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A Devil

She's in the details

By Jon JonesPublished 3 years ago 24 min read
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Photo taken by @beautelicieuse

December 13th, 2020

The floor creaked beneath the dusty beige carpet as the old man walked slowly between his tables laden with books. An old leather satchel hanging heavily from his tired shoulders bumping the stacks of books and knocking some onto the floor. He wouldn't be bothered by them. Couldn't be bothered. Gently feeling each table with his wrinkled hand, he made his way across the store. Martin had opened his bookshop to astonishing success when he was only 19 years old becoming the first incredibly wealthy member in his family. His love for reading stretched back as far as he could remember and unlike the rest of his family, he saw no reason to attend school. After all, he could learn anything and everything from his books. His book. As he made his way from one side of the small shop to the other he began to feel out of breath. He reached for the old oak chair that had sat in front of the shop window for 19 years. Groaning from the ache in his back Martin sat down and took a slow breath in through his nose. The smell of dust and parchment mixing with leather and aged wood brought him a brief moment of comfort. Sitting alone in the silence, tears began to stream down his face as he spoke aloud to himself "Oh Anna...what have I done? I wish you were here. I'm so sorry." and he reached down, unclasping the satchel now resting in his lap. Reaching in, his hands felt the cold leather of his journal. It used to bring an exhilarating moment of inspiration. Now he felt only disgust and shame when he picked it up. It took almost all his strength to lift the small black book from its hiding place and place it on the wooden table next to him.

"I'm done Anna. I can't do it anymore." his voice shook while opening the notebook. Though the pages were worn and stained through years and years of use they remained blank and wordless as they always were every time Martin opened it. He brought his hand back down into the satchel and retrieved what at first glance many would believe to be an ordinary fountain pen. Yet Martin felt as much rage and disgust toward it as he did the black book that lay open before him. Taking the end of the pen to his arm, Martin felt the all too familiar pain of its hot metal tip as the cool silver head turned a deep red. He gritted his teeth pulling the pen away from his skin after a few moments revealing a small burn. He sat in silence as the world outside his window carried on. He took a moment to look outside and then around his shop before leaning over the open book. He brought the pen down and his blood flowed as ink from the nib as he began to write out his words. His words that lived at the back of every thought for the last three years.

December 13th, 2000

The cold wind blew around Martin's face stinging his nose and ears. He really should have worn a hat out here tonight. He also should have filled up his gas tank. One more reason on the long list to feel like an idiot. He stood shivering, hands tucked inside his pockets on the dirt road trying to decide which direction to go. "Some birthday. Can't even figure out where I am." he thought to himself as he looked around. The full moon loomed overhead in the cloudless sky casting an eerie pale light on the dusty back roads. Sighing, he walked to the middle of the intersection and closed his eyes trying to think about where he was. "I have to be at least thirty miles outside of -"

"Are you lost, handsome?"

Martin's eyes shot open and he spun around. Leaning against an old dead oak tree was a girl. Not just a girl, but the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her chestnut-colored hair just visible beneath a silk shawl draped over her head. Her eyes so deeply blue he would swear they were closer to violet. She was wearing a long black dress but it had been torn down the sides almost as if an animal had attacked her. Strangest to him though was that she was barefoot standing in a dead bramble of bushes. He took a step forward before asking in a shaky voice "Ma'am are you ok? Were you in an accident? Do you need help?"

She stared at him, smiling softly. A few seconds of silence passed before she walked out toward him and reached out her hand. Martin looked down to see her offering him a wool hat.

"Here. Take this. You really should have worn a hat out here. Don't worry, it's free." she said in a quiet whisper. Her voice was so calm and reassuring that he didn't even notice he had already reached out and taken the hat from her. "Thank you, miss...but do you need help? You have to be freezing. What are you doing out here?" he replied.

"Oh no, I don't need help handsome. I'm here to help you. I help folk who are lost. I want to get you where you want to be." She said staring into his eyes. He felt so warm and familiar near her. Then for a fleeting moment, he felt the urge to run. To get away from this woman and this place but before he could even process the thought, he felt her hand on his arm. Her soft touch quickly brought him back to this place with her. He struggled to speak before finally asking "Y-you want to help me? With what? Like a ride to town?" She smiled widely and laughed.

