"Faustian" by Andy Holberry

Faustian

by Andy Holberry

Mike Randall heard the noise of the rats in the walls and threw the almost empty beer can in the general direction.

It hit with a clatter and he actually heard the creature as it scurried deeper into the foundations.

Between them and the cockroaches, he was surprised he could get any peace and quiet.

Crappy walls…crappy house.

His plan had been to work until he had enough money to fix up the place and then sell.

Then?

Well then, the world would be his playground.

He reached down the side of the threadbare chair  and grabbed another beer from the rapidly diminishing stockpile.

He pulled the ring and flipped it across the room.

Damn them!

He had gone into work and they had canned his ass.

He had only had one beer before he started; nothing really.

But that bastard Todd had smelled it on his breath, told his tales…had him pulled into the office.

No amount of pleas or entreaties afterwards had helped his cause.

Randall felt his hand tighten around the can in his hands and imagined that it was Todd's throat.

What he wouldn't give to be able to just reach out and…

“What would you give?”

The voice came from behind him and he fairly jumped out of his chair.

The open beer can spilled as it flew from his hand.

“What the…who the hell are you? How did you get in here!”

Surprise gave way to anger.

The stranger standing in his hallway smiled.

He wore a long black coat that reached well past his knees. Randall could see worn, scuffed cowboy boots beneath.

Randall's eyes travelled back up to his face.

A normal face, all told. But, something didn't sit right. There was something artificial there; a man in a mask.

Something playing the role of a man.

There were too many teeth in that grin.

“Who I am, isn't important right now,” he replied. His tone was as smooth as silk, deep as the grave. 

“What I can do for you? Ah, now that's the rub.”

He held out a hand and Randall's gaze dropped to what he saw there.

A box.

It was a black box, completely plain and unadorned.

There was an unnatural ‘wrongness’ about it.

But it pulled at him anyway.

“Take it,” the stranger said.

“No…no, I don't want it.”

Again though, that strange pulling sensation; of his willpower being stripped, his interest piqued.

Randall felt himself relenting, and he found himself reaching for it.

It didn't seem like he was controlling his own actions.

The box was cool to the touch; made of some dark, coarse-grained wood.

It looked almost hand made, ancient? 

Were those the words he was looking for?

His eyes were drawn to the panels of the thing and, as the light from the bulb overhead caught them, he thought he saw movement.

Deep inside the darkness of the box's negative colour, something moved.

It was subtle at first, but the more he watched, the clearer it became.

A smudge; a blur of motion.

Clearer…

Lines formed; curves.

Closer…

A face, perfectly detailed, looked back at him and opened its mouth to scream.

Some part of him wanted to give the box back…to tell the stranger he no longer wanted it. 

But, another part wanted the box, needed to see what else was there.

Another face appeared next to the first.

Then another…another.

More; many more.

Men and women formed in front of his very eyes. Their bodies twisting, convulsing in pain and pleasure; both in equal measure.

“How much do you hate, Randall?”

His mouth opened and he tried to talk.

“I…I…”

The stranger chuckled, deep and guttural, more animal than man.

In the sound he heard the squeal of sirens, the laments of the innocent and guilty alike.

He heard the booming of guns and the screams of the dead, the dying, and the damned.

His eyes sparkled and danced in a face that had turned to shadow.

In the depths of those orbs, sparks of crimson dwelt…and grew.

“What would you give to pay back all those who have wronged you?

The boss at the factory, your co-workers; Todd? 

Wouldn't you give anything to feel his hot blood on your hands?”

The stranger hadn't moved, but his voice seemed to be coming from inside Randall's head now.

“Would you give your soul? A paltry thing really, hardly worth keeping?”

He felt himself nod.

The small part of his mind that still knew this was wrong was beaten down by something older and darker.

“Yes. Yes I would, and gladly.”

The box in his hands grew hot and his fingers sank into the wood.

Something inside held him fast, preventing his escape. Even if he could, he no longer wanted to.

Another face started to appear on its surface as Randall's soul was ripped from his body.

An image that screamed and begged, realizing too late that he made a deal he wouldn't walk away from.

When it was done, the stranger plucked the box from unfeeling fingers and lifted Randall's chin to meet his gaze.

A black vacant stare peered back and he nodded, happy that the thing that now resided inside the man would sow chaos and destruction in his name.

It smiled a knowing grin, showing lots…and lots of teeth.

It had places to go, and people to see.