When you first meet the Devil, you are 8 years old.
He sort of looks like your Uncle Chris, but you can tell that it's not Uncle Chris. You tell your mom as such, but she just laughs it off and tells him that it must've been a plotline in your favorite kid's show influencing you. She leaves you alone with him, and he crouches down to look you in the eye.
"Hey there. I knew you were smarter than your average 8-year-old. Let's make a deal. I'll give you whatever you want, and when you die, I get your soul."
He hands you a pen and places a paper right at your feet. You can't read yet, but you know that the line on the bottom is where you're supposed to write something.
You ask him what you're supposed to write on the line.
"Your name." He answers.
You refuse. You don't know what you want.
You refuse. You can't trust this guy who pretends to be Uncle Chris.
You accept immediately.
He doesn't seem to be angry about this. Instead, he takes the pen back and puts it in his shirt pocket.
"That's okay, pal. I'll come back when you've found something you want."
When he finally leaves, your mom comes back. She acts like everythings fine, like Uncle Chris never visited in the first place. It's strange, but soon you forget about it too.
The Devil doesn't reappear until much later.
He doesn't seem to be angry about this. Instead, he takes the pen back and puts it in his shirt pocket.
"That's okay, pal. I'll come back when you've decided to trust me."
When he finally leaves, your mom comes back. She acts like everythings fine, like Uncle Chris never visited in the first place. It's strange, but soon you forget about it too.
The Devil doesn't reappear until much later.
Your signiture is crude and sloppy, but you try to imitate those signitures you see in that detective show you like. The Devil laughs at your signiture, and pats you on the shoulder.
"Took that one fast, didn't you, pal? That's good."
The first thing you ask for is a chocolate bar. He gives it to you, any chocolate bar, and you taste the sweet taste of chocolatey temptation settling on your tongue. You grin at him. Maybe this not-Uncle-Chris isn't so bad.
Days later, you are playing outside when your ball rolls out into the middle of the road. Your mom is on a phone call, so you can't ask her to go grab it.
Go out and get it yourself.
Wait to see if any cars come by, then get it yourself.
Whatever happened out in the road wasn't your fault. The driver of the car lost control, and you are pronounced dead at the scene.
Your soul belongs to the Devil now, at 8 years old.
Continue.
When you meet the Devil again, he looks like your 8th grade teacher.
You are asked to go to his class after school. When you get there, that unfamiliar feeling is back, and you realize that this is not Mr. Oscar.
"Ah. You've noticed." Not-Mr. Oscar tells you.
"I'm back, friend. I've come to make a deal."
Before you can hear him out on what his 'deal' is, you feel compelled to ask him a question.
"Why did you come back now?"
"Why did you choose me?"
The devil laughs at your question.
"Have you forgotten, friend?"
He prepares the necessities as he talks - the paper and the pen.
"When you were but just a little kid, you didn't know what you wanted. But it's different now. You have something you want, don't you?"
The answer doesn't quite satisfy you, but he isn't wrong. You're in 8th grade now. You have an understanding on desires and wants. And you...
...want your crush to like you.
...want to succeed in life.
...want to be rich.
It seems a bit too cliche to make a deal with the devil for love, but you had no idea how they felt, and the Devil was here now. If you confessed, there was no way that you'd know that they felt the same way. What if they really were the one, and by getting rejected, you just lost the chance to be with your soulmate for the rest of your life?
His smile was unsettling as he leaned on the desk.
"Made your decision?"
As you stare, your options run through your head.
You sign the contract.
You refuse.
Your grades hadn't been quite what you liked lately. If you really wanted to get into that highschool you wanted to get into, and later the college you want to get into, you'd need a sort of guarentee that you'd be able to. The Devil was offering, so...
His smile was unsettling as he leaned on the desk.
"Made your decision?"
As you stare, your options run through your head.
Who didn't? Let's be real: you were a relatively obscure 8th grader with an average life. While this meant that you didn't need to struggle for what you needed, you did need to struggle for what you wanted. Friends, toys, prosperity - all that would be easy if you just had money.
His smile was unsettling as he leaned on the desk.
"Made your decision?"
As you stare, your options run through your head.
You refuse.
You sign the contract.
You refuse.
You sign the contract.