Everything in Creation is governed and bound by Laws;

Heaven and Hell are no exception.

In times when Demons refuse to comply,

When the actions of the rogues jeopardise the balance,

Hell sends their ancient and most dangerous spawn;

The Contractor…

Act III – The Widower

“Police are still looking into the mysterious deaths of the family of high-profile millionaire James Thaddeus Birchwood, heir to the Birchwood hotel chain and international conglomerate. His wife, Edwina Rose Birchwood, and two daughters, Carrie and Rowena Birchwood, were found dead in their homes. Police have confirmed that there were no signs of forced entry and nothing was taken from the luxurious summer home of the family here in Neuilly-sur-Seine, France.

“Neuilly-sur-Seine, as you all know, is the home to many French celebrities including Sophie Marceau, Edith Piaf and- Well it looks like Mr Birchwood is emerging from his home now. Let’s see if we can get an interview from- Sir, Mr Birchwood? Any words on the tragic murder of your family for the Guardian UK? Sir, do you have any response to the allegations that you orchestrated this horrible crime?

“Truly a man of few words; we will keep you updated with the details of this gruesome crime as it unfolds. This is Genevieve Dubois, here in Neuilly-sur-Seine for the Guardian UK.”

It was a dark night on Charles de Gualle Avenue in the quiet village of Neuilly-sur-Seine; the streets were empty, save for a lone figure, walking silently along the paved streets. He wore a very angry look on his face but felt the comfort of the slight breeze of the night as it ruffled through his flowing, crimson-red trench coat. He continued along the road, heading towards the cathedral that sat further down the road; the Church of Saint Jean-Baptiste.

From the inside of his coat, he produced an aged, ebon pocket watch and clicked it open. He stared at it curiously as the black hand of the clock face was completely motionless. The other hand, the red hand, was ticking backwards with every footstep he took until it finally stopped at 12 o’clock, perfectly aligned with its other hand.

He pocketed the chronometer and stared ahead of him; he was standing at the doors to the church, staring at its triangular archway and flags.

The stranger raised his fist and knocked on the door loudly as he waited patiently for someone to answer.

Moments went by and he tried again, pounding on the door furiously. From inside the church, he could hear a beleaguered old voice shout in rapid French; ‘Mon Dieu! Qu’est-ce que vous voulez?’

In a loud, clear voice the stranger replied in English. ‘I seek an audience with the man you are currently hiding.’

There was another moment’s silence until he heard the Frenchman’s voice again. ‘Comment tu t’appelle?’

The stranger straightened his coat and pronounced boisterously. ‘Je suis Faust; Nyxanoth Faust. Ouvrir la porte!’

He could hear the Frenchman inside the church stumble against the door. ‘L’entrepreneur? Oui monsieur, tout de suite!’

The doors to the church creaked open slowly and a stout clergyman, wearing his cream-coloured vestments greeted Faust with a sombre look on his face. ‘Suivez moi.’ He said abruptly.

Faust followed the pastor through the threshold of the door and through the pews, leading him to the front row. There, sleeping underneath a fancy ‘Ralph Lauren Black Label’ suit jacket, was a man with a thick stubble of unshaven hair on his face and a head of messy, unkempt and, Faust assumed, un-shampooed hair.

Faust turned to the pastor and ordered him to leave; ‘laissez-nous,’ he instructed curtly.

The clergyman took one last look at the sleeping man before nodding his head and exiting through the front of the room, leaving only Faust and the slumbering stranger.

Faust stared at the man’s jacket; ‘such opulence,’ he remarked loudly. He kicked the wooden pew with his heavy, black boot, causing the sleeping man to jerk awake violently.

‘Qu’est-ce que c’est!’ The man shouted suddenly. His eyes locked onto Faust’s glowing, blood-red eyes. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stared again, as though to make sure what he was seeing was not a dream. ‘You… you came.’ He said gingerly.

‘Mr James Thaddeus Birchwood, I assume.’ Faust replied knowingly.

The man, James Birchwood, nodded, rubbing his bloodshot eyes some more. ‘Thank you for answering my call.’

‘Don’t thank me;’ Faust replied angrily, ‘I’m here because you tried to fuck over one of the Seven Princes of Hell; Satan is so pissed off at you, he sent me to personally un-fuck the contract that you made with him.’

‘I… I’m sorry but I needed to see what I was getting into; I needed to have my foot partially out the door.’

