Sorrows of Satan: Walthamstow, 2025
Jake sat in the half-light of his tower block flat in Walthamstow. November’s chill gnawed at his bones. The heating meter was long spent. Debt letters piled on the floor. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday.
By seven o’clock, he could take the cold no longer. Pulling on a threadbare coat, he went out into the night, walking aimlessly beneath the orange haze of streetlamps. Past the kebab shops, the shuttered high street, and down toward the old cemetery.
Among crooked gravestones, he sat on a bench. The dead, he thought, had it easier. No debts. No hunger. No shame. He whispered: Might as well be six feet under.
But he wasn’t alone.
A man appeared, tall, well-kept, in his fifties perhaps, wearing a fine overcoat that caught the dim light. His bearing was calm, commanding. Not the sort who’d fear knife gangs or desperate muggers. Jake sensed they would not dare approach him.
The stranger sat beside him.
“You look as though the world has stripped you of everything,” he said. His voice was rich, urbane, with a note of pity — or was it amusement?
Jake gave a bitter laugh. “And what if it has?”
“Then perhaps,” the man said, “it is time to consider what you might gain.”
He leaned closer. “All your cares could be gone in one fell swoop. After all, needs must when the Devil drives.”
Jake looked at him sidelong. “You mean a deal? My soul?”
The man smiled thinly. “Not your soul. That is a childish bargain. I speak of a compact. To walk to the crossroads — not to sell yourself, but to discover yourself. To be all that you can be. To become civilised in a world of barbarians.”
The word civilised struck Jake like a blow.
“What do you mean?”
“That ghost in the machine — your emotions, blind, uncontrolled, pulling you this way and that. You think you are alive, but you are only a puppet. The compact is simple: learn to see yourself. To remember yourself. To halt the endless chatter inside your skull. Then you will act with clarity — not with the animal rage and panic that makes most men slaves.”
Jake’s mouth was dry. “And if I succeed?”
“Then wealth and power will follow as shadows follow the body. You will taste the banquet of kings, though you once starved. Yet beware…” The stranger’s eyes burned faintly. “…the feast may corrupt. Gold and flesh are strong wines. Can you drink them and remain sober? Or will you drown?”
He rose, resting a gloved hand on Jake’s shoulder. “That is your test. That is the true bargain.”
And he was gone, footsteps vanishing into the night.
Jake sat among the gravestones, the words echoing. He knew he would go to the crossroads. He would take the compact. The question was no longer if. The question was whether he would become a civilised man — or a beast gorging in the shadows.
“It is not that I tempt you. I merely reveal your own desires. You are already mine, though you know it not.” – Lord Satan, Sorrows of Satan
🔗 Devil’s Pact
🔗 Petition to Lord Satan
🔗 Demon Summoning Ritual
I for one agree with the compact!