boil. So, the next time he went down to Halfmoon Valley, he told Lambert he needed a guy to check the old generator. However,  three days passed, and no one came.
	On Thursday morning, Jarivs took his tobacco pouch and pipe, sat in front of the lodge to smoke in the crisp morning air, and let the sun massage his leathery face with warm fingers.  He was about to light up when a monstrous F-150 Ford van appeared between the pine trunks, so he put the pipe back into the pouch and, step after faltering step, walked to greet the visitor. 
	A short, sandy-haired man of around forty jumped out. He wore waterproof rubber boots and a thick fleece jacket with the North Face logo. His blue eyes were warm and friendly.
	""Mr. Jarvis?"" he said, slipping a leather glove off his right hand and stretching it towards the old man.
	""The name’s Tom Huskin. I’ve been told you need help.""
	Jarvis shook the proffered hand and nodded.
	""Yes, can’t get the old juice machine to start. It kinda comes alive, then dies. On and off, on and off, which is annoying. More off than on nowadays. Most of the time, there’s no light in the cabin. I ain’t getting any younger, and my eyes...” 
	His voice trailed off.
	""They used to be as sharp as a hawk's, but now I struggle to do the simplest tasks."" 
	""Just let me grab my tool kit, and I’ll have a look-see. And if it doesn’t work, I can always try to jump-start it from the power board on this baby,"" he said, lovingly patting the F-150’s bonnet.
	""Full hybrid V6 engine, massive 7.2 kV output. That’s a lotta juice in one machine.""
	Jarvis shrugged, not caring for the technical details.
	""So, what is it like to live this hermit life so far from civilization?"" Huskin inquired to break the silence.
	Jarvis shot him a disinterested glance. He'd heard the question a million times before, and when the mood struck him, he'd respond respectfully. But today, somber thoughts crowded his mind like deer rallying around a winter feeder, so he mumbled something in response and led the way to the lodge.
	Huskin followed. People in town had told him that the old man was a recluse who hated wasting his breath on idle chatter. It seemed they were right.
	Jarvis stepped inside, holding the door open for Huskin, who noticed a thick web with dead flies hanging from the door frame. The sitting room-kitchen-bedroom space was ample and carried scarce furniture: a small rectangular table with three chairs, a bed neatly made up with a knitted coverlet in red and black wool, and some boxed possessions stowed under. A wardrobe with a door on the right and four drawers on the left. A stove where a blackened kettle puffed out clouds of steam and whistled gently. 
	""Let’s sit down at the table and have some tea. There might still be some snickerdoodles in the tin,"" Jarvis suggested politely as if trying to make up for his previous gruffness.
	""My Mama used to say, You kids gotta eat only at the table. I don’t want no crumbs or spills on my clean floor! And if we didn’t listen,  she’d have a hissy fit with a tail on it!"" 
	Accepting Jarvis's apologetic gesture, Huskin sat at the table and smiled at the memory. His mother had always laid down the ground rules in his house without the right to appeal. Just like his wife did in his home nowadays.
	Jarvis poured water into two chipped mugs, heaped sugar into them, poured a drop of milk, and carried them to the table. They sat in companionable silence, drinking the hot, sweet tea, when the lights blinked and then went off. The place went completely dark, with only a tenuous beam poking in from a small window with grimy panes. There, too, Huskin noticed cobwebs with trapped insects.
	Jarvis got up and went to fetch a kerosene lamp.
	""Looks like the juice’s completely gone,"" he said as he put a match to the wick, then went to the stove to rekindle the dying fire, feeding it a few logs.
	""At least we won’t freeze to death here,"" Huskin chuckled.
	Jarvis turned and looked at him long and hard as if trying to evaluate what Huskin meant.
	""That’s for sure. We won’t die of cold here,"" he confirmed after a moment of hesitation.
	The lights flickered again but failed to come alive.
	""Well, ain’t no use wasting your time. You’d better start on the thing you’ve come to fix,"" Jarvis said almost regretfully.
	""Rightee oh. I’d better get going now, or I’ll be late. I promised the old lady I’d pick up some groceries on the way back. Down in Jennings, in that big Safeway, they’ve just opened. Baked beans, bananas, and stuff, she said. As if a man should know what stuff is! And make sure there ain’t any black spots on them, she said! On the bananas, I mean.""
	He picked up his toolbox and looked at Jarvis.
	""So, where do you keep the old monster?""
	Jarvis’s eyes seemed to cloud with surprise, then cleared as he pointed toward the cellar.
	""Down there. Just give me a moment. I’m busting for a wee, and then I’ll join you,"" he said.
	“Well, don’t rush on my account!” Huskin replied and walked towards the cellar. 
	Jarvis watched the technician’s jacket-clad shoulders disappear in the trap door. He stood still for a moment, scratched the stubble on his chin, then looked again as if expecting someone to emerge. No one did.
	A moment later came the sound of something falling, something screaming, and something chewing. Jarvis shuddered as cold fingers reached deep inside him, twisted his bowels, and tapped his bones. When the shrieks died, the lights blinked, went off, and came on again. The cabin was brightly lit, and even the radio was on.
	The weight of guilt crashed down on the old man, as it always did when the thing happened. But it never lasted long. At least not long enough for him to forget he had to get rid of the evidence. And this time, it was going to be hard work. The F-150 was massive and would require an awful lot of digging. Maybe he could take it to the Wopanga Brook and drive it straight in. It would sink like a stone through the ice and stay hidden until the snow was gone in late spring. After all, it was Halfmoon Valley, Montana, where spit froze before hitting the ground in winter, and a man's pecker could freeze into an icicle.
	 **** 
	Something was purring inside her. The viper in her stomach was gone, apparently replaced by a furry kitten.
	Purrrr... Purrrrrr... Feeeeels gooooood!
	The old man had told her this feeling was called “pleasure.” 
	She could hear the kitten’s soft breath as it wiggled inside her and shifted, looking for a comfortable place to curl up, then settled to sleep. It replaced the space where the void had been and felt terrific! She was full to bursting. Full to burping. So she did. She burped. Twice.
	She did not care for the fleece jacket or the waterproof rubber boots, but that couldn’t be helped. She’d spit them out later, together with the nasty-tasting wallet and the car keys. They came with the rest. And the rest was delicious. The yellow liquid from an hour before was gone, replaced by the sweet-tasting human plasma, protein-rich and transparent. Just as she liked it. Just as she remembered from the first time. And the second. And all the others. She was dizzy with joy. Millions of calories filled the void and would last for a long time. Until her juices dwindled again, and she needed another fix. Another regenerator. 
	Upstairs, she could hear the human who’d promised to take care of her walk around in circles and mutter to himself. She knew she could trust him because they had a deal. She provided him with energy. He provided her with food.  He’d do all the necessary stuff up there to keep them safe –clean up and get rid of the evidence. Like he always did. And she could go back to being herself—a reloaded generator.
	- THE END - 
 
