Stan

New one...

Stan

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Stan, the guy you sold your soul to."

It was all so wrong.

"You sold your soul to me. There was no mistake. I can assure you we're quite particular about these things. I have a certificate and everything..."

"Look, just fuck off, alright?"

"no need to be rude sir. Tourette's Syndrome as well as dyslexia?"

"I'm not dyslexic."

"Need glasses then? I hear Specsavers are..."

"I DO NOT NEED GLASSES"

"Was only saying..."

Stan shambled about in silence for several minutes.

"What are you still doing here?"

"Well, seeing as I now own your soul, I have to take it."

"Can't you wait until I die?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so, but you told me to go now."

"I see."

"You haven't thought this through very well, have you?"

*


He shambled away. It was the fourth case this week. The old devil wouldn't be pleased in the slightest. He hadn't meant to let them slip, but he wasn't terribly mercenary in these affairs.

He didn't want to be let go. It wasn't his fault, and he rather liked Hell. The air conditioning in the office had broken again though, and there were never enough engineers. God seemed to have a monopoly on all the good ones. At this rate he'd have to take more drastic action.

Perhaps it was just that Heaven Industries paid higher wages. As a demon, Stan hadn't had a choice. He'd have preferred one of the islands where they'd dumped all the landfill... tax collectors.

Come to think of it, in a way, he was glad he wasn't on any of them. All those numbers tended to give him a headache, dancing about the page like a plague of rotten angels.

"I don't care if you make the world work, you can just bugger off..."

"What was that Stanley?"

The old devil. Stan was silent.

"What's the matter, Stanley? Not... frightened, are we?"

"N... n... no sir. No reason for us to be frightened. After all, you're..."

"I'm what, Stanley?"

"You're... erm... here."

Evidently.

"I have a... little job for you to do for me Stanley."

The old devil began to outline exactly why it had been necessary for him to employ Stan.

"I do find these humans so terribly tiresome Stanley. I mean, where is the JOY in a dead man?"

"I... I don't know sir."

"We need them live, Stanley. Or at least... you need to bring them to me."

"Alive sir? Abduction isn't really my..."

"I know, Stanley. How do you feel about... murder?"

"Well, after that sir, they certainly wouldn't be alive."

The old devil nodded.

"I am aware of that Stanley. That is not your concern, now please answer my question."

"Well, I've never done it before sir. I started in Administration and..."

"Enough."

The old devil disappeared. A new assignment had been flagged.

*

An engineer. Perfect. Stan arrived in the evening. Two knives, some rope, a blowtorch and a bottle of bleach. Gloves. YOu could never be too careful. The blood was always difficult to shift.

"Hello, who are you?"

The engineer looked friendly enough. The kind of beard a pleasant neighbour would have. Stanley stabbed him in the throat. There was no blood.

"All the engineers in the world to murder, and I pick one who's already fucking dead..."

*

"Stan, where are we going?"

Stan refused to look at the engineer. There seemed no point in dignifying such a stupid question.

"A better question would be 'Why am I following you instead of fixing your air conditioning unit?' "

The question stumped the engineer, but he continued to follow Stan.

"Where are we?"

Stan turned, and the engineer was silenced. A flash in Stan's eyes dragged fear through the engineer and stabbed into his brain.

"I think you know."

They walked through the door and saw that the Satanist was where Stan had left him. He'd heard them materialise. Part of the engineer was stuck in the door. A common mistake for beginners. Spinning round the Satanist saw the smile, but not the knife.

"W... what's going on?"

"You're coming with me..."

"But... but... you're not the devil..."

"You have no idea..."

As Stan drew the knife, the Satanist began to speak.

"You... you can't do this man... I'm protected by the circle man..."

As Stan began to cut the Satanist's head off, it was clear he had a disregard for geometry.

"I work for the devil, Shithead. The Lord of Lies. Why would He stick to a promise?"

The engineer picked up the limp body which had already fallen out of the circle.

Shithead spoke.

"Do I get to meet him?"

Stan sighed.

"Can't anyone ever die properly around here?"