“You’re quite fortunate to have stumbled upon me good sir. However, I do not quite comprehend the crevice in which you lay your thoughts.” The man speaking folded his arms on top of the table. He stared intently at the man across the way with his dark blue eyes.

“What’s not to understand? I want my money, and I want it in my bank account by the time I get there. That simple enough for you?” He was grotesque with his unshaven face and alcoholic breath. His hair was slicked back and he wore an expensive suit. “Now stop smilin’ and give me my damn money!”

The man with the folded arms quickly grabbed the fat man and pulled a knife to his throat. They both sat in the position for a few minutes before he let the fat man go. “I had to make sure your ‘minions’ weren’t watching. Now that I know I can somewhat trust you, you can call me Contract.” He pulled a black object from his pocket and placed it on the table. The fat man assumed it was a pen, but with closer inspection realized there was no way to use it. No click or roll to open the pen. He then looked at the end of the table and saw a small boy watching them with fearful eyes.

“Who the hell is this?” he said.

Contract looked to the end of the table and smiled at the boy. “He, my dear man, is mine and your witness to this signature.” The statement made the fat man look at Contract angrily.

“What the hell do you mean signature. You killed that guy for my friend and there wasn’t no signature!” he quickly got up from the table.

“I dare think that you feel your trust for me is slipping. Sit down.” The fat man sat down hesitantly. “Your ‘friend’ has much time to pay his dues that he seems to think will never be paid. However, you’re asking for a sum that will change the life and many more people than you can comprehend. Thus, your time is short 50 years.” Contract pulled a sheet of paper from his suitcase and placed it on the table. It was blank.

“What do you mean 50 years?” the fat man was staring at the paper as he asked.

“Why, dear fellow, I cannot just give you something for nothing in return. All I ask for is your soul. Well that and your signature, but the signature has less value to me, in a sense.” He stared at the fat man until he finally nodded.

“My soul? You want my soul? You’re one crazy son of a b****. I’ll give you my soul for a buck.” He was interrupted.

“Will you now?” Contract was intrigued. “Then sign this and I’ll give you one dollar. Now do you want that in USD, Yen, what?” he spoke seriously.

“I hope you’re being sarcastic. I also hope, for your sake, that when I sign this, the money is transferred to my bank account. My friend told me that his friend died exactly how he had hoped. The bizarre situation surrounding whatever truth you seem to create seems truthful enough to me. Otherwise, I’ll kill you,” he paused and turned his head to the small boy. “I’ll kill you too, kid.”

“Be calm, child.” Contract was delighted that the fat man found pride in threatening the boy. “Let that be all the more reason I take your soul. Now, before you sign, I will need to write up the contract. In order for me to do that, I require a name.”

“Big Bill,” the fat man quickly stated.

“I’m afraid, for my sake, I require your real name.” Contract was staring at the paper with the black object still on top of the table.

“Bobby Henderson, and if you go out telling anyone—“ Contract quickly interrupted him.

“Good then, Bobby Henderson. I enjoy knowing the names of the people that sign their souls over to me.” Contract was smiling. He went over to his suitcase and opened it on top of the table.

Bobby glanced inside and saw several sheets of paper with writing all over them. “What are those?” he asked.

Contract looked up at him with yet another sinister smile. “Curious are we? Well,” he pulled the papers out of his suitcase and looked at them. “…they look to be several contract signed by several different people. Some homeless people, some rotten mothers, drunk husbands, dying children…” he paused to look at Bobby and smile again. “The list can go on, but I dare not divulge into such matters.” He placed the contract back inside and closed the suitcase.

“Let’s get this over with, please.” Bobby looked anxious and impatient.

“Alright then, I’ll read you the contract as it is written. If anything seems mistaken, then you’re welcome to speak.” Contract placed his hands on the blank sheet of paper and closed his eyes. “I, Bobby Henderson, hereby sign my very rightful soul to the man only to be known as Contract. In accordance to such deal, I have been granted 50 years of peace with my soul as I spend the six-hundred-million dollars, in USD, that I have asked for.”

Bobby looked down at the paper as Contract held his hand to it. The ink seemed to magically appear on the paper, and the words he said aloud were visible.

“There is a witness here, a small boy, that is here as a spectator to Contract’s bidding as I sign this contract and are given the stipulated amount of want: six-hundred-million dollars.” Contract opened his eyes and raised his hand. “Any problems?”

“How did you—“ he was interrupted.

“I asked if you noticed any problems in the contract, no other words other than yes or no should be coming out of your mouth!” Contract was not as calm as before.

“None. There are no problems.” Bobby was confused and somewhat shaken. 30 years young and he had never witnessed such a strange event committed by an even stranger man.

Contract picked up the black object and handed it to Bobby. Two lines appeared on the bottom of the paper. One had a signature being written onto it, one that Bobby could not decipher. The other line was blank. “Sign your name on the blank line.”

Bobby grabbed the black object and put it down on the paper. He felt a sting on his finger as he signed his name. A red ink came out of the end of the object, but Bobby soon realized the ink was actually his own blood. He finished signing his name and let go of the object, staring at his finger. There was no prick, no cut. The object fell to the ground.

“Then it is so,” Contract said while picking up the contract and placing it into his suitcase, “in 50 years hence, your soul will be mine.

Bobby got up from the table and left the room. The small boy looked at Contract and then down to the floor. “Why did you give him what he wanted? He wasn’t very nice.”

Contract smiled at the boy and pushed his chin up. “I give them what they want, and they give me what I want. Sometimes, like then, I see no point to what they want and therefore find them useless. If I promise to make his reaping the most horrible event of his life, will to promise to never talk to me again? In fact, forget all about me young man.” Contract was staring at the boy waiting for an answer.

“I promise.” The boy walked out of the room and left Contract sitting there.

He opened his suitcase again and looked at the contract that he has just made. He smiled then began to laugh. “Business is good!” His laugh was like that of a tyrant, deep, cruel and menacing. It could be heard all throughout the building.

He laughed for a few more seconds and then got quiet again, talking to himself. “People just sign their souls away to me for something as useless as money. Who in their right mind would choose money over eternal suffering?” He gave another sinister smile. “I guess anyone that I can easily take advantage of.”



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Will probably change things sooner or later.