Act IV - The Newlywed

 

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 IV – The Newlywed 

“I would like to thank you all for coming out here on my big day. As you all know, I’m not a big fan of marriage; I thought it was for suckers who wanted to lose half their shit! But in all seriousness, that old me died when I laid my eyes on a shy and beautiful waitress at the café around the corner; my new wife Chloe.

“Chloe, my darling love, I love you more than anyone could possibly love another human being; more than a flower loves the sun; Hell, I love you more than Uncle George loves cake!

“Chloe, fair and loving Chloe, from this day forth I give to you my heart, my mind and my soul for all eternity and beyond.

“As long as I draw breath, you will want for nothing…”

 It was late evening on the 13^th Fairway at the golf course in Jack’s Point just a bit west of Queenstown, New Zealand where a man was standing, hidden amongst the green next to the lake. The cool mountain air ruffled through his flowing, crimson-red trench coat and caused his cigarette to glow an angry red.

He pulled out an ebon pocket watch from the inside of his coat and stared at the ticking face, upon which two hands were ticking; the large, red hand ticked to a stop at 12 o’clock while the black hand was ticking backwards slowly from 5 o’clock.

He let out an impatient ‘tsk’ as he snapped the watch shut angrily and pocketed the timer.

Across the fairway, he could hear the final song of the birds around him as the horizon snuffed out the last remains of the sun.

The chorus of wildlife was suddenly interrupted by a group of men walking towards the 13^th fairway, winding up their last game.

‘… I’m really happy you guys made it there last week.’

‘What and miss out on my best mate making the biggest mistake of his life?’

‘Easy there Tim! He’s probably jealous that you found a hot wife and he’s still dating his laptop.’

‘Fuck off! I can find a girl like Chloe any day mate!’

‘Yeah, she’s ah… she’s a special lady fellas.’

‘Come on, are we gonna talk or are we gonna finish this birdie?’

The man in the crimson coat strained his ears as he heard a loud ‘thwack’ noise followed by a soft rolling sound in the grass ahead of him. He watched as he saw the pearlescent outline of a dimpled, ‘Callaway HEX’ golf ball came rolling towards his feet.

‘What the fuck was that mate? You hit it like a girl!’

‘That’s not what your sister said mate.’

‘Go on then, go grab your ball. Least you got one now that you’re married right?’

Jeering and cursing ensued as the cloaked man heard the footsteps of a stranger gently patter on the grass, becoming louder and louder until the dark outline of a man came closer to view.

‘You took your time, Jeff,’ said the cloaked man to the golfer as his face became clearer in the darkness, ‘now hand it over.’

The dark stranger stopped in his tracks. ‘Faust…’ He growled.

‘That’s right asshole. I’m here to enf-‘

Before he could finish his sentence, the stranger, Jeff, let out an unholy shriek filling the night air with his demonic howl as the crimson man, Faust, watched a jet of green smoke billow out of the man’s head.

The smoke cloud circled around Jeff before taking the form of a growling, sickly-green demon. Jeff’s limp body fell to the ground with a loud thud.

‘You were due back a while ago shitsack,’ Faust hissed angrily, ‘now hand it over!’

The demon stooped down to the unconscious form of Jeff the golfer and, with its decaying, scaly talons, reached into his chest cavity and painfully extracted a small, glowing, golden orb.

‘Good numbnuts,’ Faust remarked, ‘now give me his soul.’

The demon stared at Faust with its hollow, blackened eyes and sneered. ‘Non est casu!’ Rearing its ugly head, it opened its gaping maws and bit into the glowing human soul with its rotting, yellowed teeth.

Faust snarled at the demon as he heard the sound of glass shattering. Powerless to do anything, he watched as the demon was lifted into the air by a powerful and blinding light that illuminated the entire golf course.

The demon laughed an unholy cackle as giant horns sprouted on its foul, green head, elongated, festering wings protruded from its scaled back and sickened, razor sharp spikes emerged from its putrid talons.

No sooner had it metamorphosed did Faust have its neck clutched in his vice-like grip. ‘Big mistake asshole!’ He cursed as he choked the life out of the demon.

Without flinching, the demon let out a low, growling snicker before roaring into Faust’s snarling face. Without warning, the grass beneath Faust’s feet sprung to life and grew at an unholy speed before it towered over both the demon and Faust himself.

