The Death of Stingy Jack

The ominous man remained quiet while his client inspected the contract, not knowing that the man spent less time reading and more time conversing with the voice inside himself. In the corner of the client’s vision, the man swung his jaw to the side and smirked, but the two of them knew he hid nothing.

This was not a trick. The conditions were clear on the page; everything Jack ever wished for in exchange for his very soul. Every time he reached for his quill set aside in ink, he hesitated. In the confines of his mind, he heard his mother’s voice, scolding… She always scolded him for his “reckless” and “careless” nature, but Jack always found himself silently disagreeing to the titles. He always knew exactly what he was getting himself into, if others agreed with it or not. The potential outcomes were always too tempting to resist…

Even now. Even if it seemed unlikely the shady business man was really the devil liked he claimed, was it worth signing his soul away for a lifetime of financial comforts even on paper? In the end, this contract may mean nothing, but…

If he signed it now, would he get the riches that were promised?

His mother’s voice answered. “Don’t throw everything away on a single moment. Don’t be stupid.”

Finally, Jack replied back in the way he learned to. He laughed and picked up the quill.

The dark business man matched his grin and snapped up the contract as soon as the quill fell free. “Thank you so much for your business,” he said, his voice dripping in peppered tone. “The money will be under your name at the bank effective immediately.” The man extended his hand. “And don’t forget what you promised in return.”

Something about the way he finished his statement made Jack’s heart skip a beat, but he slid his chair back and stood up from the desk to meet the handshake. He offered a polite farewell and marched for the door, ignoring the urge to look back…

***

Out on the streets again, the cold, autumn air caught in Jack’s lungs and he covered his shaky steps by adjusting the woolen scarf closer to his face. Busy citizens of town crossed his path, ignoring or not noticing Jack’s nervous walk.

His pace quickened when he spotted the bank lining ahead. He had to know it wasn’t a joke or a sick twist of his mind. Surely, he wasn’t creative enough to manipulate the shady business man’s deal to reality. Jack may have had a drink or two before the man said he had a solution to his financial woes, but he was still sober enough to slip past the thickening crowd before the street. The footsteps on cobble became indistinguishable from Jack’s own, and bright voices tried to bury and throw him away from his objective, but Jack spent little time on them.

A bell rang as he entered the bank and left the busy street behind the solid door. The building, while solid and welcoming, offered little warmth from the cool autumn air outside, but Jack’s quickened heart flushed enough blood to his face and hands for him to remove his gloves and loosen the scarf in his face. He slapped the wooden counter hard and fast enough that the young banker on the other side jumped. Jack wasted no time to make his first demand. “I need to make a withdrawal.”

The young man cleared his throat and straightened his tie as he recovered from Jack’s haste. He responded politely. “Of course. How much do you need?”

“How much is there?” Jack barked back.

It took the young man but a few seconds to find the amount in the ledger, but for Jack, it took ages. He tap-tapped his fingertips on the wood and bounced to and fro on his legs. When the banker finally gave him the number, Jack sucked in a gasp and barely heard it. What he did hear astonished him to a breath held still. When he began sweating and looking around himself, the banker grew anxious. “Sir?”

But Jack’s responses turned to mumbling and he moved as if to leave to only pace back to the counter. Finally, he held out an open hand. “A hundred. Give me a hundred.”

The young banker blinked and reeled back a step. He began to question the insane man, but decided not to fight it. Instead, he lifted the bills, counted them out, and Jack snatched them inside his coat before the man was fully finished. Then, Jack marched back outside without another word.

With the money firmly in his grip, he nearly collided into a small group visiting on the street. They yelled slurs in his direction while Jack offered quick apologies and redirected away from the businesses. He counted the money many times over and finally gave it a sniff before stuffing it back in his coat. It was real. The thought left him with a spreading grin. The business man in the dark office! The deal was real! With that amount of money in the bank, Jack will never have to worry about about anything ever again! The idea made him laugh aloud.

By the time he got to his front door, he had imagined the perfect early retirement and listed family who deserved a cut and who didn’t. But the house, settled in dust and age away from the busy life outside allowed Jack’s thoughts to fade. With the front door still swinging, only an ominous memory remained. “And don’t forget what you promised in return.” The shady business man… The devil. If the contract was real, then…

Jack paused, his money to his face and too frozen to jump when the door slammed close behind him. Slow for the first time since leaving that office, Jack lowered the money and beheld it in both hands. The paper bills fluttered, its inky tones mixed with the tinge of dust and dirt of his surroundings.

