Satan called. She Wants Her Coffee Black

In the depths of night, when shadows crawl,

A phone rings out, an unholy call.

Trembling fingers lift the receiver high,

A voice like ash whispers from the other side.

"My coffee, dear, you know how I take it,

Black as sin, no cream to fake it.

Bring it to me at the crossroads bare,

Where lost souls wander in despair."

The line goes dead, but the air still burns,

As if all of Hell's fury churns.

Footsteps echo on the kitchen tile,

The brew drips slowly, all the while.

With shaking hands, the mug is filled,

Steam rises like spirits unkilled.

Out into darkness, the offering goes,

Where it ends, nobody knows.

At the crossroads, she waits in red,

Eyes are glowing like embers, long since dead.

"My coffee, black," she purrs with glee,

"And for payment? Your soul belongs to me."

A sip, a smile, a flash of fire,

The price of service is eternally dire.

Remember well, when night falls deep,

Satan's thirst is yours to keep.

The town had always whispered about the crossroads. It was where dreams went to die, where time stopped, and where those who wandered after midnight would find themselves walking a path not of this world. But for Hellen, it was just a means to an end, a ritual she never thought would turn her world upside down.

She hadn't always been this way. Once, Hellen had dreams of her own - a family, a quiet life in the countryside, a future that stretched out like a warm summer's day. But that was before the accident, before the nights became sleepless, and the whispers started in the corners of her mind.

She had tried everything to drown them out pills, prayers, even the bottle. But nothing silenced the voice that came every night, louder and more insistent, until she could do nothing but obey. It started small - an extra cup of coffee here, a trip to the crossroads there. But tonight was different. Tonight, the voice wanted more.

The phone call had come at exactly 3:33 AM, the witching hour as the adage goes. The voice on the other end was cold, commanding, and left no room for refusal. Hellen had no choice but to comply. She moved as if in a trance, each step heavier than the last as if the weight of her impending doom was already upon her.

The wind howled as she approached the crossroads, the world around her seeming to shrink away into nothingness. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and something far worse, something she couldn't quite place - a mix of decay and despair that clawed at her throat. She could see her breath freeze in the frigid air, each exhale, a silent prayer for mercy.

And then she saw her.

Draped in a cloak of blood-red, with eyes that flickered like the embers of a dying fire, Satan stood waiting. The very sight of her sent a jolt of terror through Mary's veins. But it wasn't just fear; it was a deep, gnawing sorrow, as if the very essence of her soul was being torn away, piece by piece.

"You're late," Satan hissed, her voice a blend of a thousand tormented souls.

Hellen could only nod, her voice caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. She held out the steaming mug, her hand trembling so violently she feared she might drop it.

Satan took the mug, her long, clawed fingers brushing against Hellen's skin, leaving a trail of ice in their wake. She raised the cup to her lips, and as she drank, the world seemed to shudder.

The ground beneath Hellen began to crumble, and the shadows around her grew darker, deeper as if they were alive, hungry for her. She tried to step back, but couldn't move. Her feet were rooted to the spot, bound by invisible chains that tightened with every beat of her frantic heart.

Satan smiled, a cruel, knowing smile that sent a wave of despair crashing over Hellen. "Payment is due," she whispered, her voice dripping with malevolence.

Hellen's breath caught in her throat as she realized what was happening. This was no mere transaction; it was a pact, a deal sealed with the blackest of coffee and the darkest of intentions. Her soul, once pure and full of hope, was now nothing more than currency in a deal she hadn't even known she was making.

Satan leaned in closer, her breath hot and rancid against Hellen's ear. "You are mine," she purred, her words wrapping around Hellen like a noose. "For all eternity."

Hellen's scream echoed through the night, but it was swallowed by the darkness, lost to the abyss. Her body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, as the last remnants of her soul were sucked into the mug, now as empty as the void she had become.

Satan turned and vanished into the night, leaving behind only the faintest scent of burnt coffee and the hollow sound of the wind. The crossroads lay silent once more, a place where only the brave or the damned dared to tread.

And in the small, lonely kitchen back home, the phone began to ring again.