","September 10, 2023 17:14",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,hnwzrs,A Deal's a Deal,May Waters,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hnwzrs/,/short-story/hnwzrs/,Dark,0,['Fiction'],2 likes,"
Cold sweat dripped down the sides of Lilian's face while her heart slammed against her ribcage in what seemed like irregular beats. The room shouldn't have been this dark but a blackness dimmed the light, and in the middle of the blackness sat a small boy, cross-legged on the floor. His eyes pale, not quite blue, not quite grey. There was an icy sheen to them, as if there were unpolished blue topaz stones sitting in his sockets. Unnatural. His skin also pale, but almost scaly. It was hard to focus on him, like trying to focus on a piece of dust shimmering in rays of sunlight. ""I don't understand, "" she stammered. She tried to take a deep breath to collect her thoughts but she felt like she was sucking in air so dry that it burned the back of throat. ""From the top,"" said the boy in his small voice. ""You said you would sell your soul to be able to sell that many records. At the Beyonce concert, remember? To your friend with the funny hair. I heard you say it and now I'm here to make you an offer.""""But I didn't mean... I meant..."" Lilian's voice trailed off as she wiped the sweat on her forehead with the sleeve of her sweater. She felt dizzy, out of breath, terrified. It was surreal, was she dreaming? She pinched the side of her ribs and winced from the force she used on herself. Definitely not dreaming.A small round table appeared in the room, with two chairs opposite sides. The little boy, though not a boy at all, sat on one now with his sleeves rolled up. He was wearing dark clothes when he first appeared but now he sported a red-velvet suit with a bow tie around his neck.""Sit, sit"" he ushered her to the chair across from him with a wave of his hand. Still feeling dizzy Lilian grabbed the back of the chair and then sat down. She nervously ran her hands through her long red hair that had begun to dampen from sweat, and then she took a deep breath.""Here is my offer."" His lips curled into a cross between a smile and a snarl. ""You want to sell that many records, I'll give you what you want. You will use your voice, sell records, people will love you. You will spend your life selling records and all I ask in return is for you to do one small thing.""Lilian stared wide-eyed. ""Are you the devil? "" She whispered hoarsely. ""I am the granter of wishes, the king of an unseen world. I have many names. I prefer you to think of me as a free-spirit that chose my own path in this world. You, Lilian - you can call me your friend.""""Yes but are you the devil?""""Do you want me to be?""Lilian licked her lips, her thoughts were flying around her head the way wind whipped the rain on stormy nights. She had never been religious, never really read the bible. She had heard stories, observed the customs from those that went to church. She celebrated Christmas, but not in the same way as religious people. To her it was a day for joy and family and presents. What was the devil anyway? A spirit that went his own way? That’s what he said. Maybe most of what she heard was nonsense. Something tickled inside her, the thought of selling as many records as Beyonce, the life she could have. She looked around her bedroom, the shabbiness of it all. Her bed, a single mattress on an old frame across from her and a small dresser and mirror were the only pieces of furniture in the room, other than the table that had appeared alongside, this boy - spirit, or whatever he was.“What do you want from me in return?”The boy smiled gleefully. “Your soul.” Pale hands went up in front of him. “Now I know how it sounds, cliche and all, but really what I’m asking for is your loyalty for eternity.” His voice was no longer small, and his physique seemed to have grown. He wasn’t really a boy now, more of a man. “I'll give you what you asked for and when you die, a very long time from now you get to spend eternity with me. It isn’t like they make it out to be in the movies. There are a lot of famous people where I am. You would be surrounded by the best in show business. Think about what that means.”Liliane shook her head, “I’m not sure, can I take some time to think about this?”“What is there to think about?” A pen appeared in his hand and a piece of paper before him on the table. “This is a one-time offer. Gone as soon as the sand runs out."" An hourglass appeared on the table, sand quickly running to the bottom. ""Yes, yes, a classic I know.. Now before it runs out you can agree, sign the contract and have what you asked for. Or, I can be on my way. No hard feelings.” His icy gazed settled upon her, his face now expressionless.The thought of going back to the mundane existence she had been toiling in, to the job that didn’t her appreciate her was too much. She was only 24, she shouldn't feel so tired and used up. No, she would not do it, she would not go back. A new life flashed in the horizon.“You did say a long life right? After a long life? She asked earnestly.“Yes, long life, of course.” The devil grinned. His eyes, strange and terrifying lit up with the realization that he was closing the deal. His pale hand slid the paper toward her while his long pointy finger tapped the page. “Here, sign here.”Lilian clasped the silver pen he was handing to her, but as her fingers gripped the cold metal his hand came over hers and he pushed the pen deep into the top of her other hand. She yelped in surprise and jerked from the pain as the pen was yanked out of her flesh.“It must be signed in your blood you see” he explained, his voice filled with excitement.A drop of blood hit the signature line on the page and Lilian pulled the pen through it, signing her name. She barely felt the pain in her hand, as adrenaline rushed through her like a tidal wave, carrying promises of a life to come.“By blood you are bound to me."" The table vanished and the strange creature, barely resembling a man now began to fade into the blackness.“When does my new life start” She called out.“Soon you will be selling more records than anyone. I always keep my promises. Just remember, a deal’s a deal.” The blackness swallowed him up and then the light began to overpower that dark pit until it was no more. It was a regular bedroom again.Lilian walked to her mirror above her dresser and stared at her reflection. Her green eyes wide, wild with what she had just seen. Her hair messy, as if she had been out in a storm. What have I done? It was a moment of brief regret, but it passed. She was going to be like Beyonce. It was going to happen.He imagination took over and she pictured all of the things that she would have access to. Would she receive awards? Be able to visit exotic places? Stay in the best hotels? It seemed easy, too easy.Weeks went by and instead of getting better, things started to go wrong. The job she hated no longer wanted her. They sent her on her way with two weeks pay and a bunch of “sorry’s” while they escorted her out the door. Singing auditions didn’t pan out. Agents dodged her calls. What was this bargain she made? Where was the fame? The record deal?Weeks turned into months, and the job search was dismal. It was odd that nobody wanted to hire her. She had experience. She started to feel like she had imagined it all, until of course she got a call from a vintage records shop. They were looking for a sales manager and entertainment coordinator, and had come across her resume on a job search site. They held private shows with musicians that were passing through town. They had a perfect space for intimate shows, and had made a name for themselves in the local scene. “You can call me ’T’” Tony the owner said on her first day. “It’s a little easier than saying Tony. I dunno,” The smell of marijuana wafted off him as he hovered beside her. His long curly black mullet spilled down a Black Sabbath t-shirt. He looked like he had just come back from a music festival. “Sometimes we get visits from famous people. Kelly that worked here a while back now works for Sony or something…. One of those labels anyway. Your voice is pretty good, I bet someone will be interested to hear you. That’s the beauty of this place man, you never know what lies ahead,” he rambled. Tony handed her keys and and name tag. “Sometimes you’ll have to lock up, I’ll show you the alarm.”Was this the start of her new life? Visions swirled in her head of record executives visiting the store while promoting their artist, hearing her sing, and she would be discovered. This could be it, this could be her big break. Months went by, and nothing happened. Lilian's frustration grew. She started to feel as though she had made it up in her head. It was a dream, it was made up...she had been drugged. It wasn't real.It was a cold rainy afternoon when Tony walked in unexpected. Lilian was nearing the end of her shift. There hadn’t been much going on in the way of entertainment acts passing through or setting up shows, but she had sold a lot of records that day. Collectors had been on the hunt for rare albums and they just happened to have the right ones. Tony looked impressed as he went through the daily sales numbers. “You sure do sell a lot of records Lilian. You’re like the Beyonce of records sales. People must really love your charm.”As soon as he said the words Lilian froze and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. That’s what he had said! That’s what that boy had said. The man-boy. The devil. She would sell more records than Beyonce, she would sell records and people would love her. In that moment she knew she had made a bad deal. She ran the contract in her head over and over. He didn’t say she would be rich or famous; he just said she would sell more records. Those cold eyes pierced her memory. “You know I think we should put a special show on next month with some local talent,” said Tony. “We could hold it outside with the good weather coming, right in the back lot. We could offer local bands a small payment, based on ticket sales. Actually Bryce’s band, you know the one with the strange base player, he owes me. I did him a favor a while back and I told him I’d come calling and he agreed. And you know what they say, a deals a deal.”Lilian nodded as a lump balled up in her throat. “A deal’s a deal,” she said sourly.
","September 15, 2023 05:53","[[{'Amanda Fox': 'Ha, I love the twist to this!  Nice work.', 'time': '13:37 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,xo1szr,A deal with the devil,David Nutt,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xo1szr/,/short-story/xo1szr/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror', 'Drama']",2 likes,"
A deal with the devil
Boredom. Have you ever had a serious attack of this human failing? It’s like feeling all emotional and sensual sensations in your body have been poured out of you like water being flushed down the toilet. You feel empty without any interest or feelings in your surroundings. Enthusiasm and curiosity were emotions that belong to the past. Everyday is just an acceptance of your existence.
I am 65 years old. I had recently sold my very successful pharmaceutical business for a handsome sum. One of the conditions of the sale was I would no longer be part of the future. For the last forty years it had been my life, awake and, no doubt, in my subconscious at sleep. I admit, with regret, I have not paid enough attention to my wife and two children, except for providing them with every material comfort and schooling their hearts desired. Our two children have completed their university studies, married and left home to live abroad. One in America and the other in Singapore. I am sitting at the dinner table facing my wife.
I married my wife one year after graduating. She was five years older than me. Like me she came from a single child family well provided for. At the time of our marriage she was working as a senior vice president in a bank. To disclose a little secret, totally with her blessing, I used some of her savings and her position in the bank to finance the creation of my company. But this financial support is not what attracted me to her. She was a good looking woman with an engaging smile. Confident about her place in the world, ambitious, well educated and at times in the early days of our marriage she played the role of a femme fatale. Our love making in the early years, when I had the time or did not feel exhausted, was so intense I wanted to write poems about it, but never did. She had a healthy appetite for nightly activities. Once the children came on the scene it completely disrupted our lifestyle. My wife quit her job saying she was incapable physically of continuing with the bank’s responsibility and the children. The children came first. She was not prepared to put their needs and love in the hands of a third party.
I had no objection as my company was beginning to work well. But through the haze of working all hours of the day I did notice our sexual life became non-existent, also she didn’t pay so much attention to how she looked and dressed. She poured her energy into the love for the children. I felt over a period of a few years she was losing confidence in herself when addressing the outside world. Gone was that dynamic and ambitious profile of the young woman. She had made it her religion to be always home when the children opened the front door. Maybe she was paying a high price for being a generous and gifted home mother. I was mostly absent which I believe influenced the choice of our children to live in distant lands. Today I sat there looking at my wife. The years after the children had left turned her into a hypochondriac, introvert and sad to say lonely spirited individual. Deep down in her soul I imagined she was regretting resigning from her job at the bank all those years ago. The love flame of yesterday towards me barely showed any light.
“My dear, let's go to Normandy for three weeks for a change from this deary English weather. We will go to the coast where the weather patterns are influenced by tidal changes”.
“Three weeks seems too long to be away from my doctors. Let me consult them first”.
Permission given.
We booked into a room with sea view at the Grand Hotel at Cabourg. After the first night I could feel my wife was making an effort to please me but I knew she felt the absence of her home and doctors. I could see my future, without working, acting a nursemaid to my wife. She seemed to have lost all love of life; heralded for me a bleak future. She stayed mostly in our room leaving me to explore the town and beach. The town is known for where Marcel Proust wrote “ A la recherche de temps perdu”. It is also a favorite watering hole for French families in the summer months. Our visit was in the early spring. 
I have always been an early riser. I soon found a family bistro open for an early morning coffee. It was situated just off the front about 10 minutes by foot from the hotel. It was a bistro run by a husband and wife team aided by their daughter; who I learnt later was the protected only child. She represented the stunning example of a young French woman, high cheekbones, abundant long brownish hair, and deep dark eyes that seemed to reflect a deep kindness of her spirit. When she laughed it resonated like classical music through your body. She had that enviable quality of innocents and youth like the first blossoms from springtime. I was enchanted by her personality and seduced by her youth. I visited the cafe every morning during our limited stay. We took moments of her leisure time to talk. It has the effect of throwing me into complete confusion of thoughts and a blossoming love for her. Her name was Charlotte.
We only stayed 9 days as my wife thought she needed to see her doctor. We arrived back from France both in an ugly mood, me because I was going to miss my breakfast admiring and talking to Charlotte, and my wife because she urgently needed to see her doctor. The first night back home I was awake most of the night with the vision of Charlotte bending over me, taking me in her arms and gently kissing me. I was obsessed with her beauty, youth and gentleness of spirit. It must have been nearing dawn when I heard a voice.
“Your soul called me with a need for help”.
“Who are you?”
“I am the devil. Always ready to help those in need”. I heard him chuckle.
 