Suddenly, Jack moved through the modest living room, walking past a lonely kitchen and charging into the bathroom where he stopped before the sink. The mirror hanging in front of him showed him the image of a middle-aged man, too busy with ambition and life to settle down and marry. He pried at his wrinkling skin and checked the white around his eyes like he expected to shrivel up into a skeleton then and there.

Jack never suffered the misfortune of bad health during his life, and he never stopped to think when it would. If it would. And if he should spiral now, he had all the money in the world to stop it, but how long can he last, even in good health? Jack wasn’t stupid. Death will come for him. Eventually.

His breathing deathly slow, like each breath cost a year off his life, he exited the bathroom. The brief joy of his great fortune had slid like a momentum, leaving the man seemingly on the opposite side of emotion. Jack meandered idly, allowing his thoughts to whirl in his head until he stopped in front of a shelf between the front door and the fireplace.

The familiar face of his mother looked at him with expectant eyes. Even if she berated his carelessness often, he wished she were here for him now. A hovering grip lowered the money beside the portrait of the woman to then brush over the small necklace of a cross.

Jack never described himself as a religious man despite his dear mother’s beliefs, but the cross beside the image of the wise woman was no greater of a gift than at this very moment.

Because Jack now had an idea to get everything he wanted.

***

He expected a voice to welcome him inside the office, but nothing followed his knocking. Jack tried again, this time pounding on the door harder. Again, no voice answered and the door remained in place. Jack turned his head and scoffed, trying to stifle growing fears in his mind. Now that their deal was made, was the devil gone?

In denial of his fate, Jack twisted the doorknob and found it swinging open. Of course, if the business man really was the devil, then the office may have only been a temporary stage…

Jack sighed and lowered his shoulders, but he still took a step inside. The devil’s desk and chair was still in the exact place, almost as if he never returned to it again after Jack left him. The ink bottle for a quill remained, and a half used candle sat cold on the other side, but the quill and contract were nowhere to be seen. Jack gently pushed the door close behind him to investigate the small office, though he didn’t know what he was looking for.

There was only a single doorway to his side, the angle of which made the room past it too dark to discern. Jack stepped closer, half expecting the strange older figure to be hiding somewhere within. Before his meeting with the self-proclaimed devil, Jack had never seen the inside of this building before, though now he understood it was less of an office and more like a small home. He tried to remember the last time he saw someone using it, if any. But whatever the history, now it was nothing more than a place for the devil to trick a risk-taker into a far-fetched deal.

A clean and mostly empty kitchen greeted him, with space beyond for a dining table, but still he saw no one. Responding with one last defeated sign, Jack turned around and extended his reach for the door.

“I hope you’re not here to argue your part of the contract,” a voice said beside him.

Jack startled to his side, nearly tripping over the desk in the center of the room. The devil, still appearing as a peppered business man in a suit stood unfazed, his face resting in a judging, scowling expression.

Once recovered, Jack covered his chest with a hand and breathed. Where did the man even come from? He didn’t voice the question aloud and instead regained his composure. “Good sir, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack answered instead and lifted his other hand where he was gripping an expensive bottle of wine. At once, the devil’s expression softened. “Because you gave me this fortune, I thought we would share a toast to a good life ahead. What do you say?”

White gloved hands reached for the present and the gray mustache retreated into a pleasant smile. “Oh! Pardon my manners, dear Jack! How kind of you to share your gift. I believe there are some glasses I can collect from the kitchen.”

The devil gave the bottle a good look before taking it to the kitchen. Now that he was distracted, it was time for Jack to get to work. Stepping lightly on the wooden floor to avoid the creaking, Jack edged to the front door and retrieved his knife from the inside pocket of his jacket. As quietly as possible, he etched it into the wood.

By the time sounding footsteps warned of the devil’s return, Jack was standing to the side and ready to face his opponent. With glasses of swirling, sweet red in each hand, the devil returned. He was about to give one to Jack before he saw the etching in the door and stopped. Jack had carved a holy cross into the entire door facing them. The devil responded with a calm voice, but Jack noted the subtle, uneasy change in his eyes. “I see we do have an issue after all.”

Jack took a small step forward, trying to anticipate the demon’s next move. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew it was about to get messy. The man continued speaking with a turn of his head as if he was a parent scolding a disapproving child. “Come on, Jack. We made a deal. You signed on the terms. Why is the monetary comfort not worth it now?”

Jack crept closer. “No, the money’s mine, but so is my soul.”