"If that's all you want, sure. But you look like a man who wants a little more out of life. Tell me, do you like books?" she asked slyly. Martin was taken aback but he slowly nodded. Slowly, the woman reached both her hands behind her back and brought them back around to reveal a small notebook, bound in the darkest leather he had ever seen in her right hand. In her left hand, she held a simple black fountain pen. "Well, I want to give this to you. This book will give you everything you could want. It will give you riches. It can give you fame. It can give you love. Yet out of all it gives, it only takes a little in return. Call it my dividend for my investment. The bigger the prize, the bigger the take. I'll let you hang on to it for...20 years? If you don't want it anymore, then I'll just take it back from you. No harm done. That sound like a good deal?"

Martin simply stood, eyes glued to the items in her hands. This woman obviously needed help but he began to feel a prickling along his arms and neck as he reached out and took the items from her. He finally spoke as his eyes rose to meet hers, "Ma'am...I- um...thank you. Sure. Now, why don't we try and get back to town and see if we can't get you some help?"

Eyes locked with Martin, she held her seductive smile leaning forward to whisper in his ear "Like I said handsome...if that's what you want. Just sign your name." Her voice flowed into his ears and sent goosebumps down his body. Something told him it was time to get away from her. "Sure thing miss..." he sputtered. Without hesitation, he flipped open the book and pressed the nib of the fountain pen down onto the worn parchment. As he signed his name on the front page, the ink that painted across the middle of the paper was a deep, red. His hand stung for a moment but the pain quickly faded as the girl stepped back and raised her own hand to him. Speaking plainly as if simply introducing herself she said "My name is Lucy. Pleasure." and Martin slowly reached up and shook her hand. Without warning, she pulled him close and brought her soft warm lips to his before pulling away just as quickly. "Nice meeting you Martin. See you soon. Oh and...happy birthday."

"Happy Birthday"

His heart pounding like a jackhammer, Martin sat up in his bed. His dog Edgar standing at the foot of his bed barking. He reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow he looked at the dog and shouted "Edgar! No! Be quiet...wait...Edgar? How the hell did I-" but his voice trailed off. His eyes had found a small black book sitting on his bedside table. The sight of it set his heart racing again. He pulled off his blanket only to realize he was still wearing his clothes from the night before. "Did that crazy bitch drug me?" he spoke out loud to his empty studio apartment. After taking a moment to slow his mind, he reached over and grabbed the book. The leather felt warm to his touch now and immediately he felt excitement in his stomach. Slowly opening the cover, he looked down to see his own faded name in dark brown lettering. But beneath his name were three lines written into the parchment almost as if imprinted by an angered hand in thick black ink.

  • What debt is paid cannot be returned
  • This book knows no master beyond us
  • What is living may die, but what is dead may never rise

Rules? Some kind of puzzle? Whatever this thing was, Martin couldn't believe it was in his hands. In his house. That he was in his house. Before he could think about it anymore though, his door shook with violent force as loud knocking echoed around his tiny home. He sat frozen for a moment. "Who...who's there?" he called out. A surly voice with a thick southern accent replied through the door: "Martin? It's Kelly. You're two weeks late on December's rent and I'm tired of ya not answering yer damn phone!" Leaping up, Martin quickly threw the book down on his counter and went to open his door. When the door opened, his landlord's face was inches away from his own. "Look Mr. Kayes I just-" Martin began to say before he was cut off. "No more, ya hear me?" his landlord growled. "You told me you'd have it by the 5th. So either you pay me the twelve-hundred you owe me, or you get the hell out of my building. You have 'til tomorrow." he said before turning and walking away down the hall without another word. Slowly shutting his door, Martin walked back over to the counter and leaned his forehead down to rest it on the book. After letting out a sigh, he began thinking of various ways he could somehow come up with over a thousand dollars in twenty-four hours. But then...he remembered. He slowly lifted his head up and stared at the book. "Well, what the hell. Some crazy drugged-up lady dragged me home and left it so how much crazier could it really get?" he laughed as he picked it up and walked back over to his bed.

Opening the book up again, he flipped to the second page. Sliding the black pen out from the side, he uncapped it and pressed it to the top of the page, and began writing. The pen flowed like water over the page in a smooth and satisfying fashion as it carried his thoughts:

"I don't want to worry about needing to pay my rent again. I want my landlord off my case."

