I’m gearing up to finish a novel, so I thought I’d write a few short stories to knock off the rust. This is cliched and reads like a “Twilight Zone” episode, but I enjoyed writing it.
John Sanford took a sinful pleasure in reading the obituaries these days. You see, he had made a deal with the Devil to have killed all of those who had done him wrong.
These days, he rarely thought about that terrible meeting. He didn’t sleep the night after striking the deal, remembering the hot static that followed in the air around the Devil, remembering his perfectly neat black suit and his impossibly-styled hair. That smile, that smile that curled to the ears and bared too many teeth, haunted him for a week. He had worried that he should never have opened the door to him. The transaction was straightforward, the Devil standing on his doorstep on a cool Saturday morning, John greeting him in boxers and a too-small stained T-shirt.
“Pardon me, Mr. Sanford. I understand that you are in the market for vengeance?”
“What?” He spilled a little bit of coffee down his chin. “What do you mean, vengeance?”
“It’s quite simple, really. Haven’t you wished, more than once, that Dan Mulrooney was dead for getting that dock manager promotion?”
“Dan…how the hell you know me or Dan?”
“Mr. Sanford, I make it my responsibility to know these things. I also know how it could be seen to that Mr. Mulrooney was made to pay for…doing you wrong.”
Doing you wrong, that was what Dan said about anyone he thought had gotten something he felt belonged to him. People turning before him at a four-way, they did him wrong. People paying in the checkout line with a check, they did him wrong. He held a grudge for a year when his buddy Lou stiffed him on a ten-dollar bar tab. John Samson had a lot of enemies.
John didn’t trust anyone who would just stop on his doorstep and offer to kill someone that had done him wrong, but this man had something that couldn’t be denied. “Look, buddy, I’m not going to pay to have him killed. He’s an asshole, but…”
“Yes, Mr. Samson, an asshole who is the only person standing between you and a promotion. Tell me, what about doing away with Grace Johnson? She certainly shamed you badly enough.”
“Listen, why the hell’d you dig up this much dirt on me? I ain’t got the money to pay a hired killer.”
“Oh, I don’t want money, and I also noticed you didn’t deny wanting them killed.”
“You don’t want money? Pal, everyone wants money.”
“No, Mr. Samson, everyone wants something. It just happens that you can’t put a price on my desires.” And with that, the Devil ushered John aside and strolled into the kitchen. He didn’t ask John to follow him, he didn’t need to. The Devil was pouring himself a cup of coffee as John stood in the doorway.
“Get out, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Mr. Samson, I have not made my offer. If I kill everyone who has done you wrong, will you give me your soul?”
John let loose with a gut-laugh. Wiping away tears from his eyes, he could barely speak.
“Damn if I’ve ever seen a nut like you. Look, Mr…”
“Oh, I’m the Devil. Satan if you prefer.”
“Okay, Mr. Satan…”
“Oh, it’s just Satan.”
“Pal, I don’t care what your name is, you’re leaving right now, or I’ll…”
POP!
The air left the room, then rushed back in from the center as a flash of yellow light blinded John. His eyes recovered to the sight of a fat calico cat sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. The cat looked up at him and mewed softly.
“What the hell…”
“That, Mr. Samson, is a blink cat. It can do something other cats cannot. You see, this cat can will itself to be anywhere it wants, at any time.”
John wasn’t convinced this man was the Devil, but he was convinced he wasn’t playing at a joke. “So what if this cat can beam itself up anywhere it wants?”
“Well, Mr. Samson, there’s something else it does, that most cats cannot. You see, Mr. Samson, this cat knows who has done you wrong, and can kill them.”
“A hell of a cat you got there, pal.” The Devil wasn’t impressed with the joke, and John stopped smiling. “Look, I don’t buy that you’re the Devil. You’re probably a nutjob with a parlor trick. I’ll tell you what, though. You get that cat to kill Dan Mulrooney, I’ll give you my soul to kill the rest. How many names you got on that list?”
“Twenty-three, and I accept your offer. The blink cat will kill one person a day.” The Devil disappeared in a similar flash that brought the Blink Cat to John Samson’s life.
The next day, John had written off the deal as a bad dream, probably the one that kept him from sleeping all that night. His shift was particularly brutal that day, and Dan Mulrooney hadn’t made it any better. “That sonofabitch, I wish that damned cat was real,” John swore after getting some end-of-shift orders from Dan. “Bastard loves bossing me around too damned much.”
Frank Stillwell, the crane operator, had to rub it in. “Hey John, bet you wish you was his boss!”
John looked up, ready to give Frank a good cussing, when a fat calico cat appeared in Frank’s lap. Frank cussed, jerking the crane around too fast. The cargo container it was holding swung high and broke halfway-free from its cables. The container door broke off and three tons of engine blocks crashed to the dock.
Dan Mulrooney happened to be standing where they fell.
Frank was questioned by the police, but nothing came of it. His constant babbling about a cat that just appeared in and then just disappeared from his lap earned him a few slow nods by the cops and an early day. John spent the rest of the day in a half-daze, half-dream. He hadn’t worried about losing his soul; Dan’s death was probably a coincidence, and even if that man were the Devil, John was pretty sure he wouldn’t have made it to Heaven anyway. Might as well take a free lunch.
The next day, John got to the docks in time to get the last donut and a cup of coffee. He whistled as he picked up the morning paper, thumbing to the obituaries. Dan’s name was indeed in there, he hadn’t dreamed it. “Damn good day, ain’t it?” he asked to no one in particular.
He floated, or floated as well as he could, through his shift. He left in a hurry, driving to the 15th Street Diner. He wasn’t hungry, but he had to make sure Dan’s death wasn’t coincidence. He swung open the door to the diner, letting a fat calico cat outside. Dan smiled, bearing his teeth. Diners had gathered near the cook’s window, looking down in the floor. Dan knew the Devil was real, and he played fair enough as he wedged himself into the crowd to witness Grace Johnson’s lifeless body. A growing pool of blood formed a halo around her head.
An ancient woman was sobbing into her handkerchief. She looked at John and started bawling. “Oh God. That cat, that damned cat killed Grace. I’m sorry John, I knew you were sweet on her.”
“Not for a while. That cat trip her up?”
“That damned cat. Poor girl hit her head.”
John Samson felt like he’d won the lottery. Every morning for three weeks, he’d open up the paper straight to the obituaries to see just who’d died that day. His butcher had gotten his hand caught in a meat tenderized and bleed to death for selling John a steak two days before it expired. A traffic cop was hit by a school bus, the same cop that ticketed John for not feeding a parking meter. The car dealer that conned John into getting the extended warranty died of carbon monoxide poisoning in his living room. Every day brought a new surprise for John, and he’d bought a newspaper subscription to keep up with the news. The paperboy had a shit arm, and John wondered if the Devil would throw in a freebie for a few wet papers.
Twenty-four days after the Dan Mulrooney was crushed, John was sitting at his dining room table in his boxers and robe. He was turning his newspaper to the obituaries, getting ready to savor the end of the Devil’s deal. He pulled a cigarette out of the pack and fumbled for his lighter, all the while looking at the paper. It took a few times for the lighter to strike. It finally lit, but not before he noticed two things.
One, he could’ve swore he heard a cat meow.
Second, he just realized the room stank of natural gas.
The Devil watched as John Samson’s house exploded from across the street. A fat calico cat jumped up into his arms. He scratched the cat behind his ears and smiled. “What did our friend Mark say about gaining the world, yet losing your soul? I do believe nobody could do you as wrong as you do yourself.” The Devil walked off, the fat calico cat on his shoulder.
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