The Mayor and The First Payment

A year ago, John Jones was a dying man. His doctors had told him he had months, maybe a year, if he was lucky. He'd spent his waking hours looking for a solution until he finally stumbled upon the legend of Wentworth Cemetery.

Miraculously, his doctors could no longer find the cancer that was hollowing him out. They didn't understand it. It was the miracle John desperately needed. They only wanted to know how it happened.

Only John, Steven Locke, and Harry Winston knew John was sick. And only the three of them knew that John went to the lengths he did to cure his condition. Harry and Steven weren't there, but they knew what the ritual involved. His friends had his back despite fears of what it meant.

Steven's shipping business exploded months later. He was on the fast track to being the number-one trucking and shipping guy in four states. Harry soon came into a financial windfall that helped him develop a parcel of land. His presales on homes were through the roof. Things had worked the way John promised.

John remained as the mayor. In the last year, he'd positioned himself to draw attention from higher-ranking politicians and some potential donors. John saw his vision for a prosperous city. He had brought Steven and Harry with him on his rise to becoming more successful than ever thought before. And it all started on the night of the solstice.

Even Helena was more impressed with him than ever before. He fed off of her adoration.

Helena didn't know how different a man John was than he was a year ago. She liked the change, even admired it, but it was for purely selfish reasons. While John Jones was ambitious, his wife's ambitions made him appear small-minded. This new John was the man she'd always hoped to marry. He was someone she saw taking her places far bigger than Kansas.

It was the anniversary of the solstice celebration. This year would make last year's pale by comparison. There were a few hundred vendors already open. The downtown carnival was triple the size of anything they'd attracted before. John had gotten a top-rated group to play the opening ceremonies.

John picked up the phone and dialed. He was calling home. He had a decision to make.

"Honey," he said. "I was thinking we should meet before the fireworks ceremony. Say, nine o'clock."

She agreed. She sounded excited. Helena wanted to be a part of the ceremony. She needed to make her grand appearance and hear him announcing his candidacy for the governor's office. John knew she wanted to move into the governor's mansion more than he did.

"No, I'll tell you when I see you," he stopped her. "I love you too."

He sat, staring at the walls. There was a voice in his head. It taunted him with a repetitive "tick, tock."

"Dammit, I said I'd get it done!" he exclaimed, not knowing he wasn't alone.

"Um, who you talking to, buddy?"

It was Harry Winston. He didn't know how long Harry had been there, but it was long enough that his old friend knew something was wrong. John turned and, with some trepidation, greeted Harry. The two shook hands before John shut the door and offered to pour his old buddy a scotch.

"It's incredible stuff. Governor Allensworth gave it to me when I visited the capital last month."

Harry nodded, and they made small talk until John sat down. They touched glasses and toasted the solstice celebration. Each drank some of the brown liquor. Then came the awkward silence in the room.

"It's been a hell of a year, for both of us," sighed Harry.

"That it has," John admitted.

"You know, you never told us what happened on that hill."

"Does it matter?"

"Honestly, Steven and I have both been worried. We're happy you're free of the death sentence you were given, and our successes this past year have been incredible, but what did it cost you?"

John couldn't tell them. He knew they'd try to find a way to get involved. Harry was a dammed fool and always there, always following John into some dammed foolish escapade. Steven was no better. For their sake, they were better off not knowing.

"Come on John," demanded Harry. "What was it? Your soul, something worse?"

John laughed it off. He gave the same answer he always gave. His soul was intact. Nobody came to any harm. They were all richer and more successful, and his health had been restored. What more could they ask for?

"I just hope you know what you got yourself into," said Harry, finishing his drink.

"Trust me," John reassured him. "Everything's going to be alright."

Harry left the office, promising him he'd be there for his big speech later in the evening. John looked at his watch. It was time to meet Helena and get ready for the big announcement.

John chose to drive the Lexus. He picked up Helena at her car and kissed her lovingly before telling her he had a surprise. The whole time, John heard the voice in his head. It kept repeating, "Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock."

"Where are we going?" asked Helena.

John assured her it was a surprise. She nuzzled up to his shoulder as he drove. Helena interrogated him about his decision. She knew John would run for a bigger office someday, but was that time upon them? The entire drive, John didn't budge.

As they pulled into the old Wentworth Cemetery, Helena cringed at the thought of getting out. She was creeped out by the old place because her grandmother had told stories about a demonic entity that came to visit its earthly concubine and child.

"Why are we here?"

"You'll see," John promised.

He parked the Lexus and told her they'd have to walk a bit. It was a tough sell, but John told Helena she'd love what was coming. Like a dutiful wife, Helena exited the car despite her objections. She warned him it better not be one of his pranks.

"No," he sighed. "This isn't a prank."

John led Helena to where he'd stood just one year ago. He put his arms around her waist as he stood behind her.

"You wanted to know how I turned things around in such a short time," he reminded her. "This is where it all happened."

As the alarm on his phone began to chime, Helena coughed up copious amounts of blood. John held her tight. A tear streaked down his cheek. One of his payments had come due. He had to make A personal sacrifice.

"It was either you or my son," he somberly admitted as her body went limp.

John pulled a twelve-inch dagger from her back, lying her down in the grass. He said goodbye and watched as an ominous black energy enveloped her, dragging her below the earth. Standing there, he mumbled.

"You got your pound of flesh. Are you happy now?"

He heard the voice bellow in his head.

"And you got the keys to the governor's mansion, riches, and fame. Or would you rather have the cancer that was killing you?"

"We're done!"

"No, my friend, we've only just begun..."

John fell to his knees.