A searing pain shot through his hand and up his arm and Martin cried out in pain. The journal fell to the hard-wood floor and the pen rolled beneath his bed. He jumped up and looked for a cut on his hand or arm but the pain was gone. Glaring at his hand, his vision began to grow dark and Martin fell back onto his bed, slipping away into blackness.

December 17th, 2000

3 days had passed and Martin hadn't heard anything from his landlord. He had decided to call him after he had woke back up that day, but Kelly Kayes never answered his calls. Martin had awoken that morning to the book back on his bedside table where he left it, untouched. He wanted nothing to do with it but couldn't seem to bring himself to get rid of it. It was too interesting. Around 4:00 PM that day, however, things took an even more interesting turn. The cheap apartment he lived in didn't allow for much privacy as the hardwood flooring ran throughout the building. Martin heard the sounds of light footsteps before they got anywhere near his door and his stomach clenched when he heard the knock again at his front door. "Shit. Here we go." he thought to himself. Martin walked slowly to the door and unbolted it allowing it to creak open. But this time, he wasn't met with an old angry landlord but with a young woman. Her blue eyes staring into his from behind a curtain of curly blonde hair. She smiled at him. "Are you Martin Albert Rothwood?" she said. Martin stared at her, unsure of how to answer. Was she with the police? Here to serve him an eviction notice? A warrant? Before he could think he blurted out "Who's asking?". The young woman's smile faded slightly before she replied "My name is Anna Hammond. I represent the Law Offices of Alexander Hammond. We've been trying to reach you for the last couple of days in regards to your inheritance claim." Martin stood there for what seemed like several minutes just staring at her before finally, Anna spoke again. "Mr. Rothwood? Are you Martin Rothwood?" and Martin just slowly nodded. "Well then..." she said awkwardly, "May I come in and review your paperwork with you?" and Martin simply stepped sideways, allowing her into his home.

As they reviewed several paperwork packets, Martin was still in disbelief that a relative would leave him anything. After all, to his knowledge, most of his family were either drunk or in jail most of the time. As they reached the final page, Anna spoke excitedly "Now after appropriated taxes, you're looking at roughly six hundred seventy-eight thousand dollars in total value owed to you from the passing of your great aunt Lucille. The money was deposited into a fund shortly after her passing and placed on hold until you could claim it. Do you have any questions for me?" Martin felt his blood freeze over as he stared past Anna to the corner of his apartment. At the bedside table that shelved the greatest and most horrifying book he had ever owned.

August 17th, 2013

The rain rolled down the glass of the living room window, tracing little shapes racing in different directions. The air thick with silence, broken only by the repetitious ticking of the grandfather clock that stood in the corner and the scratching of the black pen in his notebook. It had been over 12 years since he had inherited his fortune from a woman he'd never heard of. Over 12 years since his landlord had suffered a heart attack in the stairwell of his old apartment building. The time didn't seem to change much of anything inside his mind. Martin stopped writing for a moment as his thoughts began to wander. He began to think of who else he could help. He had made up his mind that the power of the book could be used to give to those who had nothing and take from those who inflicted pain. And for 12 years he had seen all his friends experience tremendous success, watched while his own life blossomed into everything he had hoped for, and all the while owing it to this small black book. His thoughts drifted deeper as they often did until he was brought back to reality by a warm hand on his shoulder. Startled, he turned quickly, slamming the book shut. His eyes were met by the warm face of his wife, Anna. "Always with your nose in that journal. I'll have to get you a new one for Christmas this year sweetheart." she said smiling. Martin slowly placed his hand over the cool leather of his journal before forcing a smile and replying, "Oh that's alright. Still...still plenty of pages left in this old thing. Besides, it's my favorite."

Time had quickly passed by and Martin spent most of his time either writing in his journal or spending time with Anna. Any time she would ask what he was writing about, he would always respond the same: "Oh just our life. Our future. That sort of thing." and would laugh it off. If only she knew that every noteworthy moment in her life came from her husband's imagination. If only she knew all he had done for her. Saved her from a loveless relationship with her old high school sweetheart. Saved her from her boring job and given her her dream of owning her own business. Saved her family from poverty by giving them a winning lottery ticket. He had done so much for her and she didn't even know it. At first, he used the journal for whatever he wanted. Money, women, friends, popularity, and even using his "inheritance" to open his own book store. Which of course saw no small amount of success from the moment the doors opened until closing time, every day. This book had given much. But he always thought back to what the woman had told him. That it would take only a little each time. But to be honest, he made so much money he wouldn't notice any small taxes coming out and going back to her so he was happy to do it. After all, she had given him such a gift that it seemed only fitting she get to share in his profits.

