How I Met the Devil

On New Year’s Eve, I sold my soul to the devil.

Although it felt silly, I must admit, but he did look devilishly good. Dressed to the nines, with an expensive watch to match the silver buckle on the belt, he adjusted his stylish glasses as he appeared from behind me and instantly fit into the crowd. In his hand, adorned with simple white gold rings, he held a champagne glass, which he didn’t hesitate to clink against mine. The glasses made a faint ringing sound, the rosé crémant splashed against the sides, and I looked the devil straight in the eyes.

They weren’t the movie-style fiery red eyes I expected. I had hoped, as per the rules of the genre, that they’d burn with hellfire, or be the color of sinners' blood, or at least possess a common mysterious yellow tone. But no. The devil’s eyes were brown, appearing even darker through his glasses and the dim streetlight, illuminated only by the intermittent flashes of fireworks.

I wasn’t sure at first if he was the Devil. Yet his looks were eerily familiar, as if I had seen him somewhere in the past. In another life, maybe. And recognition in his gaze only confirmed my suspicions.

The devil proposed another toast and took a sip of the crémant. I followed his lead, tasting the familiar tartness on my tongue, while a slight dizziness crept into my head, as it always did with champagne. We stood in silence, watching the city below, where fireworks roared and the occasional cheers of happy people broke the night.

At that moment, I allowed myself to arrogantly believe that the devil and I were thinking about the same thing – the people below. Their base desire to overindulge in alcohol on New Year’s Eve, stuff their stomachs with delights laid on the table, give sloppy kisses on the cheek or lips - depending on the level of inebriation - and then collapse into bed, only to wake up in the morning and croak, feeling the cold hangover sweat.

The thought made me chuckle, and I immediately blamed the champagne for my lack of restraint. The devil’s gaze suddenly turned to me. I wondered then if I had made a mistake. Perhaps this wasn’t the devil at all, but just a charming young man from a good family. Perhaps, I’ve never seen him before and now I accuse an innocent person of being the creature of hell. And just maybe, it was time for me to go grab some food to balance out the champagne.

But I stayed. Instead, I lit a cigarette, allowing the devil to gallantly offer a light. The lighter was surprisingly out of place with his otherwise perfectly put-together image that subtly screamed wealth. It was a cheap plastic one, cheerfully decorated with a cartoon dog surrounded by purple flowers.

The lighter, oddly enough, felt just right.

Gradually, the crowd began to disperse, retreating back into the house, leaving the devil and me alone. I smoked peacefully, enjoying the quiet, while he seemed to be waiting for something.

When I lit my second cigarette, the devil eagerly obliged to light it again.

"Do I get to see you more often if I indulge in bad habits?" I asked with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "What are you talking about?" "Oh, don’t pretend. It was obvious from the start who you are. The only mystery is why you're here." "Oh, that obvious, was it?" The devil sighed theatrically, but when he raised his eyes to meet mine, I knew I hadn’t been wrong after all. "All I need is your soul." "You know," I waved my glass nonchalantly, the crémant sloshing dangerously against the thin rim but not spilling, "you can take it. I don’t really need it."

"No, no. By the law of any transaction, I must offer you something in return. Is there anything you desire most of all?" He looked at me inquisitively.

I took a drag from my cigarette and thought for a moment. Did I really want anything? I had a promising, stable job, enough money to live comfortably, and a place of my own. A jackpot for most people. Yet something nagged at the back of my mind, always pushing me to do more, want more, spend more.

And then I understood why the devil had come to me. I stubbed out my cigarette and took another sip of crémant. Grimacing at the faint pang of heartburn, I paused.

"I want opportunities. I want to expand my actions, I want complete freedom—both moral and, naturally, financial. And knowing the rules of wish formulation, I’ll clarify: I want capital and opportunities to increase in a positive direction."

The devil tilted his head slightly, and in that gesture, I thought I saw... respect?

"Not bad, not bad. You even read all the fine print in the contract. Very well. It will be as you wish." "And how will you take my soul?" I asked, getting genuinely curious. "Not right now. Your wish will start to come true soon, but I’ll take your soul next year. We’ll meet at another party, my dear." "Interesting terms," I said, twirling my glass. The champagne was running out, and it was time to go inside for a refill. The devil, catching the silent hint, gallantly opened the door for me and held it. When I finally untangled myself from the heavy curtain, I turned around.

There was no one behind me. The devil had, predictably, disappeared.

Casually brushing off the surprising encounter, I poured myself another glass.

Over the next year, my life soared. Even though I had already given up my soul, albeit it hadn’t been taken yet, I felt no need to stick to any moral code. I got promoted, traveled abroad for work, and received a significant salary increase. I still hadn’t found a boyfriend, joking that I was waiting for "the one."

Part of the joke was true. Despite the complete absurdity of what had happened on New Year’s Eve, some part of me still believed I had met the real devil. The question why he looked familiar did taint the prosperous days, yet I did not feel sad, or devastated, or however the person who’s sold their soul should feel.

On the following December 31st, once again with champagne in hand, I was in front of the mirror, picking out lipstick. The party promised to be a blast, and I wanted to be fully prepared.

The first fireworks erupted, I clinked glasses with the group of friends, shouted into the darkness, "Happy New Year!" and then we fell silent for a moment. There is something magical about that moment when one year transitions into the next.

Left alone on the balcony – the group was non-smoking – I pulled out a cigarette. A familiar cartoon dog on a purple-flowered lighter immediately appeared before me. I smiled at the corner of my lips.

"Happy New Year, handsome stranger. Have we met before?", I chuckled. The devil smiled back. "To you as well, fellow stranger" he stepped out of the shadows, took the cigarette I offered, and inhaled deeply with pleasure. "Have you come for my soul?" I kept smiling. "You know, I watched you this past year," he began slowly, like a master storyteller. "I must admit, you did well on your own; I didn’t even need to intervene. You got the job, the trips, the money. That’s worth a lot." "And yet, I still want more," I exhaled the smoke. The devil followed it with his eyes, then smirked mischievously. "You’ll get it. I no longer need your soul." "Why?" I asked more out of politeness. The answer was simple enough. "Why take it now when it will come to me eventually anyway?" "I demand a place of honor in your office," a laugh slipped out. Champagne, always champagne to blame. "Now, that we can negotiate," the devil’s eyes gleamed mischievously in the dim light. "When the time comes."

When I turned around, he was gone. I was left alone on the balcony with my glass of champagne and the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray.

Walking back inside, I wondered: was it really the devil?

Did I ever really see him?

And the next morning, while emptying the junk from my coat pockets, I found a funny little thing: a cartoon dog with purple flowers cheerfully grinning at me from the plastic side of a cheap lighter.