Can't Bedevil Everyone You See

T. You could easily take the music deal right then and there, but something inside your gut told you that this particular deal wasn’t about the music. Whatever the Devil was up to, it was just a front. There was no way in Hell that she would actually want your music. Unless she was going for an ironic take on what she wanted for Hell’s Elevator music. Like a ‘bore them to death’ kind of situation.

            “You don’t want the deal?” She asks yo as she pushes the contract even closer to you. You went to read more of it, but unfortunately, she pulled it back. “You cannot read the fine print when you make deals with the Devil

            “How can I trust you?” You said.

            “You can’t. That’s the beauty of it. You don’t know exactly what you are getting into. It’s like a Christmas party, where we exchange gifts. In both situations it can end in a living nightmare. What do you say? Want to try a Devilishly good Christmas party?” She slid the contract closer to you again, careful not to reveal too many of the words written in small type on the paper.

            What exactly could you lose though? You were already a cashier. And you already had lame music that played all the time in your head. Really all you could get out of this deal with the Devil was some entertainment. You pricked your finger, and a single drop of blood rolled off of your finger towards the parchment. Once it hit the paper, it was accompanied by a thunderous boom. Your reality tinted red around you.

            Once you regained your composure, you found yourself drinking from a glass filled with dark red punch. You savored the carbonated cherry taste until the last drop, and then you set the glass onto nearby table. It seemed as though now, based on the decorations that you were at a literal Christmas party. This begged the question, since you could no longer hear your Bland album, if you had merely created the situation in your head out of pure boredom.

            A woman ran passed you carrying a battery powered radio. “The new Christmas son is on the radio!” She screamed excitedly. Everyone in the room flocked towards the radio.

            The radio crackled on and you could hear yourself singing to the melody of Bland and everyone in the room was going bananas. It dawned on you quickly that Devil had given you fame as far as you could tell, but at the same time, she had removed you to another body. So even though you were technically widely successful, you had to enjoy it from the sidelines.

            Suddenly, you realized the music had stopped playing and everyone was looking at you. Not just looking, they were staring. Could they hear your lack of music accompaniment? Their personal music began to shift to the sound of fire crackling and magically they were all caring torches. This was the worst day of your life.