Flash Fiction Spooktacular

The Rising Sun - Valerie Michelle

The Rising Sun

[Based on the iconic song The Devil Went Down To Georgia by Charlie Daniels.]

"Music succeeds when all else fails."

That is what my mother, the nurse, used to say before heading into a double shift at the hospital. She insisted on those extra hours, which afforded my string lessons. She said I had a God-given talent not to take for granted. Mama always wanted me to believe in the power of music.

She was right. Though, I doubt my talent could ever be considered godly now.

I met the Devil in 1979 when he came to Athens, Georgia. He appeared from behind the steam of the last train in the cool, damp night air. One could have thought he was just a handsome salesman, but hints of a lurking evil set my teeth on edge right away. Pointed fingernails, unnatural height, two lumps poking up from underneath his cap, and… dark red pupils, which he used to see through me. Past my battered clothing and weary expression to my quick.

Upon noticing me, he bowed. "Mr. Withers."

From forty feet away, he whispered into my ear as if standing right beside me. And my surname? His omniscience went against the laws of man. In these ways, I knew him. The devil is in the details, as they say.

A plodding on the wooden platform drowned distant train whistles as he strode towards me, singling me out and anchoring my feet with lead. No prey had ever felt so caught as I.

Clump. Clump.

Clump. Clump.

Clump. Clump.

No being should make this sound, this raucous of… hooves on wood. Then, it occurred to me to glance down, away from the unblinking red eyes. Indeed, the satyr walked on cloven feet.

The thuds grew louder and quicker with each step until his approach overshadowed even the thumping of my own heart. I say overshadowed because, although it was nightfall, the air dimmed in his presence. I feared filling my lungs with it might blacken them forever. Not that I could have managed much reassuring breath if I tried.

More whispers came, though now a hot breath and wet fog on my face accompanied them. "Listen here, my boy."

He confided his troubles to me, though I was just a scared boy of seventeen. Tormented souls fueled Hell, essentially keeping the lights on. Yet, he was way behind on his quota, and was looking for souls to steal. Apparently, he thought mine was ripe for the taking.

The crimson magna in his eyes glowed when he sized me up. "I'd be willing to make you a deal."

He waited for my reply, but I couldn't find my voice through the fog of terror.

The gravel of his hoarse voice grated as rough as the pavement beneath my tattered shoes. "You're sawing on your fiddle in front of a desolate train station, preying on the pity of strangers to toss a few dollars into your case. The stink of your desperation is… mouth watering. I would enjoy devouring your soul."

A shiver traveled my spine as The Dark Hunter licked his lips with a forked, serpentine tongue. I should have run. I knew that much. My feet still did not.

Instead, with a choked syllable, I invited him to continue. He hopped onto a nearby hickory stump by the station's platform with the glee and agility no figure of the underworld should possess.

"You may not know this," he hissed, "but I'm a fiddle player, too. I'll bet a fiddle of solid gold against your soul."

"W-why? C-ca-can't you just t-ta-take it from m-me?" I stammered.

His Royal Heinous gave a flippant shrug, unnerving me more than if he had been the ferocious, horned beast one expected.

"A soul must be given willingly. I am a grand negotiator, but with you… Boy, you're one rock from bottom." He taunted. "I believe I recognize a gambler when I see one."

He was right in guessing I was at the end of my rope. My mother was dying, and I needed a way to pay for her cancer treatment. She was the only family I had ever known. I was willing to lose anything but her. Surely, a golden instrument would suffice in payment, and then some.

He picked lint off my thread-bare coat, then returned his devilish grin to me. “Besides, your talent is unique. I’ve waited millennia for a battle such as this. Someone who might have the skill to play at my level. We’ll see. You may still disappoint.”

I was also a headstrong teenage boy. As such, I yearned to wipe that smug grin from his satanic face. Over the years, I lost count of the times my fingers bled from practice. The most skilled maestros of America labeled me a prodigy. I only paused in my training when my mother fell ill. So, I knew in my heart I had more than a fair chance of winning, and I agreed to his wager.

