Soul sold to devil
According to traditional beliefs, the man can sell his soul to the Devil.
By signing the deal, the person offers his soul in exchange for the services of the Devil.
These services depend on specific stories, but generally include youth, knowledge, wealth and power.
This article is a letter of confession.
This is a real story that happened in our time. It can serve as a lesson to those who have already came up with the idea about this kind of transaction.
"Dear Natalia, I am writing you the truth as in the confessional. Maybe my case will serve as an example for others, and thus they will avoid making the same mistake as I did.
At the time I was fourteen years old. Once I was visiting my friend's house: we fooled around, laughed, listened to music and smoked cigarettes, bought in secret from parents. My friend was writing posters, on his mother's request, selling up a cheap refrigerator, which we then had to paste up around the city.
I was helping him, because we didn't have any copy machine at the time, and we had to write a lot by hand. My mood was good and I decided to have some fun. I had an idea to write: “Selling sinless soul to the devil, in exchange for a million dollars.” The joke seemed good to me, and I wrote three more similar ads. Then I showed them up to my friends. They were so amused, that they decided to write something similar themselves. One decided to trade his head for the money, another a leg up on new sneakers, etc.
Then we pasted our “funny” ads, along with posters for the sale of the refrigerator.
And on the next day the tragedy occurred. One of my friends, one who offered the devil his head, fell down the stairs, cracked his head and died on the spot. However, at the moment we were not associating our “joke” with the happened misfortune.
After a few days the guy who wrote about the sale of leg, tried to jump up on the moving tram. He slipped, and his foot was cut off. But again, we didn't suspect anything.
While nothing bad was happening to me, I began to confuse day and night: at night, wandering without sleep, and in the afternoon falling asleep like the dead. Parents scolded me, but I could not help myself. In school, I slept right on the desk with my head in my hands. However, the teachers did not scold me, thinking that these were the consequences of some emotional shock after the death of one of my friends and the accident with the other.
Our homeroom teacher took pity on me seeing that I was sleeping. She woke me up and sent home to rest. I was very grateful to her, because I was not feeling very well. My body was like rebuilding itself, becoming different, and this feeling was not pleasant.
Arriving home, I unlocked the door and entered the apartment. Parents were not at home. I stood for a while in the kitchen, wondering to eat or go to bed. I did not want to heat the lunch. Entering my room, I was dumbfounded – right in the middle of it stood the black-clad man. He was wearing a strange cloak, like from ancient times, and his wavy hair was long, down below his shoulders. I physically felt power coming from the stranger, and dared not speak from fear.
It was obviously not someone of my parents' friends or even a thief.
– So how much is your soul? His voice sounded eerie, as if coming from hell itself.
What? – I whispered.
And then in his hands, I saw my poster. I wanted to say that it's all a joke, but I couldn't say it: tongue refused to obey me.
"Okay," the stranger said, – you'll get your price. A million dollars.
I felt dizzy, and I involuntarily closed my eyes. Opening them, I saw that the room was empty. Then I lay down and fell asleep. I woke up from the voices of my mother, who came into my room and woke me up:
– Are you sleeping again. Get up or I'll tell your father.
I sat down on the bed, thinking. No, I decided, this can't be, it's just a nightmare. Rising up, I walked over to the table to start the homework, and suddenly I saw my poster on the table. My hope that it was just a dream, fell apart like a house of cards.
I called one of those guys that we wrote these stupid ads together that ill-fated day. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, my buddy was home. I asked him if he remembers exactly what we wrote in those ads. He was surprised with my question and asked me why I was talking about it. Without explaining the reasons, I began to ask what he remembered, saying that I really need this. Apparently, my voice tipped him off, and he said:
I think one of us wrote something like “Will change my foot on the new sneakers.” And so?
– And do you know, maybe someone got new shoes? – I asked.
Yes, exactly, because the one who fell under the tram, the day before his mother bought him new sneakers. – Here he paused – apparently, he realized that between the ads and misfortune there is some connection.
– And you, what have you written?! – I shouted.
– I wrote that will exchange my live on 100% in maths.
Then I told him:
– Think something is fishy here. One bought shoes, and he lost his leg, the other offered to give his head and after a few days died. And today I... Better come to me, and I'll tell you everything.
– You know, because today I got 100% in maths. I now come running to you, – said Andrei and hung up.
I had never speak to my friend since. His body was found the next day on some wasteland outskirts the city.
When I found out, I was hysterical, and I even spent some time in the hospital. My doctor, a psychiatrist, told me not to think about those posters. He said it was a coincidence and that I'll never recover if I concern myself with nonsense.
Under the influence of persuasion of adults and drugs I gradually started to forget what happened. All misfortunes seemed now just a bad dream.
Years passed, I grew up, graduated. Fate was kind to me, and I made a lot of money. Besides, I have a beautiful family: a beautiful and smart wife and a wonderful son.
I decided to write this letter because a week ago I saw from the window of my car the same man in a cloak, who came to me many years ago. He waved to me and pointed a finger at his watch. I'm sure it was real and I didn't mixed up. What can I say, despite the fact that many years have passed, I still would recognize that man anywhere.
I understand that it was a warning. I earned my million, and now it's time to pay the bills.
You will receive this letter in case of my death, but in my heart I fervently hope that all will be well.
My wife has your books, she adores you. I also read, but not all. If anything happens to me, please pray for my soul sold to the devil for a million dollars."
This letter was enclosed in a large envelope that held another note from his wife:
"Natalia, my husband was killed. Most likely, it was a contract killing. After his death, I found this letter in his stuff. It was written on it: to send in event of my death to Natalia Stepanova".
Source: Books of Magic (Natalia Stepanova)