The lads’ legs autonomously began to move without their own will moving them as if the midget was now in full control of their bodies. They looked at each other with terror in their eyes as they gathered around the dressing table, gripped by an overwhelming sense of doom.

“Forty years ago to this very day, I gave you talentless twats four decades of fame in return for your souls. This document here proves it.”

“No fucking way,” screamed Duckegg.” We didn’t sell our souls to no one,” then Freddy pointed out, “We are naturally talented.”

“Talented,” laughed the Devil. “Fuurrrrck Orrfff. You talentless fuckers couldn’t play music if your souls depended on it. That’s why you sold your souls to me.”

“Oh, Shit”. Screamed the lads in unison.

“Yes, you belong to me. Trevor Deville, the master of darkness and the owner of your souls. This document is signed by yourselves in your blood. The contract is completely legal and binding”.

“Look Trevor,” said Gary in a bewildered tone. “I can’t get my head around this. For the love of God, I can’t remember us selling our souls. This can’t be true”.

Trevor had heard it all before, millions of times with the same old rhetoric. And to be honest with you, he knew it was a waste of time arguing with them, so he clicked his fingers and a set of escalator stairs facing down into the depths of hell magically appeared in the centre of the dressing room. Red hot flames and embers shot up and flickered around them as the stairs began to descend. A strong smell of sulphur and brimstone made the lads feel sick and the moaning and wails of tortured souls hypnotised them towards the top of the stairs.

“Right lads, steady away,” and their legs began to move. They couldn’t stop themselves, the Devil had complete control over them, and they had Royally fucked up.

When all five of them had stepped onto the escalator, the Devil followed them with an evil smile on his face and they began to move downwards to a fate worse than death. No fame and fortune, no coke, no Mozza, and no gorgeous women throwing themselves at them. Just pain, suffering, and torture at the hands of a narcissistic midget with small-man syndrome.

The lads looked to Duckegg for help. Before they became famous, he was an aspiring solicitor, surely he could get them out of this contract.

Duckegg knew he had to do something, so he racked his coke-riddled brain for something, anything... And then it came to him. “I want proof of signing. If we can’t remember signing any document, then you need to give us proof other than just the signatures. Otherwise, how do we know we didn’t sign under duress or you tricked us?”

The Devil began to lose his power over them as they chose to question his authority, and when the escalator stairs stopped moving, the lads saw a glimmer of hope. They were correct of course. They had every right to question the signing and the legality of the document, but the Devil always kept that to himself. So he tried to take their minds away from that and blind them with images relating to the lives they’d lived, to remind them of what had been done for them: the concerts, award ceremonies, multi-platinum selling albums, and of cause the parties.

As the images floated around them, the Midget said, “None of those things would have happened if not for me. It’s time to pay the piper, so shut up bawling I have plans for you fuckers”.

“No way,” said Duckegg. “Give us proof or set us free.”

Trevor gritted his teeth and spit began to run out the corner of his mouth. “Fuck’s sake, okay lads, but you aren’t getting off with it. You belong to me and that’s that.” He flicked his wrist and a blinding flash of light brought them to a camping field that overlooked Stonehenge. It was the summer solstice of 1984, and their ghostly older selves watched on as their younger selves laughed whilst sitting around a campfire, enjoying music at the Stonehenge summer festival. The rock band Hawkwind always headlined this festival and their greatest tune, ‘You Shouldn’t do that’ was being played with absolute perfection and the atmosphere was electric.

It had been a long time since they had laughed like that. It had been a long time since all the lads had loved. And it had been a long time since they had looked like that as well. They were with their girlfriends, and memories came flooding back – not just of that night and of what they were about to be shown, but memories of what they had thrown away.

“You were too fucking skint to pay for tickets anywhere else, so you all came to a free festival”. But the lads weren’t listening they were looking at themselves with their partners, forty years in the past. They fell to their knees at what they were seeing. Not only themselves as young men but with the partners that they had at that time. Long lost and hidden away memories came flooding back, some beautiful, and some not so.

“Take a good look at yourselves,” sniggered the Devil. “Skint and complete nobodies. I gave you everything you desired, and that cannot be denied.”