He watched in horrid shock and, before he could react, felt the grim feeling of razor sharp talons pierce his chest. Faust let go of the demon and fell onto the floor; through his blurring vision, he could see the demon land on the ground softly before bounding into the lush, thick forest of grass it had just made, laughing madly at its victory.

Its clawed feet hit the ground softly as it sprinted through the overgrowth of grass, leaving behind a brief rustling noise as evidence of its existence. It ran for kilometres on end through the thickened grove before it felt a painful collision to its face, knocking it flat on its back.

‘Abore ramus?’ It asked itself loudly.

But it was no tree branch; standing where its face was with a look of ice-cold hatred, was the firm, unshaking fist of Faust the Contractor.

The demon scrambled on the ground in fear, trying to get away from him, as Faust took ominous steps closer to it, cracking his knuckles menacingly. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he shouted angrily, ‘how many of you sacks of shit do I have to kill before you learn not to fuck with me anymore?’

The demon cowardly scratched and clawed upon the ground, throwing clumps of engorged grass at Faust as it struggled to escape but the Contractor was already prepared; he opened his hands and threw them in front of him. It leapt through the mess of foliage as a large cluster of vine-like grass entangled around its neck, dragging it to the ground and binding it to the earth.

It let out a choked scream as Faust stood over its squirming body, his gleaming red eyes boring into its own black eyes.

‘Placere… non!’ It squealed with great effort.

‘Give… me… that… soul…’ Faust said slowly.

‘I non… potest.’

‘Yes you can! Cough it up you limey fuck!’ Faust lashed more and more strands of grass onto the demon, wrapping them around its limbs and wings. ‘So help me, I will tear every limp from your mangy body one by one. Now, hand it over!’

The demon shook its head in foolish defiance. Faust was unimpressed as he commanded the lashes of enlarged grass to pull; he had a satisfied look on his face as a loud tearing noise was heard followed by a pained screech from the demon.

It turned its ugly head and tried to nurse the smoking stub that was once one of its newly-grown wings.

‘GIVE IT TO ME!’

Again, it shook its head and Faust tore off the other wing as it writhed in agony on the ground. ‘Ob-obsecro ut mihi ignoscas!’

‘If you hand back that which you have stolen from me, I will try and stop myself from ripping your fucking head off!’

The demon, succumbing to the excruciating pain of being dismembered, nodded its head.

Its chest started heaving up and down as it made a low grumbling noise. Faust watched and smirked as with each heave, a yellow glow emitted from its chest that grew brighter and brighter before a small, golden orb emerged from the demons chest.

Faust quickly scooped up the sphere in his hands and stared at the demon cautiously, watching its horns and spiked talons detract, leaving behind the same cowering, diminutive demon that was seen before.

The lashed vines around its neck snapped free at Faust’s behest and the demon clambered to its feet. Faust glared at the cowering demon before him and, with a cold, menacing tone, spoke only one word; ‘go.’

There was a loud commotion around the 13^th fairway when Faust returned; paramedics and concerned patrons were surrounding Jeff who was sitting on the grass with a blanket around him. Next to him sat a young, attractive woman who had her hand clasped firmly onto his. He looked around the area gingerly and saw the tail of a crimson cloak rippling behind a tree.

Jeff excused himself from the swarms of concerned onlookers and discreetly slipped between the tree line, making sure that no one could see him. He found himself standing face to face with a man with blood-red eyes and a cigarette on his lips.

‘So that was interesting,’ Jeff giggled nervously, ‘demon leaving me for dead and everything.

Faust blew a large puff of smoke into his face and threw the cigarette onto the ground.

‘Did you… did you get my soul back?’

‘I did.’

‘Then our agreement?’

‘Our transaction will continue as stipulated in the contract you made with Asmodeus; 50 years, Jeff, as you agreed.’ Faust stated knowingly.

‘I guess you think it’s pretty shallow of me,’ Jeff continued, ‘asking that my wife not age for 50 years?’

‘I don’t think you’re shallow, I just think you’re a fucking idiot.’

‘There’s nothing nobler than selling my soul so that my darling wife can have her clock frozen for 50 years, Contractor,’ Jeff defended, feeling slightly braver, ‘I want her to outlive me.’

‘Bullshit,’ Faust spat, ‘you just wanna make sure you have a hot piece of ass when you’re old and mouldy and your cock can’t even rise to the occasion.’

‘It doesn’t matter; we both get something out of this.’

‘I hope you’ll still be saying that when you regret this decision after I leave.’ Faust returned bitterly.