Slowly, the devil set one glass on the desk and moved to drink from the other one. “And what makes you think you can have both?”

“You don’t have a choice.”

The old man laughed, but anxiety was beginning to creep in his voice. He sipped the wine and nodded as if satisfied and turned his feet towards the kitchen. He was about to say something, but Jack reached him and blocked his path before the devil could escape, making him walk into the man instead. The glass in his hand slipped and shattered all over the floor.

Jack didn’t react to it. He held out the cross around his neck and backed the older man into the desk until he was forced to lean back into the chair. “Listen to me,” Jack demanded with a steady tone. “You’re going to leave the money to me, but you’re also going to waive the terms involving my soul on the contract.”

There was no hiding the devil’s fear now. Perspiration lined his face quicker than seemed normal and he squirmed in the cushioned armchair, trying to move as far away as possible from Jack and his holy symbol. Jack raised his voice to catch his attention. “And you’re going to do it now or I’ll banish you back in the pits of hell where you belong! No more mingling and making deals for souls that aren’t yours!”

Somehow in the midst of panic, the devil found enough fight in him to sneer back in an animal-like manner, his face distorting into something not at all human, but the true, wrinkled face underneath. Jack pressed forward with the cross again, and the devil blocked it with a sleeved arm. He cried as his face, or whatever he hid behind it began to burn. “Fine! Fine! I submit! Put the cross down!”

Jack kept the holy symbol in his hand, but took some steps back. The devil, now back in his familiar disguise relaxed and sat up in the seat. As he smoothed the wrinkles in his suit and dabbed at his face, the contract appeared floating above the desk. It was the same one Jack signed the other day. He could still see his signature at the bottom.

Then, on its own with no hands to touch it, it ripped in half from the top, and the two halves shredded themselves until nothing remained. Jack only had to look at the stern, disappointing face of the business man to know it was done. He put the cross away and turned for the door. “Leave me one last favor,” the voice of the man behind him began. “Don’t come crying to me when you need my help.”

Jack turned to see the devil staring at him with the same angered expression. He wanted to ask why he thought Jack would ever come back to him for anything, but decided to leave the question unasked and left through the door.

***

Jack never saw the business man again for as long as he lived, but the money from their deal remained. With that, Jack retired early. He moved into a nicer home, dressed more formally, and bragged about his riches to anyone who would listen. His neighbors quickly began to roll their eyes as he continued to haggle and trick others, still holding onto a poor man’s habits despite the wealth. In gossip, they named him, “Stingy Jack.”

He swayed friendships and romance with his fortune, but stayed his hand from giving it to who could really use it. Those he surrounded himself with only did it for being near such a “refined, graying man,” and he told no one the truth of where his fortune came from.

But as Jack was about to find out, bragging about riches while hoarding it to yourself often comes at a dangerous cost…

For what seemed an ordinary night on the town, Jack missed the shadows following his every move. Like always, he flaunted a suit more expensive than most homes in the area and wasn’t careful enough to avoid darkened streets. For certain daring youth, the chance to snag at least some of the older man’s fortunes was worth such a risk.

They waited until Jack was alone and away from public eye, then they jumped before him at knife point. At first, they demanded his wallet, but he only fed the fire when he gave in. Then, they wanted more. Demanding his jewelry and expensive coat, they barely waited for an answer before they began taking whatever they could reach. Jack stumbled and fought back, but then a knife plunged in his chest.

The youth took what they could and scattered. In a matter of seconds, Jack was alone again, on his back, and lying in a pool of his spilling blood. His jacket was gone and tears in what remained of his shirt allowed the cold to touch his skin, but the hard cobblestone below him was even colder.

Time passed. If it was hours or minutes, he couldn’t be for sure, but his vision grew darker and his breathing more shallow until the darkness took him. Last he knew, he could hear muffled voices from a street far away, and he wondered how long it would be until someone should find him. Finally, even that faded away.

Drifting like in a restful sleep, Jack floated in a realm without senses until curiosity drew him to explore. When his mind drew awareness, Jack opened his eyes.

The cold around him was gone, and the stone he lied on was replaced with something cushioned. Did someone find him and tend to his wounds? He sat up, feeling lighter than ever. The knife and blood pouring from his chest was gone, but so were the streets of his hometown.

Instead, he stood in a foggy grove. Besides the dark trees encircling him stood a very fine iron gate several feet above his head. Nothing about this place was familiar to him and he couldn’t see anything of interest beyond the gate. What exactly would be it protecting here?

