The Devil and Daniel Webster's Brother

The Devil and Daniel Webster’s Brother

Obsession is more than a word to Benjamin Webster. It is the unrelenting force guiding his every move. In his life, Benjamin had two primary obsessions. First, his appearance had to be immaculate - without as much as a single hair out of place. Secondly, he longed to be the richest man on the planet. When he got out of bed in the morning, his first thought was about what he could do to increase his wealth. At night he tossed-and-turned in bed plotting ways to steal candy from babies and selling those confections to make a tidy profit.

On those rare occasions when he went to church, Benjamin was escorted by the County Sheriff. That way he could serve warrants and eviction notices under the protection of local authorities - he especially enjoyed presenting eviction notices to clerics with a wife and eight children or a priest with a bus load of nuns on the street.

On one particular day Benjamin returned home to find himself face-to-face with a peculiar little man. The trespasser was sitting in his favorite chair and looked like a leprechaun dressed in a black tuxedo. “What are you doing in my house?” thundered Webster.

“I watched you foreclosed on those nursing homes. Not many men would force hundreds of elderly residents out on the street with no other place to go. It was a fine piece of work.”

“The people owning those buildings were late on their mortgage payments. They had to go!” insisted Webster.

With more than a moderate amount of glee in his voice the imp said, “You don’t need to defend your actions to me. I appreciate the beauty and simplicity of what you did.”

A smug grin lifted the corners of Benjamin’s lips. “Thank you for noticing.” In a flash his demeanor changed as he howled, “Now. Why in the hell are you here?”

“I am here to fulfill your greatest dream,” said the leprechaun. “I am going to make you the richest man on earth.”

Webster snarled, “Who told you that’s my biggest dream?”

“I just know,” grinned the little man. “I just know.”

With a twinkle in his eye Webster said, “What do I call you? Mr. Devil sounds a bit obvious, and I am sure you are anything but obvious.”

“Today I go by the name Iblis, tomorrow it will be Loki, and Demogorgon the following day. I am as elusive as the wind and I can change my appearance as swiftly as I can change my name.”

Webster snorted, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it. You think you’re better than me.”

“No Mr. Webster, to the contrary I am here to offer my most sincere congratulations. Mr. Webster, you have managed to make people do things I would never be allowed to make them do.”

“Mr. Iblis, let’s cut the crap. We both know this is the point where you offer to trade immortality for my soul.”

As casual as he could be, Iblis sighed, “Mr. Webster, I already have your soul.”

Unfazed, Webster carped, “I have things to do. Can you hurry this up? I need to eat supper and make one last eviction for the day.”

Iblis nodded slightly and a leering smile filled his face. “Mr. Webster, I can see you are a man of action.”

Benjamin prodded, “Well, why are you here?”

“Let’s call my offer a gift for all your hard work. After all your deeds to take away from the poor there has been a sharp rise in the number of people willing to sell their souls just to maintain their families. When people come to me for help and protection from you, it is cause for great wonderment. I suppose you could call this a professional courtesy call.”

“Iblis, what’s your deal?”

“It’s very simple. One year from now you will be the first trillionaire in the history of the universe.”

Webster began to salivate. Had his mouth been open, he would have drooled down the front of his perfectly starched white shirt. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just continue to be the icy-cold person you’ve always been. You’ll be a trillionaire in a year.”

“No, no!” bellowed Webster. “There is always a catch. Where’s the irony? Are you going to make me a trillionaire one day and strike me down the next?”

“Now that wouldn’t be very nice of me, would it? If you insist, I will grant you eternal life.”

“Yeah, don’t feel badly if I doubt that.”

Iblis chuckled loudly. “I’ll make you the richest man on earth and grant you eternal life.”

“Are you going to turn me into a vampire or something like that?”

“No. I’d never do that.”

“Then what’s the catch?”

“There is only one teensy weensy condition you need to follow.”

Webster sighed. Here it comes.

“I’m going to let you decide if you want to keep your fortune and keep your immortality. All you have to do is avoid shaving.”

Puzzled by Iblis, Webster muttered, “Not shave?”

“Yes, if you shave one hair on your body you will be struck down by a bolt of lightning so hot your entire body will be turned into ash.”

Webster puffed out his chest with pride when he thought he had outsmarted the Devil. “Mr. Iblis, the joke is on you. I plan to be cremated when I die.”

An impish grin filled Iblis’ face, “Then you have less to lose than a mere mortal.”

“So. Is that the only stipulation?”

“Yes, that’s all. The only thing you need to do is abstain from shaving.”

“Deal!” screeched Webster. Iblis shook Webster’s hand and promptly disappeared.

For the next year, Webster was so busy he cast aside his obsession about personal grooming as he amassed his trillion-dollar fortune. Now, after attaining his goal he wanted to improve his appearance. Fixated on his bathroom mirror, he remembered Iblis’ words and began plotting against Iblis’ hair stipulation. Finally, he settled on using a hair removal product. Benjamin placed a dab of the cream on his arm. Four minutes later the hair fell out and he was still breathing. “I didn’t cut the hair and I survived. This will work.”

For the next few months, Benjamin removed his hair with the cream until one day he reasoned, Iblis was just screwing with me. I’m sure he’s so busy with other people he forgot about me.

Webster turned all the lights out in his house and then locked himself in his bathroom. He soaked a towel in scalding water and placed it on his face to make every whisker stand tall. Benjamin put a new blade in his razor, and looked in the mirror to see where to start. Right under my eyes. That’s first. He put the razor just below his right eye and applied pressure.

As soon as he cut his first hair, lightning shot down from above causing his body to spontaneously combust. In mere seconds, there was a soup bowl sized pile of ashes and a burnt spot on his bathroom floor. Like Iblis had warned, Benjamin Webster died a horrible death.

Now, if there's a  moral to this story. It is: “A Benny shaved is a Benny urned.”