“The devil, what have I to do with the devil? But you're right about one thing, I need help. My life has been turned into a dark and unhappy future of living in a wasteland where nothing grows. I am dying of boredom with a wife permanently ill and to make matters worse I have fallen in love with a young woman that is to me the answer to my future happiness on this earth. How can the devil help me?”
“You say you have fallen in love. Has she shown any signs that this love is mutual.”
“How could she be with a sixty -five year old married man?”
“I might have a proposition for you. In 24 hours your wife will be driven, on orders of the doctor, to the local hospital with a suspected heart attack. Within hours the hospital will announce her death. You will call your two children and arrange for the funeral to take place in five days time. There will then be a three day period of mourning. After which your children will leave for their respective homes. Two days later you will leave for France. Once you have passed French customs and your feet are firmly on French soil I will give you back 40 years of your life. You will become a young man ready to seduce the young woman you say you love”.
“It sounds preposterous” Nevertheless my thoughts suddenly envisaged a flight to happiness.”What makes you think she is not already in love with a young man?”
“What little I know about her is that she has a very protective father who views the locals as totally unsuitable for her daughter. I doubt she is involved with a young man. You arrive as a rich foreigner and would be a very suitable candidate. But first my friend you must make the girl fall in love with you, that is beyond my powers. I only deal in individuals' lives and deaths. Love is in the powers of God.
“This is an idea of fantasy. If I were to accept what is the price?”
“You are indeed a businessman, nothing comes free. I will give you eight years. You will after your efforts of seduction marry the fair lady. Life with your arms wrapped around her will certainly not be boring. But eight years later at midnight on the day I turned back the time clock and you became a twenty five year old man your wife will inherit your forty years.
“That’s diabolical. A thirty three year old man living with a woman forty years older than him. How could she understand what had happened? It might ruin her life.”
“These are questions that I cannot answer. I am only talking to you. It is your decision. Do we have a deal.”
“A deal, a deal”. The price tag was decidedly of devilish reasoning. To capture what I believe would be an exquisite period of my life full of re-found youth and love for a period of eight years. Was it worth the gamble of possibly destroying a person’s life? I asked myself if I was a selfish, egotistical man. A man that was prepared to gamble somebody's else life for a period of intense happiness. It was true for the major part of my life I had pursued my selfish ambitions to create a successful company ignoring the needs of my wife and children. My error was to think material benefits would compensate for this selfishness. Now I would have the chance to redeem myself even if is was such a short period. In the tender morning light it seemed a decision I should take was to accept the deal.
As predicted my wife died a few hours later in hospital. My two children rushed to her bedside. Many tears were shed. The funeral was a somber occasion. A couple of weeks later I was on a plane to France. Once I passed customs I went to the gents and came back out as a young man of twenty five. Two days later I was sitting having breakfast in my favorite bistro in Cabourg. Charlotte, my undisclosed love, came to take my order. As she stopped before me she said.
“Don’t I know you? You remind me of an older man that came here regularly for about eight days, maybe a month ago. You have the same eyes and also the way you speak French. Was your father in France last month”.
“No my father has been dead a few years”
“I am sorry, it must be my mistake. I remembered him so well. We enjoyed each other's company when I was not busy. I was quite saddened when he left. Now for your order”.
This first encounter as a young man seemed a very promising start on the road to seducing her. It took many breakfasts that turned into dinners. The first kiss, words can’t describe my feelings. They were between wonderment and ecstasy Many kisses, embraces and cheek to cheek dances resulted in nine months later we were married. I had to explain in detail to her mother and father why I did not have a job and was living in a rented apartment in Cabourg. I told them my parents were dead but they had left me a considerable fortune which allowed me to live a life of leisure. I assured them after our marriage and when we have settled in I intend to look for a job. As a wedding present I told them I was giving their daughter one million euros so she has her own income and does not rely on gifts from me. I also said we intend buying a house down the coast about ten kilometers from the center. It has been vetted by Charlotte and she approves. It has a sea view with a garden leading down to the beach where there is a small jetty for a boat. I also explained that once married I wanted to enjoy being with my wife at home and that would mean her not working in your bistro. Of course I am prepared to cover any costs of employing her replacement. My darling’s parents sat there a little stunned. Her mother got up and kissed me on the cheek saying,”Look after her she loves you very much”. The father shook my hand and gave me their blessing. Charlotte who had been hiding behind the door burst into the room rushing towards me with numerous kisses. I think all eyes were full of tears of happiness.
The marriage was a joyful occasion with several French relatives attending as both her parents can from large families. Nobody came from England. How could I explain I had now reverted to my youth. I was pleased nobody had the idea to research my identity. In fact while I was courting Charlotte I had found a shady lawyer prepared to change my name and issue me with a French passport. Money has a useful side. The sad aspect to all this monkey business was I had to lose all contact with my children. I had hinted at the funeral that I was going to disappear for a while. This remark didn’t appear to worry them.
The wedding night was a night of love, innocent youth and privilege. She was a virgin. Charlotte woke late next morning beside herself with happiness and full of life. As she walked naked across the room with her youthful gait and superb figure I knew we were embarking on a happiness period of my life. For the next three years we traveled, enjoying many of the world wonders. We did what true lovers do, held hands and kissed passionately in the most exotic places. I never looked for a job.
I managed my fortune through my English lawyer never disclosing I had changed my name. In the fourth year her parents had a fatal car accident coming back from a party. This forced us to stay close to home sorting out their affairs. It took my beloved a relatively long time to get over her loss. I bought a small sailing boat so we could spend some time on the sea away from the noise and pressures of our daily lives. We both agreed this was one of our greatest pleasures, lying in each other's arms on the foredeck, often naked. In the seventh year Charlotte was pregnant. My inside was turned upside down as we had planned not to interfere with our love for each other by having children. A boy was born in the faithful eighth year. My body was coiled with anxiety and worry. Charlotte was a radiant picture of joy and tenderness to be a mother, our plan was conveniently forgotten. She took me in her arms with excitable joy.
That night I wrote a long detailed letter to my English lawyer explaining exactly what had happened and in the event of my death what should happen to my fortune. I asked him to carry out my wishes with diligence and as little information as possible. He should realize several areas of my life and decisions remain sensitive for his eyes only. I ended by telling him over the years he has been a loyal and good friend and worthy of any fee he felt justified.
The day of payment arrived. The eight years had been the happiest of my life. I was prepared to pay up and step into the unknown. I set the alarm for midnight. We were both asleep when I heard the first gentle ring of the alarm. I immediately shut off. I turned to my wife to see if she was awake. No, still fast to sleep but instead of a beautiful young woman in our bed there was a woman over seventy years old with all the marks of the aging process. Her hair was quite white, her face shrunken slightly with age showing tell tale signs of darkening patches on the skin. Her skin was losing its elasticity. I lay there dumbfounded. Completely absent of any feeling. What have I done?
The next morning I heard a scream for the bathroom as Charlotte saw herself in the mirror. “What has happened? She cried. Before any answers could be given she heard the baby crying to be fed. She immediately went to him. For him no explanations were necessary, he felt her gentle hands, her smell and the soothing voice. He reached up for the baby bottle and took it in his tiny hands ready for his breakfast.
While my beloved wife fed the baby I went down to the beach and took the boat out. I never came back.
David Nutt 15/September/2023
","September 15, 2023 06:21",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,qlx8gx,The Offer One Cannot Resist,Richard Rubalcaba,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/qlx8gx/,/short-story/qlx8gx/,Dark,0,"['Suspense', 'Horror', 'Thriller']",2 likes,"
The overhead of the gloomy and misty day blanket over a October Sunday. A slight breeze made its way throughout the city, and most people avoided the patios. Michael did not shy away from the breeze and welcome it along with Mr. Jim Bean as he swirl the amber color in the cup. He took a huge gulp from the drink and felt the wight of the world press down on his chest. The more he sat and drank, the wight of himself and the world prevented him from moving, and just brought more questions and confusion than answers. From all the decisions and actions that Michael had made, he thought he did right and the faith that he believed in. He took all the necessary and proper steps of going to college of achieving his degrees, networking his public relations, going to church, and being the best man for his wife and daughter; but in the end, nothing but deep pockets of debt and losing everything. 
 