‘When dealing with the Wrathful Prince, you don’t have your foot out the fucking door; you make a decision and you commit to it.’

Birchwood sat perfectly silent as Faust pulled out an ashen scroll from the inside of his cloak and unfurled it. ‘Amendment 71 of the ‘Pacts of Hell’ ante bellum permits the alteration of a Pact or Contract if either signing party has been wronged or deceived.’ Faust read, before putting the scroll back into his pocket. ‘Do you remember the deal you made with the Wrath Prince Satan?’

Birchwood nodded. ‘I… I asked Satan to help me uncover the truth and he sent…’ Birchwood gulped. ‘He sent this… thing… to me.’

‘Where is it?’

Birchwood stood up and started unbuttoning his off-white and dirt-stained, custom-made ‘Georgio Armani’ business shirt and exposed a sapphire blue pentagram that was engraved into his chest.

Faust leaned closer to the pentagram. ‘Has it said anything to you?’

Birchwood shook his head.

‘You fucking smart ass!’ Faust swore angrily. ‘It doesn’t know what the fuck it’s supposed to be doing! You made an ambiguous contract with Satan to ‘help you uncover the truth’ but what the fuck is it you want to uncover? The meaning of life? Is there life outside this galaxy? How Taylor Swift can't find a stable boyfriend? The truth about what, Birchwood, say it!’

‘I want to find the person responsible for killing my family; I want them to die by my hand!’ He confessed loudly as he burst into tears.

Faust stared at the pathetic mortal that stood in front of him, weeping like a child. ‘Is that what you truly want,’ he asked unsympathetically, ‘to kill the person who killed your family?’

Still sobbing uncontrollably, Birchwood nodded.

‘Then I, Nyxanoth Faust, shall be the officiator in drafting a new pact.’ Faust raised his hand into the air and turned his palm upward. Concentrating, he rubbed his fingers together quickly until a bright, bouncing mane of fire materialised upon his palm.

Birchwood stopped his bawling and stared at the open flame that sat and waved merrily in the air. Before long the flame flickered and roared until another parchment rose out from its fiery core. Faust retrieved the paper and closed his hand, suffocating the fireball as he did so.

‘This,’ he said, waving the parchment about, ‘is your new contract with Satan. If you agree, then sign. But be forewarned mortal, this contract has been personally drafted by me, so there’ll be no fucking loopholes, you understand?’

Birchwood stared at the contract sceptically. ‘I sign this contract, and you’ll get me the person who killed my family?’

‘Yes. That water demon inside your chest will seek out the prick responsible and drag his ass back here to you. And then what are you gonna do Jim?’

Birchwood bent over his suit jacket and rummaged through the pockets until he produced a small handgun; an old ‘Smith & Wesson’ 36LS Revolver.

Faust stared at the small revolver intensely. ‘Are you sure about this Jim?’ He asked again. ‘Once you make this deal, it will be done. There won’t be any more do-overs.’

Birchwood felt a lump in his throat and gulped deeply as he contemplated what he was about to do. Eventually, after much consideration, he pulled a small safety pin from his pocket and pricked his index finger.

A small drop of blood started to ooze out of the pinprick. He held his bloody finger out to Faust and dabbed it onto the contract. No sooner had the blood touched the page, the entire contract glowed a hellish orange glow before disappearing in a burst of flames.

‘W-what now?’ Birchwood asked, nursing his pricked finger.

‘Look down at your chest Jim.’

Birchwood stared down at the blue pentagram that was etched onto his chest; it radiated a bright, burning blue light and, as Birchwood stared on in horror, he could see the decaying, Prussian-blue talons of a demon emerge out of the crest on his chest. He let out a scream of terror as the head of a gruesome, horned, fanged demon poked through the pentagram.

The demon, with half its torso exposed, turned its ugly ahead around the room, taking in its surroundings. Upon seeing the terrified face of Birchwood, it let out a mirthless cackle before leaping out of his chest, landing on the ground in front of him. It hunched over and began licking its talons, slobbering over its clawed fingers and staring at Birchwood hungrily.

‘Vocasti me?’ It asked, bearing its yellowed fangs in a grin.

Faust walked over to the smirking demon and beat the back of its head. ‘Now you listen to me you disgusting piece of shit; you are to search the aether for any signs of what happened to the Birchwood family, find the one responsible and bring them back to us. Do you hear me?’

