To Sup With The Devil

                         By Myron I. Scholnick

               Henry and George were spending a friendly
            evening together, talking pleasantly over their
            wine glasses--about a very unpleasant subject!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             January 1954
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The two men sat across from each other in soft leather chairs. Flames
from the fireplace before them licked upward and shadows danced on
walls and ceiling. The corners were in complete darkness.

"I say, George, this wine is exceedingly good," one of the men poured
rich red liquid from a large decanter into his goblet.

"Yes, Henry, it's quite good. Much better than brandy," answered
George, swallowing hard and rolling his head.

"Yes, yes," said Henry, sighing deeply, his lips and chin stained from
the beverage. "Yes. Yes. Nothing like good wine. Nothing like it."

"As I was saying," smiled George.

"Oh yes," Henry nodded, setting his goblet on the table and leaning
forward in his seat. "Do continue with your story. You were telling me
about how you met the Devil last week, and had an interesting chat with
him." He winked mischievously.

George shook his head vigorously. "And I most certainly did. Yes. Met
the Devil and had an enjoyable chat. He's a splendid chap, you know.
Not at all like those pictures you see of him. No horns or red monkey
outfit. He dresses most conservatively; wears a black suit. And he has
nice gray hair." George patted his head. "Nice gray hair."

Henry poured himself another cup of wine and sipped it slowly. "But
what did you talk about? I mean you have nothing in common at all."

"Oh no?" George shrugged. "But we do. We have much in common. I admire
the Devil and told him so. And he said that he would be glad to have me
come and work for him."

"Work for him?"

"Yes. He wants me to go with him to his headquarters."

"But his headquarters are in ... a ... well you know."

"I know, but I still want to go. He said he would make me a demon or a
ghoul or something."

"Horrid, don't you think?"

"No, not at all." George gulped down the last of his wine. "Quite
pleasant if I may say so. Quite a change from the market and
speculation and," he snorted loudly, "those damn commodities that I
lost so heavily on yesterday. No, I think I'd enjoy seeing things as a
demon or a ghoul or something."

"What do you see?"

"Oh you know. Graveyards, coffins and corpses...."

Henry laughed. "Oh, that's amusing. Most amusing."

George smiled tightly. "And you see the dead in Hell, the fire and
brimstone, and you hear their cries of anguish and it's quite pleasant."

"Then why don't you go with the Devil and be done with it?"

"But I am going to go, Henry."

"Then go!"

"But I must do something first. It's a sort of qualification."

"Yes?"

"I must kill someone."

"But that's most naughty, old boy, isn't it?"

"Not when you have a good reason."

       *       *       *       *       *

Henry held up the decanter and looked at the small amount of wine that
was left. He shook his head sadly. "But who's going to be your victim?"

"You," answered George.

"Me?" said Henry, smiling.

"Yes, you."

"Are you mad?"

"No."

Henry stopped smiling and his face grew a trifle pale. He suddenly had
the sickening feeling that George wasn't kidding him any more. "But why
me?"

George pulled a small revolver from his breast pocket. "I have it from
what I believe to be a thoroughly reliable source that while I was out
of town last week you were out with my wife."

Henry's jaw dropped. "Why that's absurd!"

George pulled back the safety catch on his gun. "I heard you were out
with my wife in a parked car on a dark and lonely road. I heard you
were doing things with my wife in a parked car on a dark and lonely
road."

Sweat glistened on Henry's forehead. "Me out with your wife? That's
preposterous! And you know it! Now put down that gun! Do you hear me?
Put it down!"

"No, I don't hear you," smiled George, pulling the trigger. "I don't
hear you at all."

A small hole appeared between Henry's eyes and he slipped from his
chair to the floor. What was left of his goblet of wine spilled on his
shirt front.

George looked at his dead friend for a moment then pocketed his gun.
"How did I do?" he called out to a dark corner of the room.

A tall, heavy-set man in a black suit stepped out of the darkness,
walking towards the fireplace. His silver hair sparkled in the dancing
light. "Fine, my friend, fine."

George sighed contentedly. "And now you'll let me go with you?"

"Now I'll let you come with me to Hell," said the Devil. "And I'll make
you a demon or a ghoul," he grinned, "or something."

George was breathing heavily and the nostrils of his thin nose were
quivering. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

The Devil smiled. "There is no hurry my friend. Calm yourself. Here,
let us drink some wine." He picked up the decanter and poured what was
left into two cups. He handed one to George.

"To our future," said the Devil, drinking quickly.

"To our future," said George, sipping the wine, looking a bit perplexed.

The Devil's eyes bored into George. "What is wrong, my friend? You look
puzzled."

"Well, I was just wondering," said George. "You know, just aimlessly
wondering."

"What about?" asked the Devil.

"Well, I guess I shouldn't ask, but ... but Henry was such a good
friend ... are you positive that you saw my wife with him in that
parked car last week?"

The devil shrugged, a shrewd grin pulling at his lips. "I could be
wrong about that. You'd never forgive yourself, would you? Wouldn't
that be Hell!"

And George, realizing suddenly for the first time that it was, screamed
long and--heatedly.