By Landon Wittmer
The tram flew through the crowded streets of downtown Pandemonium. In the leading car loomed a demon, head held back and cackling. His upraised hand held a scroll with only enough inscription to damn the man who was crumbled at his feet.
“You have what you wanted, Faustus—no more, no less.”
The man’s head fell. “You lied, Mephistopholes. You enslaved me. To Satan!”
The demon leaned back on the dashboard, throttling the gas and sending the two deeper into Hell’s heart. Outside, winged creatures buzzed in throngs, some mocking the fool inside, others late on their daily commute.
“But,” Mephistopholes started, waving the deed before Faustus’ face, “you have all the power you could ever want. Your knowledge is unbound, and you have the might of all the dead at the drop of a dime. But you didn’t read the fine print.”
“No—”
“You work for us now.”
Condos and mausoleums flashed by the windows of the vehicle. It was too late now. Faustus looked mournfully out in front of the tram and saw that gleaming, abhorrent house of the devil growing larger with each second, getting closer, through the gate, into the courtyard, winding up to his chamber, and—
The video feed winked out and the lights flicked on. Some students groaned.
“That was the good part!”
In a spark, the teacher turned her eyes to flame and calmed the class. “Can anyone tell me how this relates to our current unit?”
The lesser demons divided their attention, doing anything to avoid their superior’s stare. Their wings shriveled tight to their backs.
“Anyone? It’s about close reading…”
The only human in the room curled his mouth to a frown and raised his hand.
“Yes, Adam?”
“It was about how, when we create a contract, we should write something the other won’t read.”
“Perfect!” The greater demon clapped her hands together and eternal screams rang from the sound. “What a model student! Yes, when you make a deal, the fine print is rudimentary. Nobody ever reads the terms and conditions, so make yours malicious.” She glanced up at the clock and sighed. “Next class, we’ll be discussing what exactly you should put in that fine print. When we come back on Thursday, remember to bring an outline for your go-to deal. Class dismissed.”
The campus of Beelzebub’s University of Law and Lawlessness was always crowded around dinner time. At first, being enveloped by so much hellspawn had spiked fear into Adam. He was used to it now, and had even made some loose friends to vent to.
“A paperwork issue,” he had told them some months back. “I’m stuck here because they got the wrong guy.”
A half-man half-bat looked up from his meal. “How do you know?”
“Do I look like I belong here?” He motioned to his head, his back, and everywhere else without wings or fire. “I’m just a normal dude. And more, my name is Adam Cobbler, which is scarily similar to Adam Robbler, the famous thief who should be here right now. And I’ve looked everywhere for this guy. He’s not down here.”
Another demon at the table spoke through a mouthful of grilled rodent. “So where do you think Robbler is?”
Adam shrugged. “Lost in the mail, I guess.”
Today, Adam had a plan. Today was the day where all his studying came to a head, where his real fate would be decided, and hopefully, where he would be home.
Where he would see Elisabeth again.
But first, he needed a permit from Annunnaki, something to bring him back to the world of the living free-of-charge.
He stumbled through the crowds of the college grounds, making his way to an obsidian obelisk, opening its door, and climbing the extensive flight of stairs to its sole room. At the entrance of the office hung a cluttered assortment of cat posters, each with a motivational caption, along with a placard: ANNUNNAKI THE THOUGHT-CLEAVER, UNRAVELLER OF PURPOSE, AND ACADEMIC COUNSELLOR. Adam opened the door.
The most exciting thing about the room was its stifling lack of color. Very little adorned the chamber, drawing one’s attention to its main fixture and sole purpose: behind a corner desk sat Adam’s only hope for escape, and before it, a throne of bones. The demon heard his entrance and turned to greet him, revealing her crooked antlers and large glasses. She gripped a mug of what appeared to be a nice chai latte.
“Oh Adam, please do come in!” The void hung in her speech, sounds that would drive a living man to nausea. “Are you building an afterlife that matters?”
“About that.” Adam went to sit down, struggled to find a comfortable spot in the tibias, but resolved to endure it. “I’ve been thinking of studying abroad. As you know, I switched majors last semester to Mayhem Studies—it’s been going great, thank you—and I feel like I just need some real-world application. I was thinking about some missionary work?”