Michael at 30 years old was a young man, but his image pictured another look and story. His jet-black hair was now a pepper and salt mixture with the hard wrinkles that added years to his age. His best friend Mr. Jim Bean did not help the situation when they met up in clicks. “Shit” as Michael said to himself as he continues to swirl the glass. From one potential payout that could have placed him and his family comfortable in life, now brought him down to his knees and dwelling. “Its better to die on your feet than to live on your knees”. Michael always took pride in what he represented, and how he carried out his decisions. At this moment, he was facing the impossible wall to climb and had no other options to go. “I would do anything at anytime to save my family. Even if it will cost me my life to it” as Michael thought to himself. 
 
Mr. Jim Bean was gone from the glass. “Time to reload” Michael said outload. The bartender was wiping down the counter as Michael walked up. “Double shot of Jim bean with a lime wedge”. The bartender nodded “Yes sir. How is the night presenting itself?” Michael did not recognize the man, but his presents caught his attention with his pitch-black eyes that swallows any sight that is in view with the opposite attraction of his pale and dusty skin that made you feel cold like a vampire in the night. 
 
Michael did not feel or want to welcome the conversation, but he spoke anyway. “Its going and I am here. You must be new, I have not seen you here before”. The bartender finished making the drink. “I am only come when help is needed”. Michael nodded. Michael grabbed the drink “When duty calls” and he toasted to the mixologist and repeated back to his table and saw someone there. The man dressed like he was going to a event or church with a white sport coat along with a black button down shirt with black shoes and what appears a starch jeans pants. 
 
“I hope I did not disturb you, loving the weather”. All Michael could do was smile and gesture a welcome with his hands. “Thanks for the invite”. The man smirks. Michael just looks at the man for some time, the man just looks back with a inviting stare as to “Come on”. “How can I entertain you, even tho I am not good company to be around”. “Okay, then I will then be brief. I am a man that does my research and knows some people around this city and some around. I hear through the grapevine you’re in some hard times and in debt up to your ears”. Michael eyebrows created a V and felt his blood start boiling and wanted to bark out. The man threw up a hand of gesturing a stop sign. “Before you go bat shit crazy on me, hear me out and I can make some things change for the better”. Michael did not realize he was not breathing, causing himself to feel tunnel vision. So he grabbed his drink and down it in one shot, so he could feel something. He set down the glass and saw only the man’s red eyes like if he was staring down a hallway like how Danny Torrance was seeing the twin sisters in the movie Shining. 
 
“Like I said, I am man that can create things to happen or I can destroy it in seconds”. Michael for some reason that he did not know, welcome the mans conversion. “Your in deep debt and you have a family that you cherish and adore, and you at the edge of losing everything you work for”. “Yes, and I do not know what to do or how I can even survive this. I just want to protect my family now and for the future. What can you do for me?” The man just smiled exposing his pearl long teeth like how a dog does but with no scary tactics here. “I can gift over what you need and save your family and I am a very generous”. Michael listen more carefully and lean over closer to the table. “Who are you and how can you make this happen?”
 
The man prop up his head higher as like he wanted a more deserving respect. “Please tell me”, Michael threw his demand. “I am lucifer, but most people know me as the devil.” A roar of laughter came from Michael and slap down on the table. “You are one funny guy! Just to think that you had me!” Michael look up and saw the man only had the same look like a statue that never moves or blicks. “Please be serious here, you must be out of your mind and you don’t have jack…” before Michael could finish what he was going say. The bartender appear just right to them like a lion ready to strangle their prey by the throat. Michael was either in shock or just plain scare because he did not see him coming. All he could do was look back at the and knew this man was real deal of something. The man nodded to the bartender and he withdrew his position and retreated back to a near by table, but his guard was up with a stare of “I am ready”. 
 
The man readjusted his jacket. “I say again, I am the devil and I can bring any dream, want, or any desire outcome that you wish”. Michael nodded that he understood clearly and he kept on. “Good, I knew you were smart and understanding. How this works as a business deal and we come to a compromise to what is lay down on the table”. “Tell me” Michael responded quickly. “Great, lets get you a drink”. Michael was about to yell for the bartender. “No need”. A drink appeared full in front of Michael and the weather magically came to a calm and felt comfortable on a moment notice. Michael grab and sip on it. 
 
“So how this goes, you will receive the help and you will give something up for the exchange”. Michael nodded and sip again. “Okay will gift over anything you need for your family sake and you will be give yourself up in 20 years”. Michael felt overwhelming force of state of shock and down the drink in one gulp. “I can’t give up my family, I love them, I need them”. The devil laughed like he saw scene in a movie. Michael turned to the bartender for help, but he had not budge a inch and maintain his position. “Look!” as the devil bark at Michael. He turned at the demand order. “Michael, this is a one time offer and once I leave this chair. The deal is off and forever gone. Think this clearly and direct. What more important your family span of life or your messed up life. Again, you can fix this and live the 20 years with your family. The choice is yours”. Michael just sat there with his hands glued to the table. 
The only thing that came to his mind was his family. Do I lose everything as I watch it and lose my family. Or, do I make the deal and lose my family in time. Michael just picture his 6 year old daughter with her kool-aid smile always running around the house being the life of the party. Her brown bouncing around and her making all the noise in the world. The perfect wife that assisted, stood by his side, and comforted him during his weak times. The years given to him, he could see the life events that most fathers want to see and experience. Get my daughter threw high school, college, a potential wedding, and hopefully be a grandfather by that time. The picture of his wife resurface. The sparkling eyes that caught his eyes with her dirty blond and brown hair that flow with the nature air like it was meant to be that way. His ultimate best friend and lover. Decision decision. Michael smiled to himself and look up to the devil himself. “May I have a drink?”. “Of course”. He snap his fingers and Michael saw the drink refill to the top with lime wedges sat on top. 
 
