I tried to move back, but his grip was a steel vice.

The man on the motorcycle watched, an amused glint in his eyes.

The homeless man's face twisted unnaturally, stretching too wide, his lips curling back to reveal teeth that looked sharper than they should. A tremor ran through his body, a jerking shiver that rippled under his layers of filthy clothes. I froze, every instinct screaming to move, but I couldn’t look away.

His head snapped violently to one side, then the other, a jarring, mechanical motion, as if his neck had come unhinged. The sound it made—a wet, grinding pop—set my teeth on edge. Then his eyes shifted, the whites disappearing in an instant, replaced by a void of endless black. No iris. No pupil. Just a hollow abyss staring back at me.

The grotesque smile stretched further, the skin at the corners of his mouth cracking, beads of blood welling up and mixing with the grime on his face. He leaned in, stepping closer with a slow, deliberate motion. His voice, when it came, was a whisper, soft but razor-sharp, slicing through the ambient noise of the city like it was meant only for me.

“Jaaaack… Oh dear, Jackie boy…” He licked his lips, savoring every syllable, and I could feel my hand moving toward my gun, an instinct more than a choice. But I didn’t draw it. Something told me that wouldn't be the right move. Not yet.

I wrenched myself back the moment his grip slackened, slipping free with a sharp jolt that left my skin crawling where his hand had been

People walked by, heads tilted down, collars pulled tight against the soot-choked air. No one stopped, no one looked. A few glanced sideways, but their eyes skittered away like they were afraid to truly see.

“I know you?” I managed, my throat dry.

He giggled—a high, twisted sound that curdled blood. “I know you…” he echoed, drawing the words out, tasting them. “But do you know me? Hmm?” He leaned in, his breath rancid. “Look into my eyes.”

I didn’t want to, but something pulled me in, and the second I did, the world fell away. All I felt was despair—cold, gnawing hopelessness, and a sick pleasure underneath it. Pain, death, everything I tried to bury, laid bare.

“Now you’re getting it.” He twitched again, his grin widening.

“The Devil?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“In the flesh.” He spread his arms and spun on his heel, his filthy coat twirling around him, rags flaring out like some twisted parody of elegance. “I do love the crazy ones. Best place to hide. No one looks too closely. No one wants to see. Makes it easier to feed… to twist them in their dreams. Delicious, really. Your kind—you have all the wrong answers to all the wrong questions. Utterly delicious.”

“What do you want?” I said, my voice barely holding steady.

He paused, his eyes wide, a mock expression of shock crossing his features. “Want? Me?” He pointed to himself, offended. “Oh no, no, no. I don’t want anything. But you do.” He grinned, and it was the kind of smile that you only see in nightmares.

“From you?” I scoffed, taking a half-step back. “I’d just as soon want you to get the hell away from me.”

He chuckled, a low, grating sound. "Fitting choice of words." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a sly whisper. "Oh, I know. You're not ready yet, my sweet... But you will be." He spoke faster now, sharper. "Sooner than you think."

“I solve my own problems.” I tried to sound firm, even as the darkness from his gaze clawed at the edge of my vision.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Yes… I'm afraid that's true." He spoke then in a singsong—"But that's not the favor you'll be asking.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You here to stop me? Interfere?”

His eyes widened dramatically, one hand flying to his chest as though I’d just delivered a mortal insult. With theatrical flair, he traced a cross over himself, murmuring, “Dios mío, que Dios me perdone.” Then his lips curled into a mocking grin. “Interfere? In the affairs of men and mortals? That would break all the rules!” His laughter rolled out, deep and resonant, sending an icy shiver down my spine. “I believe in rules, Jack. Breaking them would be so… uncivilized. Your little quest? Your petty squabbles? No, no, no. They don't concern me.”

“Listen, pal, it’s been a long week, and I really don’t have time for this. So, if you wouldn’t mind, get the hell out of my sight before I lose what's left of my patience."

The man on the motorcycle leaned forward, his presence radiating quiet menace. The Devil’s head snapped toward him, his lips curling back in a sharp hiss, a sound like steam escaping a boiling kettle. But when he turned back to me, his expression shifted—a soft, hollow laugh escaped him, empty of humor but full of something far darker.

“Oh, Jackie boy.” He smiled wider, leaning closer. “Time is all any of us have.” He winked, and then, suddenly, the madness was gone. The homeless man blinked, his eyes normal again, his face slack, confused. He looked around, almost lost, before wandering back to his spot, shouting once more about the end of days.

I stood there, the city noise rushing back in, and my body felt numb again, cold—not because I was scared, but because I pray, deep down, that he wasn't right.

The man on the motorcycle across the street watched me, a wide sneer spreading across his face. He took one last bite of his sandwich, then tossed the rest at the feet of the confused homeless man. He climbed onto his bike, the engine roaring to life. As he drove off, I caught a glimpse of his license plate.

"HORSE2"

Figures.

A few minutes later, Al finally pulled up. "You look like a bag of shit that just ate another bag of shit." He said through the open window.

"You're late."

"You're ugly, and smell worse… but you don't hear me complaining." I got in the car.