Anna chuckled as she picked up her coat from the hanging rack on the closet door and turned back to Martin. A look of comfort slowly turning to mild confusion as her eyebrows raised. "Well?" she said slowly. "Are you coming? Dinner was your idea honey." and with that, he suddenly realized how much time had slipped away while writing. He jumped up, sliding the journal into its drawer and locking it. "I'm sorry Anna. I feel like an old man lately. I keep forgetting everything. Give me just a moment and I'll grab the keys. Where were we going again?" he stuttered. Anna looked concerned as she watched him fumble with his coat. "Sweetheart, we're going to Fratelli's. You said you wanted chicken parmesan?" she said. He grabbed the keys from their usual spot on the table and headed for the door. "Right...right," he muttered. "I forgot how hungry I was. Grab the umbrella Anna, it's pouring down out here."

November 27th, 2015

The sterile white hallways of the hospital seemed to span endlessly on either side of Anna as she sat waiting outside the room. She glared at the blue door almost as if she stared hard enough, she may see through to what was happening on the other side. After what felt like an eternity, the door handle began to turn and she stood up immediately. From the room emerged Doctor Bramin and her husband. Martin walked slowly, limping behind the doctor. His skin was pale and his eyes were shrouded in deep bruised shadows. "Hey beautiful," he spoke shakily. "Doc says I'll be alright. Just gotta get through it. Get some rest." but as Anna looked at the doctor, she saw a look of concern on the edges of the man's face before he turned and walked back into the room, slamming the blue door behind him. The drive home was silent as Martin stared out the window at the passing trees. Finally, Anna spoke softly. "Momma is feeling a lot better. The doctors...well they can't really explain it. The cancer is just...gone Martin. They said they'd never seen anything like it before and that God must have been watching over her." she stared over at him as she spoke. Martin continued to stare blankly out the window but nodded along. He drew in a long breath before speaking: "I think...well I think that's wonderful Anna. I'm happy for her. I think someone is watching over all of us."

The car pulled up to the house slowly. Anna unbuckled her seatbelt but Martin sat still. "I think I'll sit here a-while honey. You go on inside and call your mother. I know she was worried about me. Give her my love." he said calmly. Anna looked down and saw his hand resting on his satchel. She sighed before leaning over and kissing him on his cheek. "Don't be out here all night Martin. I love you, bookworm." and she opened her door and stepped out. As the door shut, Martin immediately opened his satchel and brought out the black notebook. When Anna had walked up the path and was out of sight, he brought the spine of the book up to his nose and breathed in slowly. He felt his eyes roll back as the aroma of leather and oil filled his nostrils. Always a hint of something else that he couldn't make out. Reminded him of fireworks when he was young. He flipped open the journal to the second page, which was unsurprisingly empty. Pulling out the black pen, he touched the end of it to the paper and began to write.

I have cancer. The same cancer Anna's mother had. I don't understand why it's happening to me. I keep getting sicker and sicker. No matter what I write in this damn book helps. I just keep getting money, but these hack doctors can't seem to figure out what's wrong with me. Why I can barely walk and my hair is turning gray. Is it this journal? Is that what it costs? I wrote that I didn't want her mom to have cancer anymore. That I wanted to take it away. I didn't want it myself! Cure me! Make me young again.

June 3rd, 2017

Time edged by as Martin lay in bed. His large house had grown quiet, and empty with Anna gone. Despite all his power, she had fallen out of love with him. He had become someone else. He had done it all for her, but she could never understand that. After discovering he had kept his cancer a secret from her, she flew into a fit of rage. He had tried to calm her, to explain that he had saved her mother from cancer and that her father was wealthy now thanks to him. He knew if he just told her the truth, that she would see. She would see how he had saved her life.

He was wrong.