Michael reach over and grab his second best friend and down it at once. “I have answer for you sir”. “Good, I knew you were wise”. “Give me 25 years and I am yours”. The Devil look at Michael for some time and turn to the bartender and tilted his head towards him and back to the Michael. “You are good, and I will give you that. So it’s a deal. Everything will be delivered in the morning and no problems will come your way. Enjoy every moment of it before your ass is mine”. Michael nodded with understanding. “Now, on to the next victim”. The devil left the table and snapped his fingers and another drink appeared. He walks into the overhead light and his figure disappear with no trace. The bartender got up from his position and smiled with pleasure and nodded to Michael. He followed the devil’s path, kept on walking and disappeared. Michael took the drink and toasted to himself “To living on borrowed time” and set the drink down and left the table in the opposite direction. 
","September 15, 2023 08:31",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,vi9wr0,Uncle Louie and the Devil,Bettina Karpathian,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vi9wr0/,/short-story/vi9wr0/,Dark,0,"['Fiction', 'Funny', 'Fantasy']",2 likes,"
Nellie kicked off her shoes and sailed her good black hat across the room like a Frisbee. Stretching, she felt her neck and back pop as the tension released. It had been a very long day so far. She changed into her sweats and went to put the kettle on for tea, keeping a wary eye out for her cat Fuzz. He loved to thread himself between her legs especially when he’d been alone for several hours. As she filled the kettle, it struck Nellie that she hadn’t seen him since she returned home.“That’s odd,” she mused to herself, scanning the kitchen. “Fuzzball? Where are you?”She was searching the living room when the front doorbell rang.“Come on in…ouch,” she said, banging her head painfully against the coffee table as she straightened up from peering under the couch.“What on earth are you doing?” said her neighbor Joyce. “Have you lost something?”“I can’t find Fuzz,” Nellie said, rubbing the painful spot on her head. “It’s really odd for him not to come running when I come home.”“He’ll show up when he’s ready,” said Joyce, proffering a plate of homemade cookies. “I thought you might enjoy these. Funerals always make me hungry. Who died?”“How did you know…oh, you saw me leave this morning,” said Nellie.“You don’t usually go out all dressed in black and wearing a hat. Here, let me pour the tea.”Nellie took a long drink of tea and sighed in relief.“It was my Uncle Louie who died.”Joyce raised her eyebrows.“Uncle? How old was he? Not to be rude, but you’re not a spring chicken.”Nellie smiled wryly.“Not much older than me. He was my grandmother’s surprise baby. Perhaps that explains why he was so spoiled as a child, and so wild when he grew up. Drinking, drugs, prison, the whole nine yards. Then he suddenly reformed about ten years ago and joined some hellfire-and-damnation church. I have spent the last two hours listening to a rant about the end times and how everyone except the members of this church is doomed to the fiery pit.”“Families are something else, aren’t they,” said Joyce. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed.“Is it just me or does something smell off in here? Like rotten eggs or drains?”Nellie frowned.“I probably forgot to take the garbage out this morning.”Joyce glanced at her watch.“Darn, I’m late. Doctor’s appointment. I’ll call you tomorrow.”She rushed off and the front door slammed behind her.The smell seemed stronger now. Nellie tied up the kitchen garbage bag and took it outside to the trashcan. She was locking the back door behind her when a male voice made her jump. She shrieked as she saw a tall man sitting at the kitchen counter.“How did you get in here?”He smiled politely, raising a finger to his lips. Nellie clamped her hands over her mouth in panic, frantically recalling every true crime documentary she had ever watched.“Calm, keep calm,” she muttered to herself.He was handsome and trim, with dark, slicked-back hair, wearing an expensive, well-tailored suit. He ran a finger under his collar as if it chafed him. Nellie noticed that the skin on his neck seemed red and scaly as if a sunburn was peeling. The sulfurous smell was so strong now that she almost gagged.“Please do not be alarmed,” he said in a deep and raspy voice. “I will not hurt you. I need your help.”“Who are you?” croaked Nellie, suddenly feeling less afraid.She cautiously sat down at the other end of the counter.“I am known by various names. Lucifer, Beelzebub, Old Nick, Satan. I prefer Lucifer.”“You...you think you’re the Devil?” said Nellie, eyes widening and voice trembling.This was worse than she expected.“I am the Devil,” the man said firmly. “A fallen Angel. That’s another story right there.”“What do you want with me? I’ve never even had a parking ticket. I lead the most boring life you can imagine here with my cat Fuzz and I’m not ready to go.”He smiled charmingly.“I am not here for you. Your Uncle Louie arrived in my domain this morning and he is proving most troublesome.”“I don’t understand,” said Nellie. “According to that pastor at the funeral, Louie had repented and was going to heaven. How did he end up in the fiery pit or whatever you have down there?”Lucifer shook his head sadly.“Fiery pit indeed. Tales to scare children. Theologically…oh, never mind. It would take too long to explain. There are so many versions of heaven and hell with all these different churches and denominations and religions that mix-ups are bound to happen. Perhaps Louie forgot to repent for something, or he followed the wrong directions and got lost. All I know is that he ended up in my realm. He keeps spouting religious dogma at all the other residents and they’re getting very tired of it. Some pretty ugly customers end up with me. It’s hard enough to maintain order without someone Bible thumping all day long. It's supposed to be a place of torment, but there are limits.”“Louie always was his own worst enemy,” said Nellie. “The family members who weren't estranged because of his criminal behavior were driven off by the preaching after he converted to that church. But what can I do about it?”Lucifer shrugged and shifted his position. His collar seemed to be bothering him more than ever.“You can take your tie off if you want,” said Nellie. “We don’t have to be formal.”“Thank you,” he said, gratefully undoing his top button. “I had to adjust my appearance to be here. I didn’t want to scare you, but it’s hard to hide the scales and tail.”Nellie noticed in horrified fascination that he did indeed have a long forked tail.“Anyway, I spoke to the admitting department of Heaven and they’re willing to take him, but they want evidence that he has done at least one good deed on this earth. Can you tell me anything? He said that you two were close at one time.”Nellie smiled fondly in reminiscence.“We were. He seemed very cool and glamorous to me when we were young. Black leather jackets, sports car, the teenage rebel. When he started getting in trouble, I wasn’t allowed to spend time with him anymore. Wait, now I remember something.”She paced the kitchen floor.“There was a horrible man in our neighborhood who mistreated his dog. The poor thing was half-starved and abused. Louie finally confronted the man and took the dog. He threatened to beat the man to a pulp if he did anything about it. He nursed that dog back to health and had him as a pet for years. Would that count?”Lucifer blinked and raised his eyebrows.“Well, threatening violence might not be the best, even if it was in a good cause. Anything else?”“He was very protective of me. I didn’t always appreciate it. He scared off all the boys for miles around. Nobody dared to ask me out. Luckily my late husband Dwight passed muster with Louie or I might never have gotten married.”Lucifer sighed and shrugged.“That will have to do. I will also mention that you were the only one of the family who kept in touch with him, so he must have inspired some fond feelings. He appreciated you attending the funeral.”Nellie suddenly burst into the tears she had not shed at the funeral, mourning the way her uncle’s life had turned out. Lucifer looked alarmed and hastily pushed a box of tissues in her direction. She sniffled and wiped her eyes.“Tell him I will never forget him. Try to get him into Heaven, please.”Lucifer solemnly nodded and stood up, seeming to fill the room. He bowed slightly in Nellie’s direction and disappeared in a sudden flash of light and smoke. Coughing, Nellie rushed to open the windows and doors. Frantically flapping a towel to dispel the fumes, she almost tripped over Fuzz who had suddenly appeared and was rubbing against her legs. Nellie scooped him up and hugged him.“I know why you were hiding, but don’t scare me like that again.”Fuzz squirmed free and headed for his food dish, twitching his tail indignantly.Nellie suddenly heard Joyce's voice outside.""Nellie, are you okay? I saw smoke coming from your window.""Nellie opened the door to her.""I burned something on the stove. Too preoccupied to pay attention, I guess. But at least I think Louie will rest in peace. Let's have a glass of wine and toast his memory. The old rascal would appreciate that.""
","September 15, 2023 14:33","[[{'Emilie Ocean': 'I love how you portray the Devil in this story. He is so scary when you describe him like that. I like your retelling :)', 'time': '16:37 Sep 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'This is a refreshingly silly tale featuring the 👿 devil after reading so many dark versions. Oh, wait, of course he is dark.', 'time': '22:18 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'This is a refreshingly silly tale featuring the 👿 devil after reading so many dark versions. Oh, wait, of course he is dark.', 'time': '22:18 Sep 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,bm549u,Dealing with the Devil,Chris Pye,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bm549u/,/short-story/bm549u/,Dark,0,['Fantasy'],1 like,"
In our culture, there are two main stereotypes for the Devil.The first is the bright red, cloven-hoofed, horned and trident-carrying beast of Medieval art. The one who growls gleefully as he dunks you into hell's fiery pit.The second is the suave, rather vain gentleman in a dark suit, its cloth giving off a little sulphurous smoke when you look sideways. A bit of a Vincent Price. Loves to wind you in slowly, with charm and a contract. The pit comes later.However, both these images are wrong. The real Devil doesn't look like them, at all.I've met her.She's a librarian.I know. That doesn't seem right but, stay with me.I'm a semiologist. I study signs and symbols. I'm not actually 'qualified' but I'm brilliant at it, at reading between the lines. Always have been. Anything from the patterns in clouds or stars to numbers, colours, images - anything. Even facial expressions. I've had the talent for as long as I can remember. My mum will tell you - I still live with her by the way.As you can imagine, I have also found it difficult to get around in this world. Nothing is what it seems; there's always something else going on. You wouldn't, for example, believe the number of conspiracies I've uncovered!And messages of course. Lots of messages. Over the years I've found messages from planetary visitors and signs from Masters of Ancient Wisdom. And, for a while now, from God himself: ""... It performs great signs ... and by the signs ... it deceives those who dwell on earth ... "" That's Revelation 13:13-14, by the way.Recently the clues, the harbingers of the future, have grown clearer. My head feels inflated with the input of warning signs and messages: from the television, from the news and posters on the wall; from what I hear people saying in the street.More and more ominous. More warnings. I can hardly stand it.The Devil is coming.The Devil could well be here already.In the 'home' in which I was made to live - made to live, actually, and for quite a while - I had someone I talked to. Of course, I could see right through them. I always can. I tried to help them read the signs and messages themselves, but they wouldn't open their minds. All they wanted to do was take away my powers, my abilities. To shut me up. So I pretended - but never took their drugs.I got to move back in with my mum about a year ago, but I'm essentially on my own, on my own mission. I always have been, really. My mum never understood. Anyway, I've been homing in, delving and looking particularly for the signs, the marks of the Devil.And I found her.So. The library.It's not far from my mum's. I'd been going regularly, making copious notes and reading whatever I needed for the book I'm working on.My book. I should say more about that.I'd been getting nowhere telling people about who's coming. Trying to warn them. I'd stood for hours on street corners talking loudly to passers by, enumerating what I've found in some detail, even shouting sometimes - until the police visited my mum's to get me to stop. (Why wasn't I surprised? Part of the conspiracy growing against me.) So I took to writing, to everyone I could think of, from the newspapers to members of parliament. Again, made to stop. (And, anyway, my mum complained about the cost of postage! She can't help.)So, I'd been writing a book!Quieter, cheaper, more private; less fuss from those who want to silence me. Quite a dense read of course - so much to say and tell - but it would change the world, warn everyone about what's in the offing, who's coming.That morning when I walked into my local library - I always go very early, when it's quietest - I found a new librarian behind the counter, sorting books and quietly humming to herself. She looked up as I entered, regarding me acutely. I was nailed to the spot right there in the doorway. And, with all my knowledge and experience, I could tell instantly that she wasn't whom she seemed to be.I knew, just knew, who she really was.For a start, she was dressed in red. All red. Red hair too, dyed the colour of sunset and rippling over her shoulders. Red: a bit old-school for the Devil perhaps, but still significant.Then she was wearing thick, red, horn-rimmed glasses, with ends that curled up - like horns! I mean, who wears that sort of thing any more? Obviously another sign for those who can read them.Then again, the jewelry: the pentagram necklace; the silver moons falling from her ears; the black agate ring. All marks. Oh yes, the Devil's a bit vain.She had the palest blue eyes. Another signifier! Everyone knows that in many cultures 'blue eye' is another name for 'evil eye', right? Her own, magnified by those red glasses, fixed on me in the doorway. I could tell she recognised also me for what I was: the prophet come to call her out.And then, the clincher, the strong pull of desire I felt of seeing her. Sudden and overwhelming. The devil can do that of course. Temptation. She was striking; beautiful, sensual. I'd never felt such an attraction, such potent stirrings in my body before. Well, to be honest, I'd had nothing to do with lust, or women. Only my mum. Women always frightened me; I'd been better off on my own.The librarian's blue eyes pulled me into the room like the sky drawing a bird from a tree and I stumbled up to the counter.'Hello,' she said, fondling the book in her hand. 