To Sup With the Devil

Henry and George were spending a friendly evening together, talking pleasantly over their wine glasses--about a very unpleasant subject!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy January 1954 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

The two men sat across from each other in soft leather chairs. Flames from the fireplace before them licked upward and shadows danced on walls and ceiling. The corners were in complete darkness.

"I say, George, this wine is exceedingly good," one of the men poured rich red liquid from a large decanter into his goblet.

"Yes, Henry, it's quite good. Much better than brandy," answered George, swallowing hard and rolling his head.

"Yes, yes," said Henry, sighing deeply, his lips and chin stained from the beverage. "Yes. Yes. Nothing like good wine. Nothing like it."

"As I was saying," smiled George.

"Oh yes," Henry nodded, setting his goblet on the table and leaning forward in his seat. "Do continue with your story. You were telling me about how you met the Devil last week, and had an interesting chat with him." He winked mischievously.

George shook his head vigorously. "And I most certainly did. Yes. Met the Devil and had an enjoyable chat. He's a splendid chap, you know. Not at all like those pictures you see of him. No horns or red monkey outfit. He dresses most conservatively; wears a black suit. And he has nice gray hair." George patted his head. "Nice gray hair."

Henry poured himself another cup of wine and sipped it slowly. "But what did you talk about? I mean you have nothing in common at all."

"Oh no?" George shrugged. "But we do. We have much in common. I admire the Devil and told him so. And he said that he would be glad to have me come and work for him."

"Work for him?"

"Yes. He wants me to go with him to his headquarters."

"But his headquarters are in ... a ... well you know."

"I know, but I still want to go. He said he would make me a demon or a ghoul or something."

"Horrid, don't you think?"

"No, not at all." George gulped down the last of his wine. "Quite pleasant if I may say so. Quite a change from the market and speculation and," he snorted loudly, "those damn commodities that I lost so heavily on yesterday. No, I think I'd enjoy seeing things as a demon or a ghoul or something."

"What do you see?"

"Oh you know. Graveyards, coffins and corpses...."

Henry laughed. "Oh, that's amusing. Most amusing."

George smiled tightly. "And you see the dead in Hell, the fire and brimstone, and you hear their cries of anguish and it's quite pleasant."

"Then why don't you go with the Devil and be done with it?"

"But I am going to go, Henry."

"Then go!"

"But I must do something first. It's a sort of qualification."

"Yes?"

"I must kill someone."

"But that's most naughty, old boy, isn't it?"

"Not when you have a good reason."

* * * * *

Henry held up the decanter and looked at the small amount of wine that was left. He shook his head sadly. "But who's going to be your victim?"

"You," answered George.

"Me?" said Henry, smiling.

"Yes, you."

"Are you mad?"

"No."

Henry stopped smiling and his face grew a trifle pale. He suddenly had the sickening feeling that George wasn't kidding him any more. "But why me?"

George pulled a small revolver from his breast pocket. "I have it from what I believe to be a thoroughly reliable source that while I was out of town last week you were out with my wife."

Henry's jaw dropped. "Why that's absurd!"