‘Iterum dico.’ It said nonchalantly.

Faust let out an annoyed ‘tsk’ and punched the demon in its dribbling jaw. ‘Don’t fucking get cute with me you ugly sack of shit! Do as you’re told or so help me, I will extract all the fires of Hell and shove it up your ass!’

The demon recoiled in pain and with a pitiful screech at Faust, disappeared from sight in a puff of dark blue smoke.

Faust and Birchwood sat for hours in silence as they awaited the water demon’s return.

Birchwood sat on the pew where he was slumbering and rocked back and forth on the spot, mumbling incoherently under his breath. Faust pulled out his black pocket watch again and clicked it open, examining the hands. Both the red and black hand were frozen at the 12 o’clock position as before, but there was another hand, a yellow hand ticking backwards from 7 o’clock and steadily making its way to 6 o’clock.

‘Do you… do you think it’ll come back?’ The silence finally broke as Birchwood spoke softly to Faust. ‘The water demon… that is.’

‘It has to come back,’ Faust replied, still focusing on the pocket watch, ‘you have something it wants.’

‘My soul,’ Birchwood thought. ‘Why… why a water demon?’

Faust’s eyes moved from his chronometer to Birchwood, as he continued speaking. ‘I mean… I didn’t know that demons had… you know… elements.’

‘Satan sent a water demon because you wanted clarity; the water’s there to make everything clear to you, reveal the truth. Sending an earth demon to give you strength or sending a fire demon to change your emotions won’t do jackshit for us.’

Birchwood snapped his mouth shut and the church was once again silent. Faust gazed back down at his timer; the yellow clock hand had progressed to 4 o’clock but stopped abruptly. ‘Don’t fuck around with them you piece of shit,’ he thought, ‘just bring them back here and hurry the fuck up!’

‘You know, it’s funny.’ Birchwood started again.

Faust stared back at him. ‘What is?’

‘The last thing I told Edwina. We were arguing about me flying overseas to oversee a merger and how I was going to miss Rowena’s violin recital.’ He let out a small chuckle. ‘I told her… I said to her that I had plenty of time to see Rowena’s other concerts. “It’s not like we’re gonna die tomorrow,” I said to her.’ His eyes began to well with tears. ‘Looking back, I wish I had made time for them like a dad’s supposed to… you know? Just read a book with them, or watch Nickelodeon with them or something.’

‘So why not take that regret and live your life for something better? Why go looking for their killer?’

Through teary eyes, Birchwood stared directly at him. ‘You have kids Faust?’

‘You fucking kidding me?’

Birchwood let out another soft laugh. ‘You’re right; that was a stupid question.’ He stared at the pocket revolver in his hands longingly. ‘I want justice for my family, Faust. Even though I wasn’t the best husband and father, I could always change. Whoever killed my family robbed me of the chance to be a better person for them.’

‘Now that’s bullshit!’ Faust shouted from across the room. ‘You weren’t gonna change for them; you would’ve just stayed the way you were until you fucking died. And the only memory your family will have of you was how you were more concerned with business than you were with them.’

‘Th-that’s not true.’ Birchwood replied ashamedly. ‘I could hav-‘

‘No you couldn’t! It’s after they’re fucking corpses in the ground do you realise that you should’ve changed or could’ve changed or would’ve changed. All you want now is for peace of mind for your fucking self!’

‘That’s not true!’ James defended. ‘I’m giving up my afterlife so that they can have justice.’

‘You’re gonna argue with me? I’m fucking older than this galaxy and you wanna fucking argue with me?’ Faust’s blood-red eyes glowed menacingly at Birchwood. ‘You wanna know why people sell their soul to the Dark Princes? It’s because they’re lazy, greedy, angry, horny mother fuckers who believe that their grand gesture of sacrifice is noble. If you really wanted justice, if you really wanted to honour their memory, then you would live your fucking life how they wanted you to live.’

‘And how would you fucking know? You never even met them before!’

Faust folded his arms crossly. ‘You got pissed off at Rowena on one of her birthdays because you bought her an expensive ‘Stradivarius’ violin, but she wanted to use the one that her grandma gave her.’

Birchwood’s jaw dropped.

‘The last thing you would ever hear from Carrie was that she thought the fat shark from ‘Finding Nemo’ sounded like your Uncle Bert when he laughed. How would I fucking know, Jim? It’s because I don’t make pacts with dickheads like you before doing my own research!’