'Have you read this?'Her voice was rich and low, as I'd expected. Its power netted me right there in front of her: the bird, caught by the gamekeeper.She held out the book. Thick, glossy; a pentagram on the cover. Something, something... Wicca.There it was. And me a witchfinder.I had read it. I'd read pretty much everything useful in the library. So I nodded - I couldn't speak.She smiled and my heart jumped alarmingly in my throat. My face must have soaked up some of her red dress.'Good for you' she said. 'I see you're a writer.'I looked down at the thick folder of papers I had under my arm.'What's it about?'I exerted what willpower I had left, resisting her spell, and made myself answer.'I expect you know that already?''Well, let me guess,' she said. 'You've been looking for me for years. And now you've found me.'She laughed. An easy, relaxed, captivating roll of sound. 'I've heard of you. Didn't you used to spend hours outside, telling passers-by about the second coming or something? You're quite famous here at the library. How did that work out?'Was she teasing me? Of course she was. She would.I remained silent, fascinated by her mouth; her full lips like moist, red curtains opening and closing over shiny white teeth.'Excuse me a moment,' she said, putting down the book and turning aside to a customer who'd arrived behind me.I'd never been completely sure what the devil would look like should I meet him. Probably hoofed, or suited. I certainly hadn't expected him to look like a spellbinding Wicca woman.I'll be honest. She deeply frightened me. The power with which she'd summoned my emotions, my desire, was almost overwhelming. What a clever trick! I'd never thought of it. I'd imagined that when I eventually found the devil I'd be terrified. But not so stirred. Not so deceived. So beguiled.But she was the devil and I should have expected something like this! I was so dumb!As I looked at her talking to the customer, red hair caressing the shining moons hanging from her ears; her hands stroking his books; smiling at him, drawing another man in - I could feel anger taking hold in my gut, gathering heat alongside my intense fascination.Of course she would laugh at me. The power was there. Why shouldn't she laugh? I was nothing. All my years of study, of watching, were nothing once she'd taken hold. In the same way she was taking hold of that man (and who knew how many others).A librarian. What an incredible bit of deception by the Devil. Oh yes, I could tell who she was really.I stood there, waiting, my heart thumping, becoming hotter, sweating. Eventually, the librarian turned again to me. Her blue eyes - Evil Eyes - seemed again to bore into mine.'And how can I help you?' she asked.Again, the mocking smile. My tongue was locked in my mouth so I could only look at her, at her seductive lips as she spoke.'What? Nothing to say?' she said after more moments regarding me. 'Never mind. Help yourself and I'll see you here later.'She tapped the counter with her red finger nails, beamed another smile and turned her back on me.And the spell broke.See you here later.What did that mean? What plans did she have for me. The arrogance. I could hardly contain my emotions as I turned around myself and walked out.Oh yes. I'll see you later. Here. After work. When it's dark.There is only one way to deal with the Devil.When I've got my special knife.
","September 15, 2023 07:28",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,w6lpx3,Handshakes ,Charlie M,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/w6lpx3/,/short-story/w6lpx3/,Dark,0,"['Horror', 'Suspense', 'Thriller']",1 like,"
 I cried out in pain, louder than I ever had before, and blood poured out of me, along with my organs, my veins, my bones, my skin. The lightning coursed across my remaining body, and the last thing I saw was the smile of Him. Why had he done this? He was supposed to be my lover. But I didn't have time to think any more thoughts, as the rest of my body had fully exploded, and I felt nothing.My essence was lost in a void. I could feel nothing, see nothing. Be nothing.I just floated through the darkness. I didn’t care where I was, and it didn’t matter anymore. I was dead, even though only just 24 hours ago I was just any other angel. I don't know how long I stayed in this state, but what did I know? I wasn't getting out any time soon. But then, I felt a tug. I felt something. A rush of pain filled my body, and I was jolted downwards. I screamed, and I felt my body hit the floor. Wait, body? What is happening now?“Finally,” a disembodied voice came around my surroundings, and I sucked in a tight breath. Now I was breathing again, too? “A new…playmate.”I was breathing heavily now and my eyes were searching around the darkness, looking for some kind of sign of who or what was talking. “Who-who are you?” I asked, my voice hoarse.“Shhh. You need your strength. And speech…only delays the progress.” I heard what sounded like thunder in the distance, but ignored, as I was too transfixed by the voice that was surrounding me. “Str-strength for what?” My voice quivered, and I felt my arms going around my body and I shivered, too. The thunder got closer. So close it seemed to be behind me. I looked behind me to see purple clouds right behind me, and I jumped up and tried to stand, but fell to the ground and had to resort to crawling on my back like a worm.A humorless laugh came from the cloud. “Such a jumpy girl. But, we’ll fix that. If you…say yes of course.”“Y-yes to what,” I asked the cloud. I shook, my whole body filled to the brim with an overly large bag of chills. It was like someone had just unfroze me and I was heating back up. Except there was no fire, only cold mountain winds. “To revenge.” The cloud bowed down to me so it could get to my height, and I backed up more. “To the power that I can give you to punish the ones who have wronged you.”“What are you talking about? I have no grudges against anyone. I am-was an angel. I don’t hold grudges. Especially ones so deep that I-I try to make a deal with the Devil!”“Wow. Not everyone figures it out so quickly.” He began to 'walk' around me. “Goes to show you really are the special one that everyone was talking about.”My head was reeling and my body was just going through more chills everytime the Devil got closer to me. I prayed and prayed that not one of those black clouds he was made out of would touch me.“And everyone has grudges. Even puny little angels like you were not too long ago.” He stopped circling me and bent down. “Tell me. How does the mention of your mother make you feel, hm?” He tilted his ‘head’ and narrowed his purple eyes at me.I felt myself take in a strong and deep breath, and my throat began to get tighter. My eyes felt watery, and I lifted my head up, my hands clenching as to poke my fingernails into my hands to make me focus on something else other than the thoughts swirling in my head now.A cloud reached out and dragged down my head so I had to look at him. I gasped, a giant amount of air coming into my lungs, and tears fell down my cheek as the only thing I could think of was how cold the cloud was. It was colder than the void itself. “Don’t hold back. Sadness leads to anger. And anger leads to energy.”“How-how do you know my mother,” I stuttered, and the tears were still going down my cheeks, the wetness quickly feeling like icicles on my skin thanks to the cold from the cloud touching my face.“I know everything that goes on in everyone’s life. I don’t like to be…oh how do you say it,” He pretended to ponder the question deeply. “Ah yes. Stay out of the loop.” I shook my head, getting rid of the cloud hand and it absorbed back into itself. “Listen, I don’t know what you want with me, but what I do know is that you’re trying to manipulate me into…into…well it doesn't matter. What matters is that you. are. the Devil. And I don’t listen to demons.”He laughed again. “Oh so you don’t like that? Well,” he tapped his ‘chin.’ “I suppose if that doesn't affect you, then perhaps this will.” A sudden image appeared in front of me, and it was Him.Beno.I covered my mouth in shock and instead of feeling the heartache I thought I was going to feel, instead a new emotion I had barely felt in years filled my stomach and it felt like the stomach acid in my stomach had come to life and was trying to break through. Rage. Rage, the emotion of pure and utter hatred. And I was feeling it for someone I was supposed to love. And they killed me. My fists went down to my sides and clenched harder now. And this time I wasn't trying to distract myself from the truth. It was because of anger.“Yes, let the anger consume you. Let it be you.”I started to breathe heavily, staring at Beno’s picture, and I got up and suddenly punched it, and then fell face down, as I had forgotten that it was just a plume of cloud smoke that the Devil had created.I got up on my knees and clenched and unclenched my hands over and over again in shock as the Devil laughed behind me. “I guess some angels do have anger.” He chuckled. “And you said you didn’t have any grudges.” I turned around and got up, wobbly on my feet. “No, listen, please. It’s just a misunderstanding. I never meant to do that.”“But what if that punch was more powerful? What if your little angel boy was actually here? Would you have held back?” He got closer and bent down again in front of me. I opened my mouth to shout, ‘Yes, of course I would’ve held back!’ but nothing came out. I thought and thought, waiting over and over again for a different answer to come into my head, but my eyes widened as I realized the truth. “...no. I wouldn’t hold back.” I turned around and looked down at the ‘floor’ and closed my eyes, trying to wish this was some kind of weird nightmare and it was never real. God, I wish I was still in the void.“I knew you would say that.” He came around and got down so he was under my face. The sudden burst of cold air I got from him being nearby shocked me into opening my eyes and I stumbled back a bit. He moved back up to where I had to look up to see his face. “Y’know, I can very easily give you the capabilities to give you that power.”“P-power,” I stuttered. “What-why would I need power?”“Well, it’s hard to get revenge without the appropriate tools, y’know.”My eyes widened and my breath hitched when I realized what he was implying. “You would turn me into a demon?” He nodded, and I immediately started to shake my head. “No, no, no. I-I can’t do that.”“Actually, you very much can. It’s either that, or you can go and spend eternity in the void as an empty shell, devoid of any emotions. At least if you become one of us, you can still feel.”I looked down at the floor, not knowing what to say, and I kept trying to come up with excuses of why I should say no. But while I hated to admit it, I could come up with only one, and I shouted it out immediately. “What about holy objects? The second I get hit with one of those weapons, I’ll be right back here in the void with no chance of escape.”“You don’t think I’ve already thought of this possibility? I will make you immune to anything and everything holy.” I stared at the Devil and was speechless. He let out his hand, making it outstretched towards me. “C’mon. What’s the harm? Besides, it’ll only be the people you hate. No one else.”I stared down at his hand and my head swarmed in all the responses I could give, all the possible excuses I could come up with. But all my thoughts lead back to this: I would go into the void again.“We don’t have all day. Make up your mind. Now.” His body began to create lightning that poked out at all sides towards me. I jumped back, not wanting to get shocked. I took in a deep breath and slowly outstretched my hand. “I’ll do it.”His hand circled around my arm and then he pulled away, but not before saying, “This is gonna hurt. A lot.” Hysterical laughter came from him, and he floated backwards, away from me. {SERIOUS TW FOR THIS PART! CONTINUE WITH GREAT CAUTION!}I looked down at my hand as it felt like something was worming around under my skin, and I saw black and purple skin covering my arms and swarming to the rest of my body. I began backing up quickly, hoping it would just peel off as I walked backwards, but it never came off. It just kept spreading. I breathed heavily before feeling blood start coming out of my mouth. I fell to the floor on my knees, and suddenly sharp objects began to appear in my mouth, like daggers. I put my hands over my mouth as I began to gag, but eventually I couldn’t hold back any longer, and I threw up a large amount of blood. But it wasn't sliver like it usually was.It was purple. I cried out, and instead of a scream, it came out as a roar. I felt pushing on my skull, and held my head with my now clawed fingers. Ram horns began to curl around my ears, that were not becoming pointed like an elf.I looked around my body, and I saw feathers coming off me. I realized that it was from my wings. They were becoming like skin, but I could feel them tear as they came out of my back, along with a scorpion-like tail that was now extending from my tailbone.  I felt my skin tear as two new arms began to grow from my sides, and they were, too, clawed.I draped my hair down in front of my face and I saw it becoming black, along with purple highlights coming around in seemingly random streaks. I screamed, or at least tried to make it sound like a scream, before suddenly being jolted into the air and through the void.My senses violently fluctuated through my body over and over again as I went through the void again in hyper-speed, and I went through the floor of a room. I looked around the room I was in to see that it was none other than the room I had entered the void from not too long ago. I stood up shakily, and my head hit the ceiling. I looked down to see that I was much taller than before.I bent down and got out of the room, trying to find any sign of life. A glimpse of light caught my eyes and I walked towards it, transfixed, barely registering the fact that I could see the Devil following me in the corner of my eye. And that’s when I saw that the light source was a mirror.I went in front of it and froze. That wasn't me. That wasn't me. I had white wings, white hair. I didn’t have a tail, horns, or fangs. And my eyes…There was no white sclera or blue iris. Instead they were black with purple dots just floating around and moving where I looked. But y’know what? I liked this new body. I feel powerful in it, like I could end so many lives in a single second with little effort. And what if I could? Who says I shouldn’t? There are so many people out there. A few hundred wouldn’t be missed. I let my forked tongue out and turned towards the door, and my entire brain was filled with primal urges to hunt and kill the angels out there. All of them. Especially Him.I saw purple flashes come from my body, but I barely noticed as I let myself be covered in rage. My human consciousness now only came in blips, and I heard in one of those blips, from the Devil, “Now go, child.”“And end everything and everyone.”  
","September 15, 2023 10:39",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,0w6906,The Meeting,Devin Andrews,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0w6906/,/short-story/0w6906/,Dark,0,['Fiction'],1 like,"
 
