I submitted this story for a creative writing class in college — and got a bad grade on it. At the time, I was taking an insanely large class load (so big that I needed the dean’s personal approval to do so), which was a bad idea, and was just submitting stories I had previously written — both good and bad. The instructor said the story lacked a ‘middle’.
Imagine knowing that the exact moment of your death was in the future; to know that whatever you do today: skydive without a parachute, cross the street against traffic, drink a bottle of poison, you would not die at that moment, but rather at some future time.
How would you live your life? Would you wrestle alligators? Join a street gang? Become a racecar driver? A test pilot? A lion tamer? A mercenary? All of these?
“You will answer any question that I ask?”
“For the price of my freedom into the world, yes.”
Sean studied the figure in the pentagram. It was about eighteen inches tall and glowed a dim red. It had the head of a goat and the lower half of its body looked like the rear end of a goat, but the arms, protruding belly, and disproportionately large penis were human. It smelled of caves and soot.
Sean had spent the entire day collecting the materials for the conjuration. He had been to half a dozen hard-to-find shops, and several individuals, obtaining various animal parts and herbs as well as texts on the black arts. All were very expensive but, he believed, well worth it. He had brought the materials back to the abandoned house he had located and spent another hour setting up. The actual conjuration had taken less than ten minutes, and now he was confronted by a lesser demon with a nearly-unpronounceable name.
“Granted,” Sean agreed, “that is, if you allow me to bind you to honesty so that I can be assured of your truthfulness, and if you answer two questions and not one.” A demon could not be bound unless it gave permission.
“Agreed.”
Sean cast the required spell. The demon was now obligated to answer his two questions fully and truthfully, though Sean secretly intended not to keep his end of the bargain.
“My first question is this: When am I going to die?”
“Simple enough,” the demon remarked, “You shall die next year on April 12 at 4:03 PM.”
So soon? No matter.
“My second question is this,” Sean continued, “How can I send you back?” The books had not said how to return a demon once it had been summoned.
The demon wailed and gnashed its teeth. Not without many noxious curses, the demon told Sean what he wanted.
Sean began the spell while the demon cried at its lost chance at freedom.
“Sean had a happy life. I had first met him three months ago when we were both travelling through southern France but, from the vivid way in which he described his life, and from our close friendship, I feel that I had come to know the real Sean, and I found him to be a good man, who loved his family.” His mother sobbed at this. I told some more lies about how much he had spoken of home, about how difficult it was to put into words the great deeds of this great man, and how unworthy I was to give his eulogy.
I ended with, “It is almost a blessing that he was taken from this world when he was, because no one should have to suffer in this world for so long when he is just a step away from the rewards of the next.”
Sean’s mother smiled at me as I walked down the aisle of the church toward the doors in the rear. I smiled back as visions of his car accident that had left him in a coma for months flashed through my mind. I never really liked Sean and felt that he had gotten what he deserved, but his family had contacted me – Sean must have mentioned my name in a letter – and asked me to give his eulogy.
I was left alone with my thoughts as I stepped out into the light April rain.