His fingers closed around the fence. Moisture pressed up around his grip, but the fog seemed thicker beyond it. Jack turned for the gate and thought to try and push it open, but he spotted the thick lock in front as the idea crossed his mind.

“It’s not going to open for you,” said a solemn voice behind him, one he somehow recognized with a spark of fear.

Jack turned around to see the devil, looking just the same as he did many years ago. An understanding beyond him a moment ago dawned before him. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

The devil didn’t answer right away, but strolled closer, his arms behind him in a gentlemanly way. Finally, he gave a short nod and closed his eyes. “I’m afraid your time has come.”

Jack didn’t know what to feel about the response or how to process it. Instead he turned fully toward the man and held his palms at his sides. “What now?”

“That’s a good question, isn’t it? Heaven doesn’t want you, but I can’t take you either.”

Worrying voices whispered their concern in Jack, and his arms began to shiver, but not from the fog. “What..? That-” he pointed a finger at the gate behind him. “That’s heaven? Why isn’t it opening?”

The devil tried to cover the smirk that appeared on his face and folded his arms in front of him when he couldn’t “Well, Jack. You weren’t exactly… Righteous enough, I suppose, but it’s not my place to answer.”

Jack took a second to understand with a tinge of disappointment, but he wasn’t ready to give up. He wanted to clarify the devil’s statement. “But you can’t take me?”

The devil snorted and shook his head. “I can’t take your soul. You forced my hand on that years ago. Remember?”

Jack brushed off the dust on the old memory and scowled. That man was young and foolish back then. Death never crossed his mind. Surely something had to happen that he was here now? “But-” Jack began to ask before the devil shushed him.

The devil, his disguise appearing younger than Jack remembered that day, came closer, his shiny boots made no sound on the fog dusted ground. When he was within an arm’s length, the devil procured something behind his back from nowhere and passed it to Jack’s spirit.

Slowly, Jack reached out before he could make out what it was; an old lantern, a flame already burning inside it. It swung from the handle with a creak when he took it. The orange light licked against the dark frame and Jack studied the curls and wraps in the design before returning his attention to the devil.

But the tricky gentleman had moved yards away, opposite in the direction of Heaven’s Gate. He finally stopped and gave Jack a look over his shoulder. “You’ll need that. It can get dark where you’re going. Anyway, that’s all I can do for you. I’m out!” Before time for a protest, he finished with a quick solute and jumped forward, where he disappeared in the ground under the fog.

It was then when Jack realized there was no ground under the fog… and he fell too.

***

The flickering red of a lamp caressed empty pages.. Unseen fingers grazed the top, feeling nothing. Stuck to endure what remained of the owner’s mind, which, beyond death, somehow churned. Like a wisp past the eye, the figure floated past, slipping through a wall like it wasn’t there.

A puff through set teeth joined the already cold, dark, wind. Not a puff of living. Not a puff of dead. Something in-between. Trapped and cursed to wander where none know better.

The road with no end.

On doorsteps of current humanity, the flickering grins mocked him in crackles of wick against wax. The wall met against a sneer, but the squash didn’t care. The path trails on cold, never meeting substance or emotion. The unknowing kept on in bliss, not caring to stop and wonder what happens when one plays with the devil, or did it even matter to them?

It wasn’t a mistake, no. Mistakes can be forgiven. Chances rise again. Tomorrow always comes. Always dropping fresh anew. Time heals all. For the living, anyway. And for the dead? Well…

The dead tells no tales.

That leaves only Jack. Emotion waited until the sun blended it in the background. Nothing lasts forever, but in a search of legacy, immortality, he took for granted the gift of the cycle. In truth, this is what was asked for, but now, the wish haunted him. That deal, that terrible deal he once celebrated. When Stingy Jack tricked the devil, he stood laughing, but the devil was the one laughing now.

Granted peace, rest, a place in heaven or with the damned, now none remained but the road, his silent companion. At least it had no voice to judge. One with the breath of cold, Jack followed where it blew. Like he always did.

People of the present, he watched with a tang of guilt, bounced with the life he no longer remembered. The young ones especially. They didn’t know the mock faces they wore once carried the memories of the tormented, once herded to this world like a spectacle. Until they disappear with the rising sun.

The figure worked against the wind until he drifted away from the lit street. The Ghost of Stingy Jack would rather pair with the winding road forever, than be reminded again of what he once lost.

End.

(This short story was entered in a contest by Reedsy following the given prompt below;

"Write a story about a character who is haunted by someone or something."

Check out Reedsy Writing Prompts for yourself here: https://reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/)