They were all in the arms of their loved ones, happy, smiling, and enjoying the fantastic show whilst sitting next to a campfire without a care in the world. At that moment, at that time, they were happy, content, and rich, and not one of them realised it. Hawkwind continued playing whilst Freddy had one of his amazing brainwaves. He pulled from his pocket a brown envelope that he’d bought from one of the many stalls that had set up around the huge festival site. Inside the envelope were ten pieces of stamp-sized paper that had been coated with LSD.

“Come on guys, let’s have a laugh.”

Now the lads, being lads, thought this was a great idea, but the girls… well, they didn’t see it as the wisest idea that their beloveds had come up with.

“No way,” said Freddy’s girlfriend, Lara, who’d been strictly brought up by her Christian Baptist parents. Even now at 23 years old, she was expected to be a virgin, which went out the window years ago but her parents still believed that she was a little angel.

Freddy laughed and shook his little brown paper envelope. “Come onnnn,” he teased. “It’ll be the best experience ever. Listen to the music for God’s sake. Feel the atmosphere, Hawkwind playing live and all this energy, come onnnn.” He presented the challenge to her with the mischief of the Devil in his eyes.

None of the girls would agree to it. Duckegg’s girlfriend, 7-up, was bad enough on the gin, so drugs were definitely off the table for her. She just sat there shaking her plump head to say no and found the music to be enough to get her high. “You bunch o’ dicks will have a bad trip, you fuck up everything you touch. It’s up to Duckegg if he wants any, but the music and gin, that’s enough for me.” She swigged from her bottle of liquor and waited patiently to see what Scunthorpe’s wildest would do.

Ina Kowalski, who prided herself on being all spiritual and that, you know the type, aligning chakras and meditating, burning incense, and dancing naked to the moon – reached into her purple velvet handbag and pulled out a set of Tarot cards that had been a gift from her father who had been a Polish RAF pilot in the battle of Britain. They’d been given to him by his Grandmother, an extremely talented Psychic back home in Poland. Before every sortie during the Battle of Britain, he would deal one card to give him insight into the outcome of the battle, and they never lied to him. He passed them onto Ina when she showed signs of his grandmother's talent and she took to it like a duck to water.

She expertly shuffled the cards and the group fell silent. Freddy didn’t believe in any of her so-called talents, claiming her to be a fraud, but everyone else just loved it and sat in excited silence as she produced a one-card deal.

“I will take the top card of the pack, this one card will give you insight into how this idea will manifest, either good or bad.” The lads began giggling like little naughty schoolboys, but the girls were different. Women have an instinct that men just don’t possess and all five of the girls just knew that this wasn’t going to end well.

Ina turned the top card over and everyone leaned forward to see what was revealed, except Andy of cause, he handed the lads the LSD tabs and the boys necked them with a swig from their vodka bottles without the girls seeing.

The Devil card appeared from Ina’s hand and the girls shrank back afraid. They each turned to their respective partners, but too late, the lads had sat back and were now floating their merry way into another world.

Andy had been an explorer of the naughty side of consciousness on quite a few occasions, so a little dabble into something new excited him. After all, he was with his favourite people in the whole wide world, and who else could he enjoy himself with?

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His girlfriend, Sarah, held her head in her hands when Freddy produced the LSD tabs, but she decided that she loved him enough to allow him to make up his mind.

In a matter of minutes, the lads began to enter a different world – one in which the campfire now had purple flames and multi-coloured patterns as their backdrop.

“I’ve got a good fucking idea,” whispered Gary whilst slowly moving his psychedelic arms around that had now mesmerised his huge eyes. “Why don’t we sell our souls to the Devil to get famous? The Rolling Stones have done it. Why can’t we?”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” said Andy. “That’s just a rumour.” He was having a good trip and didn’t want it ruined by somebody’s mad imagination.

“Maybe it’s our only shot, I mean… have you heard their song, ‘Sympathy for the Devil’. That says it all.”

“There is no way that the Stones sold their fucking souls and I’ll prove it,” said Andy. He stood up and faced everyone. “Okay,” he said, whilst stumbling around with a vodka bottle in his hand. He finally found his feet with the light of the campfire illuminating him. “If it is possible to sell your soul for fame and fortune, would every band member here be prepared to do it?”

Mat nodded his hair-covered head in an exciting agreement as if it was something he had been waiting for, for a long time.

“Fuck yeah,” came the response from Gary, Duckegg, and Freddy, with lots of burping and childish giggles.