Jeff’s face went blank. ‘What… what do you mean?’

‘You stupid fuckhead,’ Faust laughed, ‘what do you think makes you feel love and arousal in the first place, your cock?’

‘It’s… it’s my heart.’

‘Wrong asshole,’ Faust replied, pulling the small, golden orb from his pocket and waving it about in Jeff’s face, ‘it’s this here; your soul. Without it, your precious Chloe will start to look like Donald Trump.’

‘That’s not true; no matter what she looks like, I will always love her.’

‘Wrong again, asshole.’ Faust remarked.

‘Even without my soul, her beauty will always remain burned into my mind forever.’

‘It most certainly fucking won’t; it’ll be long forgotten, replaced by nothing but oblivion.’

‘That… that can’t be right; she’s my soul mate!’

Faust let out a loud, derisive laugh. ‘Your soul mate? You just gave up your soul, mate.’

‘You… you’re wrong!’ Jeff defended, shaking his head fervently.

‘Oh shit if only I got a dollar for every time I’ve had to prove someone wrong.’ Faust replied coldly. ‘I’d have made enough money to buy a nice mansion in Hell.’

Jeff opened his mouth to argue but was cut off by the voice of his wife, Chloe, coming closer and closer. ‘Jeff, Jeff honey? Oh there you are.’ His head pricked up in relief as he heard the sound of her footsteps on the grass until she came in view.

Faust stared at her vexingly as her face emerged from the shadows.

‘Baby, the whole club is wondering where you’ve run off to,’ she said, tugging on his sleeves, ‘they need you to fill out an incident report over what happened.’

Jeff nodded and, with one last cold stare at Faust, he walked back across the fairway. Faust listened to Jeff’s dwindling footsteps and turned to Chloe.

‘I’m sorry about interrupting your meeting with my husband, sir,’ she apologised politely, ‘it’s hard being married to someone whom everyone loves. Busy, busy boy he is.’ She let out a small girlish chuckle.

Faust’s eyes dissected Chloe as she went on about her marriage and her life; she had the look of someone clearly in her mid-twenties but spoke with the manner of someone much mature for her age.

As Faust scrutinised her very being, something at the back of his mind kept nagging him as though he had forgotten something a long time ago.

‘Anyway, listen to me… rambling on about my life,’ Chloe said, interrupting Faust from his thoughts, ‘how have you been Faust?’

At the mere utterance of his name, a sudden surge of long-forgotten memories came flooding back to him. He sneered at Chloe and with a mirthless glare, answered; ‘you look different, Cleo, I almost didn’t recognise you for the whore that you are.’

‘Well,’ she said without a care, ‘you know, I have to adapt to the times. Oh God, it’s been so long since anyone’s called me by my old name!’ She laughed aloud. ‘It makes me sound so… ancient.’

‘Well that’s what you fucking are.’ He hissed. ‘You know, with all the idiots you’ve tricked over the centuries to hand their souls over to Asmodeus, you’d make a better Contractor than me.’

‘I would, but the crimson trench coat doesn’t suit me darling.’ She laughed again in jest.

‘How is it that you have eluded my radar all these millennia, Cleopatra?’ He asked calmly.

She stared at her nails dispassionately. ‘Well Faust, this meeting here is only by some freak chance. I make it a point to stay underneath the gaze of demons. And furthermore,’ she glared at him venomously, ‘with the amount of souls I traffic through the Fiery Gates, I’m sure the Princes would not object to me slipping through the cracks.’

Faust temper was tried as he heard each condescending word leave her plump, red lips.

‘And besides,’ she continued, ‘there’s no harm in what I do; these men pledge their souls to me at marriage so I am only trading what is rightfully mine anyway.’

‘That’s not what you’re fucking doing and you know it!’ Faust snapped. ‘You’re upsetting the balance Cleo; human souls aren’t meant to be judged prematurely.’

She waved a finger in the air patronisingly at Faust. ‘Temper, temper darling. Human souls are just that; property of humans. It is up to us what we do with our souls and these men want me to have it to bargain and spend as I please.’

‘So you don’t care about the souls of the innocent men you’ve fucked into throwing them away?’

‘And why should I? They’ve made a choice, now they are committing to the consequences.’

‘They made a choice because you’ve tricked them into it you filthy slut!’

‘Well,’ she said trying to stifle an angry tick on her forehead, ‘I can see this conversation becoming unpleasant. I have friends to attend to, Faust, and you have a soul to deliver back to Asmodeus. So why don’t you run along like the good little hellhound you are and go fetch another soul.’ She turned and started walking back towards the fairway, smiling cruelly to herself.