Birchwood shook his head in disbelief.

‘The last nice thing you ever did for your wife was have your Vice President bring her a set of ‘Cartier’ earrings that you had him pick out for her three years ago.’ Faust spat on the ground bitterly. ‘I know everything, Jim, and I know that if your family were still breathing today, you’d still be the unloving and uncaring fuckwit that you were before.’

Birchwood’s eyes cascaded torrents of teardrops as he sat there, bawling loudly and leaning his head against the wooden pew.

‘The sooner the water demon comes back here with your killer, the sooner I can take your soul to Hell and leave you here you selfish, pathetic shitsack!’

Birchwood picked up his jacket and buried his head into it. ‘What happens when I kill them?’

‘The pact would have been executed successfully and your soul automatically becomes property of Satan. That water demon will rip out your soul and that pentagram on your chest will be gone. All that’ll be left are the loveless memories you’ll have for your family.’ Faust stared back down at the watch.

‘Loveless memories? What do you mean Faust?’

‘Isn’t it fucking obvious?’ He ran his hand through his jet black hair in frustration. ‘Why don’t you human fuckwits do research on what a fucking soul is before you go and sell it to the highest bidder? Are you fucking stupid?’

‘What do you mean by “loveless memories”?’

‘Your soul is what lets you feel love and joy and happiness in the first place. It’s a catalyst for all positivity in your life, for the enjoyment of your current and afterlife. Without your fucking soul, food will be bland, music will be monotonous… shit, even fucking your girlfriend would just feel like exercising to you. Do you understand?’

Birchwood opened his mouth to speak but Faust cut him off; ‘I need you to shut the fuck up for a moment,’ he said angrily, ‘the demon’s back.’

The yellow hand of Faust’s pocket watch ticked past one and let out a small chime when it struck 12 o’clock.

A loud ‘poof’ followed by a frightened scream from Birchwood indicated to Faust that the demon was back.

He pocketed his watch and walked over to it; in its rotting maws was a man dressed in a grey, custom-tailored ‘Versace’ suit. He was unconscious, but Faust knew he was still alive.

‘Frank?’ Birchwood asked. ‘That’s… that’s Frank!’

Faust stared at the body and raised its limp head; it was indeed the Vice President of Birchwood Hotels International, Frank Gorman.

The water demon laid Frank’s body on the ground and crept to a spot underneath the statue of Jesus Christ, eagerly licking its talons and staring hungrily at Birchwood once again.

Frank’s body started to stir and he opened his eyes to see the barrel of an old ‘Smith & Wesson’ 36LS Revolver. He recoiled pathetically in fear. ‘Take everything, just please don’t shoot me!’ He screamed, shielding his face with his arms and trembling.

‘Why did you do it Frank?’ Birchwood asked in a choked voice.

Frank cautiously opened his eyes and stared into the face of his boss, of James Thaddeus Birchwood. ‘Jim?’ He asked. ‘Is that you? What the Hell are –‘

Birchwood pulled back the hammer of the revolver, making sure Frank heard the loud ‘click’ as he did. ‘Why did you do it Frank?’ He asked again, his hands trembling with anger.

Frank smiled at him. ‘Jimmy, it’s me; it’s Frank, man. I don’t know what –‘

A loud blasting noise echoed through the church followed by falling dust from the ceiling. Frank Gorman stared at Birchwood; stared the smoking barrel that was pointing upwards at the ceiling.

‘Okay, okay Jimmy! Just… j-just relax.’

‘Why did you do it Frank?’

Gorman stared at Birchwood in fear and stammered his answers. ‘Sh-she was gonna expose me Jimmy. I… I panicked I d-didn’t know what else to do!’

Faust watched uninterestedly as Birchwood lowered the revolver and aimed it at Frank's head. ‘What was she going to expose?’ He asked, his hand still trembling.

Gorman hesitated. ‘Jimmy I –‘

‘Answer me!’ Birchwood screamed, holding the revolver closer to him.

Frank Gorman suddenly burst into tears. ‘She was sleeping with me Jim. We were having an affair!’

Birchwood’s eyes widened as he felt the searing, white-hot pain of fury wash over him like a bath of molten lava.