"Alright, Johnny, I'll start this show."

Yes, Johnny… That used to be my name. Before the music. Back when there was someone left to use it.

The assault on my ears began when his long, yellowed nails screeched against the polycarbonate of his case as he fetched the instrument. He stoked the flames of Hell with his appetite regularly, but somehow his molten core did not damage the gilded fiddle. Not even when flames shot from his fingertips at the first evil hiss of his bow across the strings.

The intensity of his rhythm changed the natural beating of my own heart. I feared it would go on forever. A demonic pied piper, hastening my eternal torment. Clutching my chest, I screamed for him to stop playing. Though, my wails only widened his grin.

While he played on, the darkness of the night strengthened into an inky black of moving shadows. The men and women who previously waited at the train station had disappeared. Perhaps they were distant ghosts of my own imagining. Now, his servants of Hell swirled all around me, yet vanished before they met my eyeline. An optical trick to invade my grip on reality. Then the band of cloaked demons joined him until the crescendo nearly smothered all hope from the world.

Nearly.

But the Devil's power was limited. It serves us right for our folly of arrogance as a species. Only a human could condemn all of humanity. A foolhardy one named Johnny, to be precise.

I was still panting when the song stopped, and my chest ached from the lingering pain of the tempo. The Devil towered over my thin frame as he dared me to take my turn. I approached his scorched stump of a bandstand, and I swallowed my nerves.

I tried to feign a confidence I no longer felt. "You're pretty good, ol' son. Now, take a seat while I show you how it's done."

I played the song of my life with unfathomable speed and accuracy. An irresponsible pride enveloped me as I watched Satan's red eyes reflect awe and admiration. It is that very hubris - the worst of the deadly sins - that delivered his deal. For whilst I played my fiddle, the Devil was playing me.

The Essence of Nightmares lowered his head in defeat and laid the golden fiddle on the ground before me. He cast his eyes down as he requested, "Play again with your new reward. I'd love to hear it on such a scale as this."

My glittering prize was indeed an exquisite instrument. One I could not refuse - to the woe of all mankind.

First, I rosined up its perfect bow. The heft of solid metal was surprisingly light against my shoulder. I beamed with self satisfaction at having won against such a loathsome adversary. I wanted my song to sound like a victory. Loud enough my mother might hear it from her hospital bed and rejoice in what was to come. So, I played. And the echo of the first note echoed over the whole world.

As a boy, I was told a trumpet would harken the end of everything. Never a violin. Yet, one unfortunate note began the soundtrack of the falling.

With the second, fire spread from the far-off mountains. A wild, fel-fire unlike any other flew swiftly, extinguishing all life in its path.

I imagined my mother calling to me as I played. Run, boy! Run!

Yet, there was no escape from the flames. No water or dust thick enough to quench its thirst. It was a rising sun on the horizon that left nothing but ash and death in its wake.

I wanted to stop. With all my heart, I yearned to still my arms and nimble fingers from playing the cursed thing. Again, I could hear my mother's shrill voice in the back of my head. No, child! No!

It was no use. The song continued, playing of its own accord, making me more the instrument than the fiddle. A puppet to the ultimate, dark master. I knew there was no return from my mistake the way you know when you trip that you will crack on impact. I knew I had doomed the world. The only thing louder than my song was the Devil laughing as the world burned down all around us.

I won the deal for my soul and the precious golden fiddle. In doing so, I helped him capture all the rest on Earth.

That night in the deep south, the sun rose and the Devil got his due.

***

By Valerie Michelle

Other titles by this author include: The Luna’s Alliance (Dreame)

Cabin Affairs (Dreame)

Cabin Affairs: Revisited (Dreame)

Join us at Valerie Michelle’s Reading Group on Fac.eb.ook.