Annunnaki blinked a smile and Adam welled with relief. “You’re in luck! With the new semester next month, there will be plenty of spots open for studying up on Earth.” She flicked open her MacBook and raised an eyebrow. “Although I don’t see any spots open for missionary work for a while. I could set you up with an internship up top if you’d like?”
Adam shrugged. “What’s the difference?”
“Missionary work gives you a hollow sense of accomplishment while internships provide needed vocational fulfillment pre-graduation.”
“That sounds perfect!” Adam said. Now, he just needed to reach the surface and ditch the deal. “Leaving next month?”
Annunnaki tapped at her keypad. “Yup! All I need now is the name of your psychopomp so I can get you over the Styx.”
His psychopomp. It had been years since he arrived in Hell and he had completely forgotten the man’s name. He remembered he came over in a speed boat, but the man driving was too drunk to introduce himself.
“Your psychopomp,” Annunnaki broke the silence. “Whoever brought you over the river here?”
Adam stuttered. “He had a big hat and a cigar. I think he called himself Thor?”
The counselor pursed her lips and folded her hands. “Have you been getting enough sleep, Adam? Mental health is our top priority at Beelzebub’s.” Before he could respond, she answered for him. “That sounds like Baron Samedi. Sorry you got stuck with him. Give me just a moment.”
A few more clicks and the printer in the corner whirred on, inching out the pass for Adam’s freedom. Annunnaki slid open a drawer below it, rifled through its contents, and pulled out an empty flask. She took both of these and handed them to her counselee. “This scroll is the official record of your internship, and the bottle is for the Baron to know it isn’t fake. Don’t want people sneaking out, right?” She laughed and Adam winced. “Just give these both to Samedi when the semester starts and you’re all set!”
Five months. In the time between his counselling appointment and the beginning of the semester, Adam voraciously studied this contract, finding no glaring issues save for its time limit: one semester, five months. After that, he’d be back and would need to devise another, more permanent plan. At first he cried—some for himself, most for Elisabeth. He realized that five months would be enough time to explain the situation to her. When Monday rolled around, Adam walked hopefully to the harbor at the river Styx. Dozens of grave deities helmed gondolas, cruise ships, and, as one licentious man waved to Adam from his craft, speedboats. Adam stepped in, careful not to touch the ink of the river.
The man in the captain’s seat tipped his hat. “How’s it going this fine morning?” He sounded like a newscaster with pneumonia. “We studying abroad? Hm?”
Adam looked at the ground as he gave the Baron his paperwork and flask. “Only for a while.”
Samedi jolted the boat out of harbor, setting cruise control at 120 miles per hour. “What’s the problem with that, eh? Few months aren’t good enough?”
After barely hanging onto his seat, Adam adjusted himself on the floor, clutching the bars of the chairs for support. “Three years was long enough.” He thought back to his college experience. “And I have to come back. I shouldn’t even be here.”
The Baron took a drink. “Well, you don’t look like a demon, that’s for sure. What are you up to here?”
Adam met his captain’s gaze. “I don’t know. Right now, I think I was brought here instead of a man named Adam Robbler. Do you know where he is?”
Samedi shrugged. “Lost in the mail is my guess. Hell’s customs are like the TSA.” The man found his joke the funniest he’d heard. The doldrum of waves splashing around the boat took over conversation until the currents calmed. “Wanna drink?” With nothing in his eyes, Adam looked up at the man. Samedi took a solitary swig. “Don’t talk much, huh?” Nothing.
The gravity of the situation hit the Baron like a bullet. “Everyone tells me why they’re here on their way over. Cheat on a spouse or a test. You were quiet before, too.” Another swig. “You really shouldn’t be here.”
Adam cautiously shook his head. “I have a wife.”
The drunkard’s expression cleared to sobriety. “Yeah man, I’ve got one too. I get it.” He thought for a moment and grinned like a madman. “Lemme cut you a deal, kid. I hate that you’re here too. You don’t belong. And while I’m a god of death, I’m also a god of resurrection.”
Instinctively, Adam recalled his lessons. “Strings attached?”
Samedi chuckled. “Only one. If you ever find that Robbler kid,” he started, smiling in vices, “send him to me.”
For the first time in three years, Adam smiled. With one hand, the Baron took out the internship form, torching it, and with the other, the two shook on it.
At the other shore, Adam said his goodbyes to his psychopomp, stepping a fresh foot onto grassy turf and a last foot out of Hell.
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