Satan's notebook

I always had a bad habit of staring at the ground as I walked. That's the only reason I noticed the small, black notebook lying there innocently.

I stopped dead in my tracks, unable to ignore it and keep walking; though my mind insisted I should. "Keep walking." My brain screamed.

But still I bent down, almost in a trance, and picked the book up. I flipped it open to the first page. It was a list of names. All of them with a neat line drawn through them. Pages and pages of them. And at the bottom of the last page with writing on it, my name. The same handwriting, exactly the same as the other names, only no line was drawn through it. Blood was roaring in my ears, my heart pounding. I felt like I'd just run a mile. I looked around, as if whoever dropped the book would be standing nearby, with a reasonable explanation.

'What the fuck?' I thought. 'Just what the fuck.'

I briefly paged through the rest of the book. It was blank. I sighed. I wanted to drop the book back where it had been laying, keep walking and pretend I just imagined it. Instead, against my better judgement, I slipped it in my pocket and finally continued on my way. The book weighed heavily in my pocket, much more heavy than it should and it felt like each step closer to my house it gained a pound.

When I arrived home, I took the book out and sat it on my coffee table. Then I just sat on my couch and stared at it. It seemed so innocuous. But somehow, I knew it wasn't. What had those people done to get their names crossed out? I didn't recognize any of the names so I started googling. And came up with nothing. Not a Facebook account, Instagram, nothing on any news sites. I searched obituaries, mugshots, anything I could think of and nothing. It was like these people had never existed. Out of morbid curiosity, with trembling fingers, I searched my name. Had I ceased to exist? But no, as soon as I pressed enter I quickly found my social media accounts. There was my picture right there. Okay, I reassured myself. I still exist.

'For now.' The thought came to me as if someone else had put it there.

I picked up the book again, examining it more closely. It was small- maybe 6 inches tall, leather-bound. It closed with a small button clasp. I flipped through each individual page this time. No other writing anywhere, but when I reached the last page I noticed a small pocket on the inside of the back cover., I felt inside and pulled out money. I gasped in surprised. $500 bills folded over. I pulled them apart and counted. 40. Holy shit. $20,000. Hidden away in a notebook with my name written in it. What was I supposed to do with this? I quickly stuffed the money back into the notebook. Did someone know how badly I needed this money? I was close to being evicted, I could barely afford to eat. But I couldn't keep it. Could I?

I flipped back through the pages. Only this time there was fresh writing several pages in.

(Hello) It glowed, the ink appearing wet as if it would smear if I touched it. Then it disappeared.

I almost fell, lunging for a pen. 'What is this?' I wrote back. For a moment my words lingered on the page, then they too disappeared.

(I know who you are. I know everything about you. Consider this money a gift) The words were gone almost before I'd finished reading them. They gave me a bad feeling. I knew I shouldn't accept this gift. I mean when a notebook with your name written in it and filled with money appears directly in your path and then writes to you by itself telling you its a gift, it's a pretty big red flag.

'From who?' I scrawled.

(From a friend. Spend it wisely.)

I tried writing back and got no response. My words just disappeared, no one reading them any longer.

Was it just some kind of miracle? A gift from God? I laid on my couch, clutching the book in my hands and fell asleep.

Over the next several days, I tried to rid myself of the book. I knew I shouldn't use that money. I burned it, buried it, threw it away, shredded it, and always it appeared back on my coffee table. Just begging me to spend that money. So I finally did. And I did spend it wisely, I felt. I paid my rent a few months in advance, bought a reliable car and signed up for classes at the local community college.

And I heard nothing else from the book, though I checked daily. But once the money was completely spent, I paged through the book and there was that familiar handwriting again.

(Your soul belongs to me now. Read the last page)

I flipped to the back, my hands sweating and shaking. In bright red letters, as though written in blood, that I was sure hadn't been there before, it read, 'This is Lucifers' journal. Any acceptance of a gift from the devil constitutes a binding contract in which the devil receives your soul in exchange for said gift.'

This time the words didn't disappear and I knew it was true. The same way I had known I shouldn't touch that book, and with whatever knowledge had prompted me to try to destroy it, I knew it was true. With a sense of dread I flipped back to the list of names and watched the line being drawn through mine. And I knew this had happened to every poor soul on the list before me. I wished more than anything I had been successful in destroying it. I knew lives were at stake and I had failed to help the next person.

I sat down and cried while everything slowly went black. I knew it would be as if I never existed to the world. And when I opened my eyes again I didn't know if it had been a minute or a hundred years. I was standing on a sidewalk in broad daylight with people bustling past me and cars driving by and I knew no one could see me. I didn't exist anymore, not really. A handsome man was in front of me, smiling at me wickedly. He held the book out towards me, and I took it without hesitation. No more free will or ability to make any choices. It was as if my body moved and my mind had no thoughts.

"I'm going to enjoy corrupting your soul." His was a strange voice. Soft spoken and smooth, no inflection or tone. Memorable and yet totally forgettable.

He nodded to the book. "Give it to the next person." And then he was gone in the blink of an eye, as though he had never been there.

I opened the book again and watched the next name appear on the list. I set off to find them, to place the book in their innocent path. Doomed to be Lucifers' errand girl for eternity. My soul no longer my own. For the low, low price of just $20,000.