‘I… I was scared that if she told you… if she told you I would –‘

His words failed him as Frank Gorman, Vice President for James Thaddeus Birchwood, felt the burning kiss of a bullet through his chest. His horrified eyes were fixated on Birchwood as his body keeled over onto the ground. Birchwood watched with grim satisfaction as the light from Gorman’s eyes died. He took a deep breath and turned to face Faust who was standing, leaning against the backing of a wooden bench.

‘I’m ready.’ He said calmly. Birchwood raised both hands into the air, adopting the same pose as the crucified statue of Jesus Christ across the room.

Faust turned his head at the water demon, slobbering on its talon like a rabid dog. ‘Do it.’ He commanded.

The water demon let out a terrifying screech as it kicked its hind legs and charged at Birchwood. The human braced himself as he heard the galloping sounds of the water demon running closer and closer towards him. The savage demon pounced through the air and headed straight for Birchwood’s chest. He expected to feel the pain of sharpened talons on his flesh, but felt a familiar burning sensation.

He stared down at the large pentagram still imprinted on his body as the water demon was swallowed by the crest, the same way that it had been borne.

‘Wh-what’s happening?’ He asked confusedly.

‘Can’t you fucking tell? Your contract isn’t complete yet.’

‘But I don’t –‘

‘What was your pact with Satan?’ Faust interjected impatiently. ‘What were the conditions of that contract that you just fucking signed?’

‘That you would take my soul after I kill my family’s murderer.’

‘So if the pentagram is still on your chest and your soul is still in-fucking-tact, what does that mean?’

Birchwood stared at Faust blankly. ‘Could the water demon have brought the wrong person? No… impossible!’ He thought. And then suddenly he came to a grave realisation. ‘There is more than one person responsible for killing my family.’

‘Bingo.’

‘Well then summon the water demon again! We’ve got to find who –‘

‘Shitloads of help that’ll do you!’ Faust stated sarcastically. He let out an exasperated sigh of frustration. ‘Don’t you get it? It’s you! You’re the other person responsible for your family’s death.’

‘But how –‘

‘By neglecting your duties as a father, neglecting your duties as a husband, you put your family on the path that would lead them to their eventual death! Don’t you fucking see? If you actually gave a shit about them when you were supposed to, then they would never have died. You may not have killed them, but you sure as shit didn’t prevent their deaths either!’

‘But… my soul –‘

‘Congratu-fucking-lations! You’ve managed to weasel your way into another loophole; so long as your poor-excuse for a body is still drawing breath, your soul remains with you.’

Birchwood could not believe what he was hearing. ‘I get… I get to keep my soul?’

‘Yes you do.’ Faust spat bitterly. ‘But you know what? All that you’ve told me about justice, about making it right with your dead family? All that was just bullshit after all; you wanted to kill the person who was responsible and yet you still get to live a happy and fulfilling life. Don’t you love the irony of the fucking cosmos, Jim? Don’t you?’

Birchwood scratched his head confusedly.

‘You know what? You can keep your fucking soul. It’s painful as shit being tortured in Hell until the end of time, but I’m guessing it’s just as fucking painful to live with the fact that you caused your entire family’s death with your fucking hypocrisy.’ Faust turned towards the church doors and, with an angered roar, kicked them open with an unholy might. ‘The day you die, James Thaddeus Birchwood, is the day I come back for your soul.’

Nyxanoth Faust, the Contractor, walked back up the darkened streets of Charles de Gualle Avenue of the quiet French town of Neuilly-sur-Seine.

He reached into his pocket and produced a cigarette, bringing to his lips and letting it rest softly. He ran an index finger across the palm of his right hand like a match and watched as his fingertip became alit with a tiny fire, illuminating his blood-red eyes and jet black mane.

He continued up the road, listening to the quiet song of the Witching Hour. The silent night was interrupted with a loud blast from behind him. Faust turned around and stared the Church of Saint Jean-Baptiste expectantly.

His ears strained in the darkness as he listened intently, waiting. And then he heard it; the unmistakable sound of clawed feet galloping, closing in on him. Through the darkness, he could see the disfigured silhouette of the water demon, running as fast as it could towards him. It screeched to a halt in front of Faust and laid its head onto the ground.

Faust watched as something shining dropped on the ground and he bent down to pick up a small, glowing, golden orb. He examined it carefully and he gently slid the sphere into his pocket and continued down the road; a loyal water demon accompanying him as he so did.

And so ends the tale of the Widower… and the Contractor.