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  • Writer's pictureHenry Cavanaugh

Deal With A Devil


To say that I was confused to see a man wearing only a devil hoodie and boxer briefs standing in the middle of a crowded sign holding a sign would be an understatement. Possibly the strangest part of it though wasn’t his state of undress but rather that nobody else even seemed to notice him. They walked right past without even glancing in his direction as if he was no interest - or even invisible - to them. Only I seemed focused on him and, much to my surprise, he was staring right back at me too.


“So, how much?” he asked, his voice deep and sexual as he nodded down at his sign. I read it closely, smiling as I realized that it had to be part of a joke. How much for my soul, really? This guy was clearly a prankster of some sort and he had picked me to play his joke on probably because I was quite clearly a miserable man in his forties who had let himself go in terms of appearance. There was no way a stud like that would talk to me if it wasn’t some part of a joke - my dating like or lack thereof could testify to that. I knew I should just ignore him and keep walking but I felt strangely inclined to provide an answer.


“I’d trade my soul for a body like that,” I declared, deciding to play along with his joke for the moment. Much to my surprise and terror, his eyes flashed bright red and as he smiled his perfectly straight teeth stretched out into wolfish fangs. I wanted to turn and run from the monster he was becoming but I was trapped to the spot, totally unable to move as he stepped forward and placed a clawed hand on my chest.


The strange sensation that followed as his claws dug into my chest left me feeling breathless and unnaturally empty, as if a part of me had been ripped out of my very core. My body spasmed for a second, muscles tensing and vision swimming as I stared at his suddenly demonic features. I had made a grave mistake by answering - but it was too late for regrets now.


The emptiness inside wasn’t the only change though as I glanced down at myself and realized that my unimpressive body had been replaced by an exact copy of the stud’s, boxer briefs and all. My sagging gut had been replaced by a smooth chest and cobblestone abs, while my flabby legs were now toned with muscle. Even my face felt different as I brought my hands up to scratch at the stubble. I had never been as handsome or as desirable as he had been, not even in my college years when I had been in good shape to play on the wrestling team. My body had been well-toned but I’d never had the features to be called a ‘pretty boy’ - now though? Now I was the prettiest of them all!


When I finally willed myself to stop staring at the impressive body I now possessed and look up I discovered that the demonic creature who had triggered my transformation had totally vanished, leaving me with an uneasy feeling in my gut. Had I really just sold my soul to the devil? Sure, this body was great but would it really be worth it? My brain couldn’t help but recall that simple lesson my mother had taught me in my youth: never talk to strangers. Look where disobeying that instruction had gotten me now!


My worries were short lived though when I realized just how many people were now checking me out, both guys and girls alike. After all, how often did folk see a stud like this hanging out in public wearing only his boxers and a silly jacket? Despite never being one to normally give into arrogance I felt inclined to lex my new muscles and show off to the crowds. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Who cared about having a soul when they look as hot as I did now?

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