Andy screamed with laughter and excitement, he couldn’t believe how stupid his mates were. They honestly believed this could be done. He sarcastically swaggered over to the purple bonfire with a vodka bottle in his right hand whilst trying not to laugh and mentally prepared the ridiculous words he was about to utter. He took a large swig from the vodka bottle and spat it out onto the bonfire and the flames erupted.

“Oh Dark Lord of the underworld, present yourself to us tonight so that we, as a band, as a group of friends, can sell you our souls for ultimate fame and fortune.”

Andy fell to the ground after this – not only in fits of laughter – but at how seriously the others had taken it. He took another swig from the bottle and nearly shat his pants at what began to appear within the bonfire. The campfire grew in strength and the flames began to turn from purple into a whirlwind of white-hot flames. Everyone’s eyes now focused on the hypnotic fire as something began to rise out of them, but as it took shape, what they saw was a bespectacled, bowler-hatted Midget in a tailored pinstriped suit.

Once fully formed, he stepped out of the flames clutching a brown leather briefcase, then smirking with an evil smile, he sat down next to Andy.

“Right lads, I understand that you wish to exchange your souls for fame and fortune. I have several deals available at the moment but this is the one that will give you ultimate fame and fortune, you did ask for ultimate fame and fortune, didn’t you?”

Duckegg pissed himself, he didn’t know whether out of fear or excitement, but a stream of urine soaked his jeans and ran over his shoes and collected as a pool underneath him. It was the first time he had done this since the night Freddy had killed his tormentor and abuser at his children’s home and he had gotten rid of his clothes and murder weapon for him.

“Yes, err yes”. Stuttered Andy, flabbergasted.

“Okay then,” replied the midget. “As new customers, I can give you what you all desire. You do all desire this don’t you? I need an answer from each of you before we proceed”.

Mat nodded his head in agreement, and the midget took that as a yes.

Gary took a swig from his vodka bottle when he realised this was real. “Definitely, definitely, fucking definitely.” Came the excited response.

Freddy just knew this was real. He started to get an erection at the thought of what was being proposed and began imagining being in the same league as The Rolling Stones, A Flock of Seagulls and Boney M. It’s not every day that the Devil promises to give you everything you desire, so he was not going to give this chance up. “Count me in,” came his urgent response. “I’m not missing out on this.” His eyes widened with greed as the Devil’s spell began weaving its way through his consciousness.

“Andy,” said the Midget, “you’ve already agreed to this as you’re the one who called me and confirmed your desires, so there’s only one left.”

Everyone simultaneously moved their heads to look at Duckegg. His eyes told a story of fear but also of confused excitement but standing there in a pool of his piss, it didn’t look likely that he would agree to the deal and the Devil began to notice this.

“Just imagine,” said the Devil. “Amazing wealth and fame. Every woman in the world throwing herself at you. You won’t be ridiculed for those fucked-up glasses that you wear, and you won’t be lumbered with the fat heifer of a girlfriend that bangs anybody behind nightclub walls. Come on son, you deserve this. It's either all five of you for the deal or none of you at all. If you don’t sign this parchment then nobody signs. It’s as simple as that.”

The Devil stood there with the rolled-up parchment that could change their lives in his left hand, tapping it into his other hand whilst tapping his foot impatiently. The lads stared at Duckegg desperately egging him on to agree. If he said no, then the deal was scuppered.

“So what do we get if I agree?” said Duckegg reluctantly.

“Now that’s a good question, and I’ll take time to show you the available offers. Offer number one is a five-year, showbiz special. You all get five years of fame and fortune but at the end of the five years, you have a terrible vehicle accident, you all die and your souls belong to me for one hundred years to do with as I see fit but don’t worry, mostly it's just partying in the depths of Hell and after a hundred years you’re free to do as you please. Offer number two is twenty years of fame and fortune, after that twenty years you forfeit your souls for a millennium and work for me reaping souls and shit. It’s all good fun, you’ll love it. Then when the thousand years are up, you can fuck off to whatever you want. However, there is a really good deal on the table at the moment. It doesn’t come up very often, and as you’re new customers, I’m willing to let you have it, but it's only available for the next ten minutes so be quick to make your mind up once I’ve told you what it is. Now, I can give you, the all-you-can-eat can do no wrong, ultimate fame-and-fortune deal that only comes up once every one million customers, so the time to sign is now. With this deal, you will become an overnight rock music sensation, multi-platinum selling albums, thousands of sell-out concerts, and millions of beautiful women begging you for sex. Nothing you will do will be wrong. Everyone will love your antics and you’ll never go to prison for whatever fuckery you get up to, guaranteed. And that deal is for forty years – yes, forty years – of ultimate living, at the bargain price of your souls belonging to me for an eternity. This is the deal that just keeps on giving. This rock-solid golden deal is the best deal I can give you today.”