 
Down through the many depths of torment, and despair. The fallen king sits upon his frozen throne. Something special has come up, and his typical amusement of torture is interrupted. 
 
PEON! What is this ruckus, why must I be bothered.
 
Forgive me, my dark lord, this is the one who, well who is not understanding.
 
UNDERSTANDING! HA! You little drudge, this is not a place of understanding, I should have your whole lot thrown into the frozen lake.
 
The servant of darkness was confused by this. Was he being serious, this was not usual. He needed to change his demeanor.
 
This wretch is a cancer is my dominion, he infects the minds. The tormentors get no joy from the beatings. All he does is make a sound that deafens those close to him. He needs further judgement which only you have authority.
 
Careful, WRETCH. That soul deserves no title like that. And you better not be wasting my time. 
 
Closing his eyes and summoning the damned soul. He knew this had never happened before, and had contemplated how he would handle such an ordeal. Suddenly his thoughts were clouded, laughter filled his great hall. Bound, and knelt on the floor, laughing uncontrollably. The dark king understood.
 
Raising him up and forcing his gaze upon him, the king read him like a book. Then casting him down. 
 
You mite be the first mortal I have ever spoken too. 
 
Slowing down his laughter, wiping his face and standing up. Then you are a fool, he says
 
Suddenly being stuck down.
 
ONE DOES NOT STAND AND ADDRESS HIS DARKNESS! With such impunity, this one screams for the lake!
 
The lake was the frozen moat surrounding the dark palace. Filled with those in various depths, unable to move or escape the icy burn of the lake or the blistering winds which danced upon it. Within the many levels of hell, this was the evil epicenter.
 
Turning around, and looking out a great window at his lake of punishment. So it does have some reason left. He says openly. You have been here for some time. And were not always an inconvenience. What changed?
 
I wanted to meet you, smirking and holding back laughter
 
Hes lying to me the devil thought, when in the blink of an eye he himself crossed the room and struck down the damned soul who was before him. Now laying upon the ground. He knew what kind of soul he was, though he could not read his thoughts. He knew no matter where he sent this one, it would not matter. He had been laughing for two thousand years in earth time. Although time hardly existed in this place. It was accelerated elsewhere. Only the dark king new of these elsewheres. He was the only one is this place who knew many things and of other places. 
 
Turning around and slowing stepping away, he heard the lost soul say, send me back
 
Kneeling and facing the ground, you do not know what to do with me, my mere presence seems to irritate you. Send me back!
 
EVERY ONES PRESENCE IRRITATES ME! Picking up his pace as he walked towards this throne to sit.
 
Cast him to the very bottom of the lake, as so I may try my best to forget. 
 
Wait, whispered softly
 
Oh wait, it has some words. Sadly no one cares. 
 
You don't want to know what kept me laughing?
 
Leaning back in his throne. No, I have been wanting this interaction to be over since it started. However for posterity sake I will ask.
 