Faust growled at her; never, in all the eons of his occupation, had he met anyone as infuriating as Cleopatra Philopator the Seventh. ‘I swear to all Creation Cleo,’ he shouted to her back, ‘one day I will come for you!’

He heard Cleopatra’s fading laughter as he punched the nearby tree angrily.

The Contractor turned around swiftly and with a sharp flick of his cloak, made his way across the outskirts of the golf course, trying in vain to take solace in the fact that he had successfully extracted a human soul without any damage.

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

 

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.

 

 

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 II – The Father

 

“What? What do you mean she only has one more year to live? … But doctor, she’s only four years old… isn’t there anything we… no I… no, I don’t want to prolong her life for another few months, I want her to… but the results, you said they were… please, tell me there’s something we can do for her? … No I… no I understand. Thank you for trying.”

 The tails of his crimson-red cloak danced in the wind as he ran down the streets of Manhattan. He could see it up ahead, but it kept burrowing into the ground and reappearing on the other side of the empty street.

‘I’m not playing fucking whack-a-mole with you anymore!’ He shouted angrily. He leapt high into the air and brought his fist crashing through the concrete pavement beneath him. The impact sent a mighty fissure across the ground, opening the pavement with its trembling quake. He heard the sound of his target falling through the chasm and leapt down into the scar of concrete.

Curses and screams were heard erupting from the hole until finally he emerged, dragging a struggling, beige demon out by the horns.

The demon screeched and thrashed about, all while clutching a peculiar golden orb in its talon.

‘You piece of shit,’ he panted, wiping the sweat from his brow, ‘when I tell you to fucking stop, I mean fucking stop! You earth demons make me sick.’

He bent down and punched the earth demon in its disgusting, dribbling maw and struggled to pry the golden orb out of its talons.

‘Hand it over!’ The man demanded, rolling on the ground with the demon. ‘Don’t you know who I am you limey fuck? I am the Contractor!’

‘Estis… Faust?’ The demon inquired, its voice quavering at the sound of his name.

‘Of course I’m Faust! Who the fuck else would I be, Justin Bieber?’ Faust stood up and flicked his coat angrily as the demon stared at him in fear.

It turned its ugly head and stared at the golden orb, the Human Soul, in its talons.

‘Don’t you fucking dare!’ Faust warned ominously.

It stared back at Faust and then back at the soul indecisively before raising the orb to its decayed mouth.

 ‘No, fuck you!’

Faust pulled out a small silver bible from the interior of his robe and began reading a short passage rapidly. ‘Mors ultima linea rerum est. In morte requiesces!’

Before the golden sphere reached its lips, the demon started to shriek in unimaginable pain as the skin on its wretched body began to hiss and char. It dropped the soul and began swinging its arms wildly into the air, slashing its razor sharp talons blindly at Faust. In one last desperate move, it brought both fists crashing onto the ground, creating a seismic wave of concrete and asphalt in all directions.

Faust, being caught off guard, was swept up in the quake and hurtled high into the air before falling back down onto the ground with a terrifying crash.

‘Fucking… earth… demons,’ were his pained words as he lifted himself up from the ground and walked towards the pile of ash that was the earth demon’s body.

‘All you had to do was give me the fucking soul, that’s all you had to do.’

He kicked the pile of char softly until he could see the light of a yellow, golden orb underneath its black dust. Faust picked up the soul and inspected it; it had no cracks, no teeth marks; the perfect soul.

In a medical room at St. Clare’s Hospital, a man sat with his head wresting on his arms, next to a little girl who was lying on a bed adorned with flowers and smiling bumblebees.

The girl was asleep and unaware that the man next to her was weeping softly onto her covers. But they were not tears of sorrow, they were tears of joy. He had just received the best news during the day that the little girl, his beautiful four-year-old daughter Lucy, has been cured completely of the leukaemia that had plagued her since birth.

The doctors could not explain what had happened and chalked it up to ‘one of life’s great miracles’, but he knew how and why she was cured.

‘Do you wanna know what’s ironic about this situation?’ Came a cold, callous voice from the doorway behind him.

He turned his shoulder to see a man wearing a red, flowing trench coat walk through the door. His footsteps made no sound as he glided across the room and sat on the bed at Lucy’s feet.

