Short Stories

Trick of the Devil

      He watched the wind curl over the fresh snow, breath fogging up the window. Snowflakes collected on the windowsill, piling into a mound of delicate flakes glittering in the light from his office. The sky was darkening with the thickness of gray lying heavily between the frigid earth and the warm sun. Cold seeped through the glass, making his hands tremble despite their shelter in warm pockets.

     He turned away, closing his eyes. His vision for his rule had finally taken root. By the time the sun came out again, he would rule in absolute power. He would be king of these rich lands, all because of his dream.

      He rested a hand against the glass, seeing himself in the dim reflection. His blue eyes, so keen in their vision, stared back at him. His hair was still slicked back from the formal meeting, and he raked a hand through it to pull it back into its messy position. His smirk, so confident as always, was fading from his lips.

      He would inevitably rule. He would have legions of knights at his command, sprawling lands for his kingdom, more power than any mortal man had ever had before him. His dream, his vision, was to become a reality. He would thrive, the smartest, the richest, and the strongest. The kingdom had fallen into his hands as easily as the snowflakes outside fell to earth. So why did it leave him cold?

     He turned away, rubbing his trembling hands together to warm them. He blew on them, warm breath sweeping away the icy cold. But only for a moment. It returned, as swift and chilling as before.

     Stumbling to the side, his white hands collided with the surface of his desk. He braced himself against it, closing his eyes to block out his vision. His dream was like the breath of warmth upon a cold heart. No matter how many times he breathed on his hands, they would become cold again. They would never be warm.

      His vision, coming together now so perfectly, left him cold. Any happiness it had once brought was gone now, like a foggy breath in the chilly, night air. He pressed a hand against his forehead, shaking his head slowly. Nothing he had achieved, no amount of power, riches, or respect had stayed his insatiable greed for long.

     So sure had he been that achieving his dream, his vision of splendor, would satisfy him. That maybe, once he ruled, he could be happy. But this greed was clutching him tight, constricting around his heart and keeping it in shadow. This pain was a curse he had brought upon himself.

     He opened his eyes with a defeated sigh, turning to face the window again. His body stiffened and his heart rose into his throat as every muscle in his body tensed in fear. A creature was staring at him, head listed to one side.

     The monster was not in his office, rather a mere reflection in the frosty window. The frost was melting, dripping down the glass as the hideous creature watched him.

     Its scaled skin glowed red, horns curling from its oddly shaped head. Black hair was scattered between the horns, falling into eyes burning so bright it was as if a fire resided inside them. A twisted mouth, cracked and dry, was curved upward in a wicked smile. Only its head and shoulders were visible in the glass reflection.

     "You are searching for happiness?" The voice of the monster was as hideous and grotesque as its appearance, cracked and gravelly. It echoed oddly around the room, leaving a hint of malice underlying the tone.

      "The demons are upon me!" the man groaned, clutching at his head, fingers jerking painfully at his dark hair. His body was shaking as he fell back against the wall, hands clasped over his face as he shook his head violently from side to side.

     "I am not here to harm you," the creature said in a low voice, extending a grotesque hand towards him. "I am here to grant your wish."

     The fingers parted in front of his eyes. "You are a demon."