I don't usually remember my dreams these days, but this one
occurred with exceptional clarity and seeming reality.
There is a soundtrack for the story at the end. Play it while you
read, if you like.
I was walking south toward the northbound lane, down
the shoulder of a highway one damp night. A curious couple
appeared out of the rain and the onrush of traffic noise
strolling slowly toward me. A darkly tanned man in an
expensive white suit with runes burned into his skin and the
occasional finger of flame licking it's surface. On his arm was
a waifish woman with dark curly hair that looked almost
singed. She wore sunglasses on a very dark night, and a black
and white dress. Where her mouth should have been, she
instead wore the maw of a tiny impossible vortex that wavered
in it's limits twisting her face.
The man smiled as they came near. He said, “Good evening,
is there anything that you are searching for?”.
Instantly incredulous, I hadn't seen a crossroad anywhere
near, I looked into the man's black eyes and replied, “You
have got to be kidding me, who is it that I am supposed to
think that you are, and why do you think that I would require
anything of anyone who appears to be, or wants me to think
he is, the Devil? I don't see any crossroads around here, so I
don't think there'll be any bloody contracts tonight.”
He smiled, and turned to the woman on his arm. She looked
briefly at him and nodded, then turned her impossible face to
me. The whirling pit where her mouth was supposed to be
began to emit the faintest keening sound. The keening rose to
a high pitched moan, and quickly escalated to the roar of a
screaming gale. There was no wind. There was no evidence of
the force making the sound except for the spinning opening
above her chin and below her nose. The man began to laugh
so hard that his whole body arched backward and his wide
eyed gaze faced the sky. Then, all at once, at the edges, their
appearance began to waver, the sound of the maelstrom
reached a fevered pitch, they seemed to be wadded up and
thrown into the whirling pit of her mouth, which collapsed
into a burning orange-red ember that shone with a smolder
and with a crack of thunder, were gone, leaving a wisp of
smoke and the faintest hint of sulfur. The sound suddenly
gone, was replaced by the rushing of traffic once again.
That was when I awoke.
Background sound for wiping my ass with the Devil's deal.
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