Michelle Julio

Devil’s Deal

February 17th, 1842. A distant clatter woke him in the dead of the night. He held his breath and thought, this is it, this is the end. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and adjusted to the shadows around him. He lay in his warm bed, surrounded by his lavish belongings… the ones he had traded his soul for. It had been so easy when he was sleeping on the dirty streets surrounded by horse manure and begging for food. Those gray days ten years prior made him long for sweet, sweet death. He did not regret his decision at the time; he’d end up dead anyway. Overnight he had a job and reputation. He had gained a station in society and money started pouring in faster than he could spend it. He hired the help to clean and cook for him, to clean his clothes and dress him. He had a room just for the tub in which he bathed in warm water and the mansion he called home.