The Devil and James Da'pew

What might happen at the crossroads if one is not careful.

I had ChatGPT dawn the person of a scrupulous literary editor on this short bit of a story. Honestly, I don’t see a huge difference.

A sound like thunder punctuates the damp night air. Materializing in the center of a dark country junction, where two roads intersect, is a man with the legs of a beast. He is surrounded by red mist. The smell of brimstone hangs heavy in the air. Making it denser, than your usual southern night.

Peeking through sporadic cloud cover, the moon is full but colored deep orange. As if dressed for just such an occasion.

“It’s a beautiful eve for a deal, is it not, young master James? You did summon me, didn’t you? You may not have spoken my name aloud, though I suspect that’s only because you don’t know my true moniker.”

Stricken with fear, feet stuck in place like a rodent in a glue trap. James shakes—but only inwardly. His mind shudders, as if caught in a brutal windstorm. He knows the devil is aware of this fear—a fear so deep it threatens to block out the world entirely. Still, James’s pride instructs him not to allow the beast he plans to bargain with, see it.

Smiling in a coy manner, his grin looking slightly crooked, the devil speaks again. “Would you like to know the name of the being. Who your heart’s deepest desires, called for?” He raises his eyebrows slightly.

Continuing, he says, “And using such a beautiful tune! Sorrowful, regrettable—a total, utter rejection of the lessons learned in life. I love those like you: the hurt humans, who favor profaning time itself in service of changing their fate. Still, summoning me without a name to call, is no easy feat. I have asked myself before… is one such as you—someone ignorant of the true beauty which is creation—even capable of learning my name? It’s doubtful I’d say.”

Pausing, to pet his beard while sniffing the air, which is still thickened by his brimstone, the devil waits. Just as he’s about to clear the silence with conjecture, James opens his mouth. Making his motivations known is a struggle. A tumultuous one, against himself, at that. Finally, breaking the memorization, James forces the words out.

Speaking in an assertive manner, he finds his voice. The words he produces from deep within are imagined as weapons. He thinks things like… ah hah! I’ve won, and it will be I. Who gets the better, of this affront to God.

“I want fame and fortune. I want infamy. I want women to throw themselves at me every day. I want authority—I want to be the authority. I want to be listened to without question. Failing that, I want to be obeyed without a second guess. I want the world on a platter, one I can turn to and graze upon… at all hours of the day.”

Inside his mind, James also thinks, I don’t want this affront to God to cleave my spirit in twain. But he dares not say it aloud.

Shaking his head, indicating something about James’s request violates his ability to corrupt reality.

The devil says, “Not possible. Those words were all too vague. You need a tangible desire—something raw and real, not just some unclear, ill-defined concept that glosses over reality. A desire like that will never be able to hold back the plans laid out for you in the cosmos.”

Taking his time to let the gravity of this sink in. The devil waits silently. As those second hands tick, he ponders: When will James speak his true carnal desire? The one that will damn him to hell, but only for a short while… as all should know, an infinitely merciful God, would never allow for eternal torment in the prison of hell.

Then he wonders—would God know? Does God already know the precise moment James will speak his wish into existence?

Breaking the long interlude, the Devil finally offers a hint. “Why not request of me the very wish that was in your mind while crossing this junction a few moments ago? That want, which was in your heart as your soul called out—cursing God’s plan for you. Bemoaning your personal test.”

“Tsk, Tsk, Tsk.” He shakes his head while scolding and continues. “For that is what life is, is it not?” He nods several times, punctuating his words physically.

Adding one last bit, to the sales pitch. He leaves James with a hint of truly powerful knowledge. Whether young man knows it or not. “Our own little personalized test, to which we all share the same proctor: He who created reality itself—God.”

Jaw slack in befuddlement, James denies remembering what was on his mind while traipsing through this junction. “I don’t know what desire that thought possesses for me. I was just reminiscing about my sister and niece—a memory of them, playing on a cheap plastic jungle gym. One left over from our childhood in the nineties. It’s decaying in my parents’ backyard. What deal could that memory possibly give birth to?”

Knowing he has never been the sharpest tool in the shed, James continues struggling to express himself coherently. His mind races with possibilities like it never has before.

Fixing his gaze on James in a whimsical manner, the devil says, “Seems like you’re in.”

Glancing down the road the devil gestures gently with his hand. “Don’t look now, but we’ve got company. Shall I take us elsewhere?”

Attempting to question the offer, James opens his mouth but is too slow. His question is interrupted.

Loudly, the devil announces, “Well, we can’t stay here all night.” Then, swooping his arm while bowing gracefully, he whisks them off.

Wind and nothingness—a void of red burns James's nostrils, it smells of pure anguish—it consumes them for a moment. But before James knows it, he is in a dark, dusty den inside what appears to be an old European castle. Cobwebs crowd the ceiling corners in thick tangles. Bookcases cover the walls end to end; their spines worn with time. Red particulate coats the scene in a thin layer, coalescing in sporadic piles, comingling with ordinary castle dust. An elaborate mahogany desk stands directly in front of their landing point, which James immediately clings to in terror, having been plucked through space and time.

“Where are we?” He shrieks.

“No need to worry, my friend. I’ve simply set us down in a place where interruptions will neither find us nor bother our proposal. Or would you rather go back and explain to Sheriff Higgins why you’re at the center of the crossroads at three a.m.? Never mind the fact that you’re standing with a goat-legged man. We can do that if you’d prefer.” He finishes with a wide smile. It reminds James of the cat that ate the canary.

Walking around the side of his desk, he drags one gloved finger across the dust, leaving a thick line, before taking a seat. The large windows behind him are set in gothic granite and open onto a splendid view. It’s a clear night. Wherever they are. The moon is still full, though appearing closer than at the junction. The landscape has a dark beauty: low mountains roll in the distance. With what appear to be thick with pine forest blanketing them.

“It’s all an illusion outside, isn’t it?” James accuses. “We’re in hell already, aren’t we?”

Gaining his composure and finally finding the backbone he set out from home with earlier tonight, He continues. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter since I’ve already come this far.”

Pausing momentarily to take a swallow, James Adams apple bobs up and down. He steadies himself before beginning to pour out his inner most desires.

The Devil smiles wide, as he does. As if it’s inevitable. Like he can now see in detail, what’s surely about to happen.

“I want the world on a platter. But you need not serve it. Send me back to when I was nine, with the memories of this life. That way I can buy all the right stocks—the tech stocks, Bitcoin—and I can bet on the Red Sox in the World Series against the Yankees. The odds on that one must have been high. I think I want a few days before finalizing this deal, though. So, I can brush up on what’s and when’s, of the trades to make. If done ideally. I’d like to set up my family line for generations. Not only that, but there are a few moments I wouldn’t mind reliving.”

”