He Sold My Soul to the Devil

Death… I would tell you what it was like, except I do not know. I remember dying, of course. We all do. But only those who pass on know death. The rest of us are stuck in the in-between. Not wholly there, but not wholly here, either. 

It actually started out as a beautiful day. The London sky was clouded and smoky and gray, as usual, but there was a sense of light and beauty that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Perhaps everyone’s Last Day is like this. The universe is hopeful and happy for the first time in forever to make up for the fact that it’s decided to dispose of you. 

I've been dead for about five years now. It's not a solitary existence. There are enough restless souls in London to fill it twice over. But it is a lonely one. Few of us are partial to social activity. The only gatherings I know of are when we attend the occasional hanging or murder. There are nearly always new souls to greet at the bad ones.

There are two sorts of spirits in this afterlife that is not an afterlife. Those who choose it- they are the ones who die suddenly, agonizingly. Young children and the elderly go easily, the veil still thin. But those in their primes? They are not ready to leave. They hold on, tight, to the last shreds of their reality. 

And then there are those who are pulled back despite a desire to move on. Those like me. 

I did want to move on. I had no wish to be trapped in this world but never part of it. But sometimes a bargain lasts even after death. 

I cannot let go of this life. Or, perhaps, this life cannot let go of me. 

My death was not awful. Actually, it was sort of peaceful. I remember walking along the river Thames, a misting rain stinging my cheeks. I was alone, which I admit is strange enough. Usually I was accompanied by my brother or a manservant, but today I was on my own. A furtive glance behind my shoulder, a swift step over cobblestoned streets. I knew I would be seen. I just hoped I wouldn’t be questioned.

Looking back I realize how silly that is. Of course I would be questioned. What sort of lady would venture alone in London dressed as I was? The answer is not the sort of lady you want to be friends with. 

I wasn’t a bad person. I don’t think, anyhow. But I did have my secrets. A mortal who dabbled in the occult, I have always known of this other realm. Never did I think I myself would join it, but then, I didn’t think I would die, either. 

I was young. I’d only just turned 19, and I was bright and vivacious, if a little dark at times. I was the perfect proper lady. Underneath that, though… 

I was not the person I appeared to be.

The day was darker than usual, mist filling the streets, but I liked it. It wasn’t a dreary sort of dark. It was the kind that buries deep into you and then branches out until every nerve is tingling with a sense of ominous foreboding.. 

When I reached the correct address, I lifted the large brass knocker and let it fall. The boom was resounding. 

A moment later the door opened a crack, and I slipped in. 

Jonathan blinked at me in the dark vestibule. “Thank you for coming,” he murmured. “This is really important to me.”

I nodded, mute. Jonathan had always been free with his emotions, and he was a joyful spirit. Never this solemn. 

I moved toward him, concern lining my features. “Mr-” I started, but he cut me off. 

“Sarah, you know why you’re here?” 

I nodded, confused, and surprised at his familiar use of my christian name. He had never been anything but modest and polite. “You said you needed me for something. Something important.”

He nodded, nervously fiddling with the buttons of his waistcoat.

“Come,” he said. “Walk with me.”

“Outside?” I was rather surprised. The weather certainly wasn’t what I considered suitable for a stroll.

He nodded and opened the door again. Confused, I walked back out into the gray London air. Strange that he should invite me in and then take me back out again. 

He joined me and offered his arm, which I took. Jonathan was a close friend of mine, and a coworker of my brother, Edward. They were both fascinated with the Supernatural, a fascination that was quite contagious. 

We walked for a bit along the Thames, Jonathan making idle chatter, completely ignoring the fact that he had called me here under pretenses of great distress.

And then, suddenly, we stopped. Jonathan faced the river, which was currently the color of steel and smog. He was silent for a long moment, and I studied his profile carefully. There was something off about him that day. If only I’d known what it was.

After a long moment of silence, he turned to me, a grim frown turning his features into something both handsome and alien. I’d rarely seen him without a smile.

“Sarah…” he said. “You know your brother and I are not bad men?” 

Now I was really confused. “Of course.” I said. “And neither am I a bad woman. We are merely privy to knowledge of a sort hidden to most. There is nothing wrong with using such knowledge to our favour.”

He nodded, letting my words sink like stones between us. “There has been a recent development, Sarah, among those of us who know. Some of my friends- your brother’s friends- have begun to be far more involved with the hidden side of London. Not just the occasional faerie encounter or a trip to warlock shops. No, they’ve been summoning demons and the like.”

I stifle a gasp. Demons? That was truly dark magic. 

He smiled, finally, but it was mournful. “They’re not that bad. Quite helpful, actually.”

“Who? Your friends?” I ask. 

He shakes his head. “The demons. They drive a hard bargain, but what they provide is more than worth it.”

His eyes were dark, sad. “I wish I didn’t have to do this,” he muttered to himself. Then he took a breath, steeling himself. 

My heart jittered, and I took a step away. But with all my skirts and petticoats I could move no faster than a snail. 

Jonathan caught my arm. "Please, Sarah." He was so sad. I could hear it in his voice, like the weight of a thousand years crushing him. "Don't run. It's already cost me so much."

I could see it inside him. The darkness, eating him up. I could see the battle in his soul, the struggle of light and darkness.

"I need her back."

"What you need to do is let me go," I snapped. His face contorted, but he let my arm drop. I backed away another step, though I knew it wasn't nearly far enough from this man who was a stranger.

He laughed suddenly, bitterly. "You don't understand. He wants you. Someone's going to give him what he wants. And I need what he has to offer."

Then he pushed me.

I stumbled, my dress tearing as I fell. A silent scream slipped out in a gasp. But my distress was short-lived. Because then I hit the water.

The drop wasn’t deep, but the water was bone chilling. It shocked every coherent thought from me. Against the cold my fears had no grip.

Even if my heavy dress and petticoats didn’t weigh me down, even if I’d been able to swim to shore, I doubt I would’ve survived the night.

But I sank. Sank like a stone. As I said before, it truly wasn’t so awful. At first my lungs burned like fire, and my skin felt like it was freezing off. I struggled, frightened. Tried to swim. But I had never had lessons, and my futile efforts did absolutely nothing against the weight of my garments.

I kept fighting, but the more the pressure in my chest built, the further away it seemed, until everything was distant, and I was warm again. I didn’t hurt anymore, though I could still feel my lungs burning somewhere far away. 

It was so peaceful. All I wanted was to go to sleep, to rest. To stop struggling. 

So I did. 

I remember there being a light, so bright it should have burned my eyes. But it didn’t. It was warm and cold and fiery and peaceful and all I wanted was to go toward it. I tried to, I really did, but the harder I tried to reach it, the farther away it grew. That’s where I want to be. I know it is. 

But I couldn’t get there. I don’t know how long I struggled. Days, months, eons. Death’s time doesn’t follow the same rules as life’s. It’s more a relative concept than the force that governs existence.

After a while, I realized that though I wanted the light, and though I could feel it wanted me, something was simply holding me back. 

When I paused and focused I could feel a faint tug, pulling me back to the body under the river. It was right there in the center of my chest, below my rib cage. Steady, insistent. With nothing left to do, I followed it back to the realm of the living. 

But I was not alive.

I did not belong.

And my soul was no longer mine.