The Devil's Diary

My story begins just like any other, on the first page of a book.

Life right after high school can be a difficult pill to swallow. It's the first time in one's experience when they're stepping out into the real world, depending on their upbringing. As you can predict, these are the exact circumstances of my existence. My name is Marcus Read, eighteen years old, and my adulthood is off to a rough start.

I'm currently working at Mcrummies Burgers, dealing with pretentious people every day. I can't afford college, don't have a car, and my parents evicted me. I guess traveling the world isn't invigorating when you're dragging your kid along. So now I'm in a studio apartment that I can barely fit in, cold and hungry. I try not to complain because I know some people are in worse predicaments than I. But still, I'm not too fond of these circumstances. And it's during this dire time that the universe shifted for me.

I'm making my way home. The streets are absent of people, much to my relief. Then suddenly, I feel something crash down on my head. The world becomes briefly hazy from the abrupt blow, dropping me to my hands and knees. As the blackness fades from my vision, I lift my head to a most peculiar sight. Only one dark detail remains, a black book rests pristinely in front of me. It had to be this book that hit me. It wasn't there a moment ago. But who could have thrown it at me? The street was still devoid of people.

"What the-" I question, but unable to form the full statement.

I shake off the weighted headache and rise to my feet. I decide to inspect the contents, hoping to learn who the owner could be. It is a high-quality, ebony, leather notebook with immaculate white pages. Inside, a quill with a black feather rests. No one has left any notes. I can't even find a name or title on the cover. Maybe I'll find the owner later, for now, I'll take it with me.

Once I get home, I toss the journal onto the coffee table, miraculously making the landing. Swallowing down some medicine for the migraine, I flop my body lifelessly onto the sofa. However, I can't bring myself to rest soundly. My mind is restless, pondering all of the stress that's transpiring in my new adult life. I need to buy a car, furniture, get better food, but it's all too expensive. I can't think straight or quiet down my irritating thoughts. In desperation, I actually pray for a miracle. I'm not religious, but it doesn't hurt to try... Yet, what I wasn't expecting was an answer...

As I contemplate my struggles, I hear scribbling of a pen on paper. I jerk my head to the coffee table in a panic. But the journal remains unmoved, not a person in sight. Laying back down, again, I hear that same scratching of paper. I swiftly turn myself around, but the book is still untouched. With a sly swipe, I grab it and begin thoroughly examining it. However, upon inspection, I find that someone has written in it.

What do you desire?

"What is going on?" I ask myself, trying to reconnect with what I thought was reality.

There was no writing before, especially on the first page where that question is now. And how was it written there? The quill needs ink to write, and there's no ink well in my apartment. Despite the impossibility, the tip of the feather is dripping black. The moment I place my fingers onto the quill, an unnerving urge begins to take hold of me. An inner instinct tremors through my hand, driving me to scribble on the page. What do I desire? There are so many expenses that are dragging me down. Perhaps, there's one solution that would solve my predicament.

Blind with curiosity, I write down "20,000$" right beneath the question. That would be enough to buy a car, get myself comfortable, and have a decent meal. To my astonishment, I watch as the white sheet of paper absorbs the ink, both what I wrote and the question drain into the page. I frantically skim through the book, but I find that the pages are still in perfect quality once more. No trace and the pen is still wet with black ichor. However, what follows makes me tumble from the couch.

Without a sound and with no reason, a black briefcase rests beside me. I find myself now on the dirty floor, with my whole body stunned at the alarming sight. The shock value only grows upon steadily opening the case, and finding lumps of cash inside. My heart races, banging on my rib cage and rattling my bones. I'm speechless, disbelieving what my eyes are showing me.

"This can't be real!" I tell myself, shuffling my head. "I must have hit my head harder than I thought!"

There was no reasoning, no logical explanation that I could claim to hide the truth. What rests in front of me isn't an ordinary journal. This notebook was something out of a fantasy novel, an object out of this world, beyond whatever laws of physics could understand. But what am I to do now? As my mind races with solutions for the matter at hand, my thoughts began to twist and alter. Instead of acknowledging what I'm dealing with, a mischievous side of me kicked in, wondering what else I could do with it? Maybe, I don't have to find the owner as urgently as expected. Perhaps I can have a little fun with it.

Before I can even realize what's happening, my fingers are already on the quill. My moral judgment tells me this is wrong, that nothing comes for free. But my hand is already scribbling to sate the hunger of my greed.

