A Daemon's Babble

Sell It Cheap

He stood at the mouth of the abandoned tunnel, staring into the seemingly never-ending darkness, paralyzed with fear. Every four or five seconds, a warm breeze would flow from the tunnel, as if the stonewalls were breathing. He gulped. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. It had seemed perfect in his head. He would just get in, make a deal, and then walk out. He sighed. There really wasn’t any other way to get what he wanted though, and when he had heard the whispers that night on the street, he knew he had to see if they were true.

Very slowly he stepped inside the tunnel, and all the wind stopped, as if the walls were holding their breath. He took another step, and another, until he settled for a brisk pace. The tunnel was dark, a suffocating blackness that seemed to press on him from all sides. He peered over his shoulder, but not even the faraway twinkle of the stars behind him any comfort. The tunnel seemed to stretch on forever. The air was damp and humid, and he could only pray that there was nothing in front of him. He couldn’t see a foot in front of him.

The walls had begun to breathe faster now. There was a strong puff of air emanating from within the tunnel quickly, every second or so, blowing his blond hair everywhere. He had been walking for about five minutes, running his hands along the walls to make sure that there were no turns, when suddenly both his hands gave out. He blinked; the room he was suddenly standing in was faintly lit with torches lining the walls. He could hear the breathing now, low and raspy. “Hello?” he called out tentatively, shifting from one sneakered foot to the other.

Something dripped onto his shoulder, and he turned his head stiffly to see a silvery liquid running down his shoulder, almost like something had drooled on him. He immediately snapped his head up, but nothing was there besides the damp stones. “Hello?” he called out again into the faintly lit room.

“Once is quite enough, thank you,” a smooth voice rose from the gloom, coming form his right. He whirled, but nothing was there. The voice was velvety and soft, and held a trace of faint amusement. It was androgynous, but it didn’t sound like a mature person’s voice. More like some teenager, someone around his age, but still, the gender was unknown.

His lips struggled to form words. “I-I need some help,” he stuttered.

“I gathered that,” the unknown voice replied, sounding rather annoyed. “That is why most people brave this abandoned station. Most of them need help. Now, sweetheart, what is your problem?” The voice’s annoyed tone slowly changed to something sweet and dripping with honey, with false reassurances.

He gulped. “A relative of mine was found dead in his room. The window and door was locked from the inside. It was ruled a suicide and the case was dismissed,” he said, his voice wavering slightly and he spread his legs a little to keep his knees from knocking.

There was a brief moment of silence in which the walls seemed to breathe faster. “Go on,” the voice hummed, sounding rather intrigued.

“But he was the happiest person ever! He was always so nice to people and he lived with me, and he didn’t have any family problems… His job paid well… So it just couldn’t be a suicide! He had no reason…” he trailed off miserably, his lips forming a small pout. There was no answer, and he took a deep breath. “I need your help to find out who killed him. I heard you can do things like that,” he muttered.

It occurred to him that this was a crazy idea, coming to this thing that lived in an abandoned train station for help, and he took a step back, only to trip over something in the gloom. He fell hard on his back, and after rubbing his head, he glanced over to see what he had tripped over. A bone. A human arm bone with bits of flesh still hanging off of it. Bile rose in his throat, but he tore his gaze away when he heard the answer. “Is there anything else?”

He quickly fished around in his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “Here is the case file. I heard you liked mysteries,” he said quickly, and held it up to the gloom.

A hand quickly snatched it up before retreating back into the darkness, but not before he saw long nails and chipped silver nail polish. A female, then. He gulped. “And my payment for solving your mystery? What would you pay to see this man’s killer brought to justice? What would you sell?” Suddenly there was hot breath on his ear. “Would you sell your soul? Sell it cheap?” the voice murmured.

Petrified, he still sat on the ground, not moving a muscle. Selling his soul to a female creature in a tunnel was not something he had anticipated to do. But right now, finding out his father’s killer was more important. He would be able to get out of it later. He nodded very slowly, and a gleeful laugh erupted from the darkness.

Two hands clamped down on his shoulders, and for a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of two shining emerald eyes wickedly staring out at him from the darkness. “Perfect.”