The clock on the mantelpiece stopped ticking at precisely 8:02 pm. I know. I was there. This is exactly how it happened. 8:02 doesn’t sound like a menacing number. Eight and two add up to ten, a perfectly even number. So why did the Devil make my wrists ache at that time?
I know it was the Devil because my Jesus oil painting fell to the ground. I jumped up as fast as an old lady can jump and hobbled into the kitchen to grab the salt. I keep Kosher salt in the cupboard for times like these. Kosher salt in hand, I sprinkled it all over the window sills and in the door ways. Now I haven’t read the Bible word for word, but somewhere I heard that the Devil don’t like salt.
Well, the clock didn’t restart, and my wrists kept hurting. So, I grabbed my emergency crucifix from my nightstand and my Bible from the bathroom, and I went into the living room, the heart of the house to confront the Devil. Sitting in my recliner, I poured a circle of salt around myself and raised my holy objects. “Devil, come get me now!”
All of the lights in the house went off, and my wrists ached more than ever. Maybe Kosher salt is the wrong kind, or maybe only having the New Testament section of the Bible weakens its power. Regardless, a dark figure manifested in my living room, and I swear to God it was ten feet tall. Now how’s an old lady stand a chance against the Devil? Well, I stood up outta my chair and screamed, “God commands that you leave my house!”
God must’ve been laughing at me though because he didn’t come down. He didn’t smote my house with lightenin’. He didn’t flood my house with light. He didn’t give me superhuman powers. But the Devil sure stood taller. Damn thing grew another three feet and opened up a pair of scaly wings. I thought he was gonna drag me down to Hell, but then I remembered that he makes deals.
When one door closes, another opens. So, yeah I made a deal with the Devil to save my skin. I get to live for five more years, then the Devil gets my soul. It’s a good trade really. I never use my soul anyway.