‘W-what’s ironic?’ The father asked, wiping the tears from his eyes.

‘St. Clare’s hospital was originally in an area called “Hell’s Kitchen” in one of the boroughs of Manhattan.’

The father smiled. ‘That is ironic.’ He laughed.

‘Why are you in such a good mood Pete?’ Faust asked.

‘Lucy… the doctors said her cancer’s gone.’

‘Well of course it’s fucking gone, you made a deal with Lucifer to cure her didn’t you?’

‘I know but… I was raised a Catholic and I was taught to believe that deals with the devil will always turn south in the end.’ He laughed again. ‘I just can’t believe the Prince of Lies came through for me.’

‘And there’s another bit of irony right there; you’re in a Catholic hospital in which you made a deal with a Prince of Hell. Your God’ll be mighty pissed off at you, you know that?’

The father, Pete, shook his head. ‘Whatever awaits me in the afterlife, I will gladly bear for my Lucy.’

‘Oh, so unimaginable terror and pain until the end of time means no-never-mind to you?’

‘I can endure.’

Faust snorted. ‘For now.’

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence until finally Pete spoke again. ‘Why are you here?’

Faust straightened Lucy’s blanket in nonchalance. ‘Section 49 of the ‘Pacts of Hell’ ante bellum requires me to explain to you what happens now after the transaction is complete.’

‘I know what happens,’ Pete stated quickly, ‘I go to Hell after I die. I’m okay with this!’

‘You’re okay with this?’ Faust replied. ‘Do you have any fucking idea how much you’ve screwed up today Pete?’

‘W-what do you mean?’

‘Yeah, your daughter is gonna live a full life now. But how is she gonna feel after you start screwing up everything else in her life?’ He pulled out the golden sphere from the inside of his coat and held it in front of Pete’s face angrily. ‘See this here, the soul? It allows you to feel joy, happiness, love. All that in this small-as-shit ball right here!’

‘I… I still don’t under-understand.’

Faust breathed out a long and pained sigh. ‘How is Lucy gonna feel when you’re sitting like a fucking zombie at her dance recital, unable to smile at her or feel proud of her? How is she gonna feel when you give her away at her wedding but you don’t wish her luck or kiss her tenderly? How will she fucking feel when she says that she loves her father and wishes he can love her back? Is that the life you want her to fucking live? Can you even call that a life for her?’

Pete started to tear up again. ‘It was better than the alternative.’

‘Better for who; Lucy or you, Pete?’

‘I couldn’t… I couldn’t live with myself if I had lost her too.’

‘You’re a fucking Catholic; you know she’ll go to a better place. You’re just too much of a fucking pussy to admit to yourself that you’ll have to live your life alone!’

‘She’s only four! She deserves to live a full life!’

‘She does… but with a father that can be there for her. If I asked her now, would she rather die knowing her father loved her, or live with her father being unable to love her, which do you think she’d pick?’

Pete’s tears started to escalate into uncontrollable sobbing.

‘You really screwed the pooch on this one, Pete.’

‘I… I had to save her!’ He shouted through his tears.

‘You weren’t trying to save her; you were trying to save yourself! You were selfish and scared and unable to cope with being alone. Why did you think it was Lucifer who answered your call? Selfishness is born of Pride you fuckwit!’

Pete’s head fell onto Lucy’s pillow and all that was heard was muffled sobbing and wailing until Pete’s words came softly through. ‘I can’t… I won’t be able to feel anything for Lucy?’

‘Nothing.’ Faust replied heartlessly. ‘You were taught by your religion that deals with Hell always turned sour?’

Pete’s head nodded into the pillow.

‘Well you should’ve fucking believed them you asshole. Now your soul is eternally Hell’s plaything.’

And with that last remark, Faust exited the room as quietly as he entered, leaving nothing but the memory of his swirling red, cloak behind.

Pete, having finally finished his pathetic crying, lifted his head from the pillow and stared at his slumbering daughter. He stroked her hair softly and with each caress, felt the love in his heart deteriorate slowly.

The little girl stirred in her sleep and her eyelids slowly opened.

‘Daddy,’ she said softly, ‘I love you.’ She closed her eyes again and fell back asleep.

Pete tried to force himself to say ‘I love you’ back to her, but felt a catch in his throat, like someone wrapping their hands around his windpipe. All he could say back to her was ‘me too’.

He sat there in the dark, staring at the little girl. Although she was lying right there next to him, it felt as though they were a thousand miles apart.

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