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I stifle a grunt as the candy red lancet I'd bought online pricks my pinkie. The first blood droplet falls unceremoniously to the flat dirt path, sopped up by copper soil. I guide the second into the glass vial, cork it, and put it in the brand new, navy blue metal box at my feet. After sterilizing and bandaging my finger, I give the contents of the box one last inspection: the best selfie I've ever taken, printed at the general store; the femur of Aunt Debby's dearly departed black cat, Molly (oh, Molly, the only time I could be near you without dying was when you were dead yourself); and the loose earth from the cemetery by the mountain that I would never show my face around again.
I close the box, pulling the spade out of my backpack and getting on my knees. I dig an ugly little hole in the dead center of the crossroads, put the box in said hole, and fill it back up, flattening the surface for good measure. I stand up and dust off my jeans.
Autumn killed off the cricket choirs, so the woods are quiet apart from my breathing. My freezing face yearns for me to go home, but the pit in my stomach that forms at the thought of my apartment keeps me planted there. Moonlight spills cold through the voids in the pine tree canopy, washing the world in pale white.
"I just want a home," I tell the night air.
"I can make that happen."
I jolt into a full-body spin.
Ink black eyes blink back at me mere inches from my face, replaced in a flash by normal white sclera. I leap backwards before freeze replaces flight. My grip on the spade tightens.
He's the most handsome man I've seen in my life. Long, wavy blond hair and a perfectly groomed goatee frame his jaw just right. His irises pop in the dim light, maybe blue, probably blue, balancing between curious and remorseless, like a predator that just found its next meal. His toned arms and torso are left exposed by an unbuttoned denim vest unbefitting of October, and ripped skinny jeans hug his calves.
"What..." I say, less an intentional question and more a sound that escapes my throat.
"I can make that happen." The man's voice is a baritone dream. His pearly whites shine brighter than the moon. "For a price, of course."
"My soul in ten years?"
The man's head lolls to the side, his gaze never wavering, his smile bolted in place. "You're aware of the cost?"
I nod, aiming for stoic but landing on petrified.
"Interesting," he says. He looks at where the box was buried. "You didn't need the blood, by the way. I appreciate you going the extra mile, though."
"I have terms," I blurt.
The man straightens, his smile melting away. He stays silent.
"I want a single story house," I force out, my demands fleeing with the fog of my breath. My fingers flex involuntarily at my sides. My pinkie still stings. "I want to own it. I want it in a quiet, safe neighborhood. In the city. I want it to be affordable on my current income. I want it in a livable state, no problems that need expensive repairs or could pose a hazard to my health."
The man nods robotically.
I stare, daring not to inhale too loudly. My heavy metal heart makes it hard not to suck in air on instinct.
The man's grin returns to maximum wattage. "Shall we seal the deal?"
"Yeah." I shift my weight between my feet. "How—"
The man strides over until he's hovering in front of my face again. I flinch as his hands grip my waist, thumbs pressing like daggers into my hip bones.
"Feel free to enjoy it," he whispers.
I look into his eyes, black holes of infinite calculations and zero emotion. Then at his lips, parted ever so slightly, hungry yet patient. They know they won't have to wait.
I drop the spade.
He's cold. Very cold. I keep my lips light against his, only for him to press harder, molding over my vulnerable flesh, consuming me like sacrament. Kissing had always been an odd, neutral act at best, but at least every one I'd experienced up to now had had an underlying warmth, the awareness of what it represented for me, for the men on the other side.
This kiss feels fundamentally, cosmically, mathematically wrong.
This is no man.
We part slow. Its eyes look like they'd never closed.
"What are you?" I ask.
The thing peers into, what I have a sneaking suspicion is, my soul. Its soul.
"A demon." Even its breath is cold. "But you already know that."
I gulp. "I'm an atheist."
The demon drinks in the sight of me for a long while.
"No judgement, but..." Its hands leave my sides. "I'm curious. Why make a deal that you know will end in eternal torment?"
"Being alive is already torment," I answer without pause. The shadows of the pine trees are a cage below, trapping and melding with mine. "And now that I know hell exists, I'm probably gonna go there anyway. Better to have ten good years than none at all."
The demon smiles again, but for the first time it seems genuine. Human.
"I love my job," it says.
And then it's gone.
I stare into empty space, then at the spot I'd buried the box in. Sweat licks my skin all over, my tinnitus is a tornado siren in my ears, and I look up at the sliver of moon visible through the trees, watching over me cold and eerie, like witnessing a horrible disaster.
Thoughts burrow through the broken barricades in my head.
I'm gonna die young.
I'm gonna suffer forever.
I'm gonna own a home.
I sob, and I can't for the life of me tell if they're tears of fear or relief.