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Deal with the Devil
Walking through the brush that is the deep East Texas woodlands, Chris stumbled upon an odd fiddle. Attempting to pick it up, he realizes just how heavy it is, and that, alone, he will not be able to pick it up. As he stands up again, contemplating the oddity of the situation that’s unfolding around him, a man clears his throat behind him. Spinning around, startled, Chris sees a gentleman wearing a black suit, white undershirt, and red tie and a fedora that matches his suit.
“Well hello, kiddo. What’s a guy like you want with a fiddle?” The mans accent was like molasses rolling off his tongue.
“Nothing, sir. I just thought it was a bit peculiar that a fiddle was in the woods here”
“Oh, don’t be naïve, kid. You’ve heard all the stories. ‘Devil challenges some kid to a fiddle battle. Devil looses’. For the record, I don’t loose fiddle battles”
Chris looked around him anxiously. He wasn’t sure if he should run, or stay, and honestly wasn’t sure this wasn’t some hallucination of his. “Well. I’m not too keen. on battling you with fiddles”
“Oh no, of course not. I wouldn’t even dream of it. No, I have a better offer for you. I’ll give you anything you want, for your soul.” The man smiled a devilish grin at Chris, and offered out his hand, “Do we have a deal, Chris?”
“How’d you know my name again?” Chris pondered out loud.
“Oh, come on, kiddo! You think only heaven has the list of people? Hell, we make up over half of them.” The Devil laughed hearitly, and the smell of sulfer emanated from his mouth.
Chris pondered on this for a few seconds, before coming to a concussion.
“Alright,” He knew in the back of his head that he would regret this “I’m down”
“Excellent!” The devil pulled out a pen and a piece of paper, and handed it over to Chris.
“Now, I’ll just need you to draw that for me. Oh, and don’t worry. Your soul is already mine. When you agreed. Verbal contracts are binding, after all. My game, my rules, and all that garbage”
Chris looked at the devil with an expression of shock and surprise. “You want me to draw what my desire is?” He felt his stomach drop. He was a terrible artist.