He rolled out the pre-written contract and laid it out before them. At one time he would have given sixty years of fame and fortune, and I’m sure you know the ones that got that deal, but he kept that to himself and decided to short-change them by twenty years. He had plans for them and needed their souls as quickly as possible.

The Devil eagerly produced a small needle from the breast pocket of his expensive suit and a feather quill appeared by magic for the lads to sign the contract. He could smell it on them, the greed, the expectation of luxury life, the fantasising of beautiful women. Yes, he recognised that smell, and the lads reeked of it.

“All I need is your signatures in your blood and your wish is granted.”

Like five eager puppy dogs desperate to be fed, they rushed towards the Devil and his Hellish contract, stumbling in booze and drug-fuelled stupor, giggling like children, unable to balance never mind comprehending what they were agreeing to. Within ten silly giggling minutes it was done. All five had pricked their fingers to release a drop of blood, and all five had used the feather quill to sign the document.

To be honest, the Devil was quite pleased with himself. Five souls, sold, signed for and all wrapped up in a half-hour. Either he was getting smoother in his sales techniques, or people were getting stupider.

The whole scene around the campfire went into freeze-frame at this point as if someone had pressed pause on an old VHS video recorder. The scene even flickered as if it had been recorded on a cheap quality cassette, not the expensive TDK ones that you bought from Curry’s but the cheap bargain-buy ones you got from Kwik Save that always got wrapped up in the machine.

The Devil decided enough was enough, and as he stood between the freeze-framed younger lads and their now despondent older selves, he said, “You wanted proof. So there you have it!”

Their hearts sank as they realised that without a shadow of a doubt, they were fucked.

“You’ve seen it for yourselves, all recorded just in case, I do like to cover myself, in case fuckers like you wish to be cunts, but as you’ve seen, you now belong to me, so...” He flicked his left wrist and in a flash of blinding white light, they were back on the escalator, descending into Hell as their the fate that now awaited them.

“Hold on a minute,” piped up Duckegg. “You’ve royally fucked up here mate.” The escalator stopped moving again, you see questioning the Devil pays off. “You’ve just gone and shown us, as per your recording of the incident that the contract is null and void.”

“And how do you make that out?” quipped the Devil angrily. “You all signed knowing full well the consequences.”

“But we didn’t though, did we, because we were all under the influence of drink and drugs, and any contract signed under the influence of drink and drugs is Null and Void.”

Freddy had joined Duckegg years ago in the legal firm that he worked for. He quickly realised that he would never be as clever as regards to the law as Duckegg and this was one of those moments that showed why. Of course, it was Null and Void, and his boy had seen it. He turned to Duckegg and kissed his forehead and then punched the air in delight. But the Devil was having none of it.

“Quit your celebrating boys, you’re not getting your souls back ever, you’re stuck here till you give in.”

Their legs wouldn’t move, the escalator wouldn’t move, they were trapped and the Devil knew it.

“Aww bless you, look at the wee lambs all stuck in Limbo forever until I get what I want.”

“It's our legal right to question this contract, is there a Court we can take this to?” asked Duckegg.

“I can cut you a deal lads. It’s like this. If you agree that the contract is legal and binding, I’ll make you my own personal assistants, my flying monkeys if you like. You do my bidding and report back to me on anyone who says nasty things about me or resists my will. You get all expenses paid whilst travelling the world and if you find anyone who wants a deal to sell their souls, you send them my way, and I’ll even let you use my private jet. How’s about that lads, Eh. ? Because if you don’t agree to it, I’ll make sure every single second is spent in excruciating pain and suffering for an eternity. I’ll skin you over and over again. I’ll turn you inside out and feed your innards to my hounds. Now, agree or suffer – it’s as simple as that.”

“Get fucked,” quipped Gary, that contract ‘ain't worth shit. Now, where’s the Court that deals with this bollocks?”