At first it was because I finally saw someone here, but I quickly noticed that it changed things. It sucked the evil life out of everything around me. This is why your tormentors could not handle it anymore. If you really want to see what I can do at the center of your dark metropolis, so be it.
 
 
Glaring, sitting forward, and making direct eye contact.
 
You will not recognize the world I am sending you back to. Do not think your punishment has ended. You will have many gifts, but a hunger that you must contain. There is no escaping it, ignore it and it will take control. I cannot have you here, but i must deal with you. The best part is, you wont remember any of this. 
 
 
A quiet moment over takes the hall after the once fallen soul had vanished. The lowly peon looks at his master.
 
Dark sire, I cannot believe you did that. 
 
Mortals could be more useful than I once thought. I may deal with them more. Not like this. However I can foresee, these mortals may be of great benefit to me. Do my bidding for me. While I am trapped here, my influence is vast. At first I saw these mortals as mere beasts, perhaps I should pay more attention to what is going on. Like a drug torturing them is to me. With a whisper, a slight nudge in the wrong directions could get us so many more souls. They do not last here, but perhaps if I can convince them to give me there souls. Then they mite be mine forever.
 
Sometime after, a lowly naked figure emerges from the base of a great mountain. Delirious, and partially blind. He had no idea what was happening. No memory of where he had been or the events that had taken place. Wandering trying to feel his way, but the earth around the mountain was barren. A great thick forest lay ahead. He was driven by a single urge. He needed to eat, to feast. As he continue walking and stumbling, his senses began to heighten. He could smell so much, hearing everything. He was compelled to head in the direction of a small village. Upon seeing it, he could not contain himself. Eyes focused with a hate he did not know what for, and a hunger in his stomach for blood, so much blood. 
 
 
 
","September 15, 2023 12:40",[]
prompt_0001,Write a story about someone making a deal with the devil.,p1cgg7,Broken,Lonnie D.,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/p1cgg7/,/short-story/p1cgg7/,Dark,0,"['Romance', 'Drama']",0 likes,"
	This was my life. A lady in waiting, only worthy of being met with closed doors and blind eyes.
 
	 My life was predictable and there was rarely a deviation from the script. Every morning, I woke up to my husband staring at me longingly awaiting his bride to acknowledge and serve him. It brought him joy to see me give him the very little I possessed. The first fraction of my energy and my very first hello every morning went to the one who I had made a lifelong deal with. I then prepared myself to be trapped in a metal box that was working against gravity. As it levitated, my stomach always flipped and the blood rushed from my head forcing me to close my eyes to avoid a sudden onset of dizziness. I found refuge in tapping my fingers against my legs as I sat yearning to be released from the restraints of these walls. After an eternity, the elevator doors opened and I rushed out onto my floor. 
 
	I got here every morning an hour before everyone else arrived. I was a leading expert in my field and prided myself on punctuality. Much of the work I do in the office mirrors what I do at home. That being, making sure the men in my life don’t have meltdowns by ensuring they have coffee, food, and enough time to play with their adult toys. I spend my entire day ironing clothes, stapling papers, cleaning, scheduling meetings, and remaining invisible to those I’m serving. I’ve forgotten how to do anything else outside of being an assistant. Today was no different, other than the fact that I had forgotten my lunch at home. 
 
	As usual, I waited at the elevator for Tom to arrive. He came in late every morning, but I still greeted him with a smile and his cup of black coffee. 
 
	“Morning Tom!” I handed him his cup.
 
	“What’s the schedule for today?” he barked without looking up from his phone.
 
	I ran down the laundry lists of meetings he would mindlessly attend that day while trying to keep up with his long strides. His phone interrupted my stage time just before we made it to his office. Just as he answered his phone and warmly greeted the CFO of Procter & Gamble, he closed the door forcing my separation from dreamed success. 
 
	I arrived at the courtyard just before a line formed at my favorite food truck. My favorite table gave me a view of cars and bikers bustling by. Men in freshly pressed suits and their phones glued to their ears skipped down the sidewalk. My first bite of my empanada filled my mouth with tender, cumin-flavored beef accompanied by the suttling flavor of the white stringy cheese. The crust crunched with each of my bites and after three minutes of pure bliss the only remembrance of my empanada was the oil glistening the tips of my fingers. I sat staring at my hands trying to hold on to this moment as long as I could when I felt someone tap my shoulder. I turned around quickly, hitting my knee against the bench table and wincing in pain.
 
	“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” he held his palms up to show he was unarmed. “I was just wondering where you got your empanada from”
 
	“The truck over in the corner” I exhaled. I looked up and fell deeply into his enchanting eyes. They were a calming, but bold forest green with burning gold engulfing the rim of his irises. His pitch black hair sprang from his perfectly sculpted head in thick loose spirals that fell just above his shoulders. His powder white skin was poreless and without blemish. 
 
	“You’re Leanne from the seventh floor, right?” His mouth widened to reveal his teeth that were somehow whiter than his skin.
 
	I nodded and sat up straighter.
 
	“How did I get so lucky to run into the company’s saving grace? I’m Sam. I’m just a floor beneath you in the sales department.” Sam said.
 
	“Nice to know I’m the talk of sales.” I blushed.
 
	 For the next hour, we twisted our way through conversations of the company’s pitfalls and wasted potential. 
 
	“I’m assuming Tom has never told you how valuable you are?” he glanced at my wedding ring “or anyone else for that matter.”
 
	I stared down at my ring watching the rays of sun bounce off the corners of my princess cut diamond. 
 
	“Do you know that you know more than anyone in this building? Do you realize all the potential that’s waiting on the inside of you?” He stroked my chin, gently lifting my eyes to meet his again. “Why don’t you do something for yourself for once, Leanne?”
 
	“Like what?” I asked. My eyes began to swell with tears before one escaped. Sam caught my tear with his thumb and softly wiped my face.
 
	“All of the things you’ve ever wanted to do. Starting with me” he held out his hand.
 
	My legs seemed to float as I kept up with the long strides of Sam’s legs. I looked up at his hair bouncing just above his broad shoulders. I lost track of the turns we made, but we ended up in an elevator that took us to the top floor. We stepped out directly into an office with panoramic views of the city. I walked over to the desk and brushed my fingers lightly across the wood that was coated with a gray finish.
 
	“I’m assuming you aren’t in the sales department and you’ve lured me to a place I’m not supposed to be.” I spun around in his chair slowly, taking in the details of the room.
 
	He approached me from behind tucking my hair behind my ear and gently whispered, “Your wisdom is striking”
 
	The next moments were filled with bites of his fruity flesh and his sweet venom filling my insides. My body transcended forcefully, leading me to weld my eyes shut, as he roped me into his embrace. When I opened my eyes again, the sky was lit up with lights from the city. I stood and moved closer to the windows. 
 
	“Promise me you’ll always choose you from now on.” He stared into me. 
 
	“Deal” I exhaled. 
 
	I managed to find my way home and parked in my driveway. I sat in my car looking at the peeling paint on my front door. It was the middle of the night and the only sound outside of my breathing was my windshield wipers violently swatting rain from my windshield. I shifted my gaze to the rearview mirror and was struck by my appearance. For the first time I was seeing myself with open eyes. Each time I glanced away from the mirror, the image of my face appeared vividly in my mind. I remembered the way my body looked in my favorite dress. I could see every crease, every hole, every moment from my life right in front of my eyes.
 
	I felt shame, excitement, anger, and then there was nothing. 
 
	I felt nothing when I walked through the pouring rain into my home. I didn’t feel a twinge of my husband’s sorrow the next week as he knelt on his knees begging me to stay. I was unmoved by Tom’s rage following his termination. My threshold for excitement and joy rose to a level far out of reach leaving me unwilling to celebrate my promotion to the position that was once Tom’s. The dreamed success that was now my life had nothing but a bottomless hole to fill. 
 
	My first and last encounter with Sam was now four months ago. After our exchange, he left the company without providing a way for me to contact him. In four months, the name Leanne felt unfitting for the person I now was. Night after night, I lay awake waiting for something to stir in my body. For an ounce of feeling for anyone or anything. This night began no differently. After I showered, I assumed my supine position on my king size bed and let my mind begin to explore the depths of humanity.
 
	 My husband left me with everything, the house, bank accounts, and even our German Shepherd. As I started to dive deeply into our relationship that once was, I began to feel the blood rushing through my vessels. At the same moment, tears began to pour from my face and puddle on both sides of my pillow. I felt a chilling heat surge through my core. 
 
	There was a soft knock coming from downstairs. The knock was soft enough to barely be heard over my thundering heartbeat that filled my ears. As I made my way down the steps toward the front door, the knocking grew in speed and size. When I opened the door, there he stood unblemished and perfectly sculpted. 
 
	I fell into the arms of the man I once called my husband and I felt him cling to me tighter than I could ever cling to him. 
 
	In his unrelenting grip, I felt a peace that I could never explain. 
 
","September 15, 2023 12:48",[]