One day she was yelling at him and threatening to have him admitted to the hospital. The next day she was gone. Leaving nothing but a letter and an empty house behind. Martin clung to the parchment as he lay on his side, sobbing into his pillows. He had read the letter over and over, hoping to find some trace of hope that she might return. Opening the paper in his hands once more, he focused through his blurred vision to read the words she had left him.

Martin, I knew I couldn't face you and say what I feel in my heart. I have so much love for you in my heart, but I can't even remember how it got there. I feel so disconnected from you every moment that we're together. I feel so much guilt for feeling this way for so long but it's like God wanted me in your life. Or maybe he put you in my life. I'm not sure, but I know that I can't do this anymore. I can't sit and watch you waste away writing in some book that you think controls the universe. I know miracles have happened, but everything you told me just sounds too insane to be real. I'm sorry. But listen to me, if you truly believe this book can control lives, then you should burn it. Life isn't meant to be controlled, it's meant to be lived. I have to live mine and I hope you live yours well. Please, don't contact me anymore. I don't want money or the house. I'll settle for the memories. I'll always love you, bookworm. - Anna

Martin gripped the paper, shaking with rage. He was dying. This cancer wasn't his. It was her mother's and he had saved her. Did she truly leave him? Leave him with nothing while he wasted away alone in a hollow home built for her? She called him crazy when he told her about the journal. Demanded that if it were true, then he should cure his own cancer. She even wrote in it for him, but it didn't work. It couldn't. He gripped his hair in his hands and screamed. The sound echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the windows and flowing through the hall. He gasped for air, breathing shallowed breaths into his lungs. "Fine," he spoke aloud to no one. "I can prove it. I can prove to you it's real and then you'll understand." and he rolled over to climb out of his bed. Gripping the railing in the hallway, Martin made his way down the stairs into his study and reached into his pocket pulling out an old brass key. The key slid into the lock and made the all-too-familiar click that always got his heart racing. It was time to write. But this time, it wouldn't be an entry begging for money or someone's life. This time, he was going to prove he was in control. The book made no sound as he slammed it on the desk and opened the pages. He gripped the pen tightly and pressed it against his skin, feeling the hot sting of its power before he lowered it to the page.

Lucy I command you to show yourself to Anna. Go to her tonight. Prove to her that you and the journal are real. Show her the error of her ways and bring her to me. Make her love me again! Her heart belongs to me.

Martin felt a wave of cold shoot from his hand all the way to his heart. He stumbled back as the book took its payment from him. Falling back into his chair, his eyes darkened and he blacked out.

Photo by Neil Burnell

Martin awoke with a gasp as the clock began to chime. He had passed out for hours. Standing up slowly, he looked toward the dining room and saw a small gift box tied with purple lace ribbon placed on the table. Immediately he began to feel excited. Had Anna come home? Was this a gift? He rushed over to the table but slowed as he drew near. The box was leaking a thick red substance all over the table and onto the floor. Laying in the liquid was a small card with a handwritten note.

"Hey handsome. You looked tired, so I just let you sleep. Just returning what belongs to you.

P.S. - Anna believes you now, and she definitely believes in me."

Martin's hand shook as he took the box in his hands and slipped the lace ribbon off as it fell to the floor. He slowly lifted the lid of the box and as it fell to the floor, a cry of anguish resounded through his home. Inside the box was what he had asked for. Lucy had brought him what was commanded of her.

Anna's heart belonged to him now, and forever.

December 13th, 2020

Martin sat with the tip of the pen resting on the parchment as he listened to the deafening silence all around him. His blood pumping through his clotted arteries. Barely able to see the book in front of him, his hand steadied as he drew in a deep breath. He heard the front door open as the little golden bell chimed throughout the store. Ignoring it, he glared at the open page before him. It had been years since he had opened this book last. Concentrating with all his will, he began to write.

I want to die. I'm ready to die. Kill me. Now.

The sound of heels approached behind him and Martin looked up again to the window at the reflection of a woman standing behind him. He stared into her eyes. "Anna?" he whispered as he stared. She smiled wide and blinked showing her deep violet eyes. Speaking softly the last words Martin would hear;

"Are you lost, handsome?"

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About the Creator

Jon Jones

A stay-at-home dad with a passion for the written word. I enjoy writing poetry, short stories, fantasy, and self-help material and am always deeply appreciative of the time and tips my readers provide me.

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