The Demon's Deal

A Debt Owed Is A Debt Paid

   My mother's scream followed by the sound of furniture being destroyed didn't bother me in the least. For me, it was a normal thing on a Friday night. My parents were drunk, and when they drank, they fought. Like I said, normal. So it was nothing new. But what was new to me, was my father's scream of terror.

  In all my years, I had never heard the man scream. It scared me more than I cared to admit.

Not bothering to really think about the possible scenarios playing in the living room, I dashed down the short hall. I pulled up short at the end of the narrow hallway, just before our cramped living room in our tiny apartment.

  My parents were huddled in the far corner of the miniscule livingroom, my father trying his best to "protect" my mother in his drunken state, a small pistol in his trembling hands. My mother stood behind him, shaking with fear, her blue eyes wide and glossy.

  Who my dad was trying to protect my mom from could easily take them both out with as much effort as it would take him to knock over a plastic chair.

Standing well over six feet, a rather large and imposing man stood before them, not far from the front door, which had been kicked in. The door, by the way, was hanging by a single hinge, leaning inwards as if it too were drunk and unsteady on it's feet.

   While my parents were in obvious fear, he seemed relaxed and completely at ease, like he was used to scaring the sh!t out of people. Since his back was to me, I could not see his face to try and identify him. All I could see was his broad back, wide shoulders, bulging biceps and a lot of leg.          The dude was a giant.

   Gulp.

   I was rooted to the spot. I couldn't move or speak. Who was he and what did he want?

   "Now Steven Kenith Foster," the man's deep, rich voice filled the small room. "Is this anyway to treat a friend? Waving that tiny little toy around and cowering like that!"

   "I-I-I don't have the money," my father squealed.

   I was ashamed to admit it, but neither of my parents had a back bone.

  The giant made a "tsk tsk" sound as he shook his head, his longish dark hair moving with the motion.

   "Not good Steven Kennith Foster, not good at all," his voice had now lost its happy, playful lilt, it was flat and cold. "I have given you more than a reasonable amount of time to pay me back that money, Steven Kennith Foster, PLENTY of time," he stressed. "Now I want what is due to me."

  My dad's face paled and he looked ready to hurl. My mom wailed in terror.

  I blanched. My dad owed this guy money? What for? 

  "No, please," my father begged pathetically. "Anything but-"

  "You made a deal," the giant thundered, cutting him off. "Dare you go back on it?"

  "N-no," my father stammered. "I want to make a new deal, please, please, I'm begging you!"

  "Hmm," the big man said, thoughtfully tapping his chin. "You owe me much already. Do you think it wise to add to your debt? What else do you have to give me?"

  I spoke before I could think it all through, especially the possible consequences. For example: the giant turning his attention on me. 

  "What does he owe you?," my voice surprisingly sounded stronger and louder than I thought possible.

  The giant turned to look at me, an amused and slightly curious expression on his face.

  His face. I had never seen anything like it before. He was both beautiful and hideous, if that was at all possible.