A bed

Just as before, the ink fades into the paper, disappearing completely. However, after a few moments of silence, nothing happens. Although there's not much space in the room, a single bed should manage to fit. Yet, just as I lean back, puzzled, my head hits the wall instead of the backrest of my couch. Yanking myself upright, I realize what has changed. My crummy sofa has inconspicuously switched with a comfy bed and frame. Compared to my old bed back home, this mattress is leagues beyond what my parents got me. I almost melt in delight the moment I uncover its presence beneath me.

I can generate potentially limitless currency and create things out of nothing. I can only imagine what other types of power I hold at my fingertips. Given how my time with this enchanted notebook could be limited, I might as well indulge myself. And so, the rest of the night, I'll conduct a few experiments to see what else I can conjure with this book. I'm not even tired anymore, just full of crazed glee as I scribble into the heavenly white pages. A stiff night's sleep, and an empty belly, are now a thing of the past.

The week that follows is eventful enough to write a novel. Everything that I could ever want is within my reach at all times. I have a car, a better apartment, and a lifestyle that almost feels like royalty. I may have gone overboard, asking for a myriad list of things I needed and just plain wanted. But would anyone in my situation do better? How many could resist not using this book when everything I've asked for came to me on a golden platter? At least, that's what I was beginning to believe...

This morning while I was indulging myself with my luxuries, several peculiar details have caught my ear. A long chain of misfortunate events has been plaguing people at random. Regardless of their position, class, or location, terrible luck has begun reaping turmoil across the state. Some people are losing substantial lumps of money, having their livelihood taken from them, and the list only gets worse. Of course, I pay no real mind to the topic, which proves to be a grave mistake.

Once more, I take the quill to the front page of the book. However, I decided to ask for what I believe would be a minor request.

A bright sunny day

Given what the book has granted me already, I figured this wouldn't be too much to demand. And as I finish my request, the droopy grey clouds outside dissolve within seconds. The sun's rays through my window grant me warm relief, but only briefly. What follows is dread that haunts my very soul. In front of me is my new sixty-inch television, currently playing a football game several cities away. But, before my eyes, I watch as a sunny day for my team becomes a heavy downpour with chaotic lightning storms. The audience and players uproar in a panic as they attempt to flee nature's wrath.

How could I not see this before? Could the book be doing this, bending the rules of reality and luck to satisfy my wants and desires? It never crossed my thoughts until now. My tremoring fingers release the pen, splashing onto the blank page. Before my eyes, the same question before bleeds off the sheets.

WHAT DO YOU DESIRE?

I'm in disarray, with fear and horror weighing down on my heart and soul. Who else has suffered because of me? The only idea sparking in my mind is to put an end to this horror show. Swiftly, without a second thought, I stab the word "stop" into the paper. Maybe If I'm literal and blunt, that perhaps everything will go back to normal. But, what follows is the last thing but ordinary. The very world around me begins to drag on. I watch as seconds on my clock take minutes, bolts of lightning on the screen take ages to fly through the air. Until everything ceases, halting idly in place... I can't move...

I want to breathe, but even my lungs are frozen. I'm suffocating but not dying, and it's a nightmare. And things only become grimmer as I hear my front door open. The clicking of hard shoes rings in my ears. If my heart could beat, it would be pounding anxiously. Each passing second shrouds me in the shadow of a well-groomed stranger. This black-suited man radiates with cold, dispassionate darkness. But I can't do anything but sit helplessly in his dissatisfied presence. Even as he meets me eye to eye, with his empty black eyes, I can muster the strength to flee.

"I do not blame you," he states in a deep, monotone voice. "Like all humans, you are flawed... You meddle with what's beyond your control, your understanding. No matter the consequence, nor the price, you'll always take. And it will never be enough... Yet you pride yourselves as a wise, mighty species... But your nothing more than egotistical apes, playing with fire and repeatedly burning yourselves..."

With his soul-piercing gaze, he takes the book from my feeble grasp. After gently scribbling onto the page, the world moves again, continuing without me. I'm still unable to act, hanging at his mercy.

"I sense your guilt, your desperation," he tells me, with darkness consuming the whole room. "Perhaps you would have done differently had you known the cost of your vanity. What was at stake for feeding your greed, but still, so would many others." Feathers and wild winds create a vortex that no one could escape. Still, I sit idle, unable to resist the cyclone's pull. As my reality fades in the abyss, I only see him in the shadows of despair. "Only when you are proven wrong, and your sins come to haunt you, do you repent. That is the last mistake of everyone's life."