Peter's Soul

 

The door was thick, four or five inches perhaps and made from iron. It felt very warm, hot even, hand hot, you could touch it but you wouldn’t want to lean against it. 

 

Peter knocked but his feeble fingers barely produced a sound. He put his face up to the little square grate in the middle. It reminded him of a medieval door or the door of a prison cell. He couldn’t see much, some dead plants in the dusty soil and a red sky. He craned his neck to the left, to the right, then something caught his eye. A short bald man in nothing but a loincloth, tubby and glistening with sweat.

 

‘Hey, hey there…hey you!’

 

The man ignored him and carried on doing whatever he was doing. It looked like he was moving metal prods from one basket to another, inspecting the tips as if checking for sharpness.

 

‘Excuse me,’ Peter shouted.

 

The man strode over and put his face right up to the grate, his breath smelled of menthol chewing gum. ‘What do you want?’

 

‘I want to buy my soul back,’

 

‘You what?’

 

Peter coughed, ‘My soul. I sold my soul some years back and I’ve come to buy it back….if that’s possible. I’ve brought cash.’

 

‘The big man’s not here I’m afraid. He’s taken the day off to go hang gliding, check on the competition.’

 

‘Oh,’ Peter was deflated, ‘but I’ve come all this way and I’m so hot. Is there anyone else that can help me?’

 

The bald man looked back towards a fire that was burning some distance behind him. ‘Lucy might be around, that’s his daughter, she’s just having her lunch, faggots, she’s probably finished now. I’ll go and check.’

 

Peter watched him walk away, clutching one of the metal prods. A minute later he returned with a young woman, no more than twenty years old, in a red dress with thick, black liner framing her eyes.

 

‘I’ll take it from here, Tony. Can you take those prods down to the chamber please, tie them up with the gut string.’ She put her head up to the grate. ‘Hiya, can I help?’ she said coldly.

 

‘I..I’ve come to buy back my soul, you see,’ Peter said, trying his best to sound confident. ‘Some years ago I sold my soul to the devil, your father and now I’ve changed my mind and my entire reason for living and I really need it back.’

 

‘We don’t normally do that,’ Lucy shrugged, ‘to be honest, people don’t ask for it. Once they’ve sold it, they just adapt to not having it and enjoy their lives,’ She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if addressing herself, ‘we don’t normally have no complaints.’

 

‘I know,’ Peter begged, ‘but please, I’ve been having a terrible time and I just want to go back, back to how things were, before I lost my way.’

 

Lucy laughed. ‘I don’t know if we can. Daddy’s not here but if you want to come in, I can take you to where they’re stored. I warn you it’s bloody hot back here though. You might want to take all your clothes off. You can pop them here.’

 

‘No,’ Peter shook his head, ‘no, I think I’ll keep them on, thank you…thank you.’

 

She unbolted the door and held it back as he stepped in, tentatively. There was a part of him that wondered if this was final and he’d never get out again as the door banged shut but he considered it a risk worth taking. ‘Follow me,’ she said and he walked behind her, along a corridor of boulders, down some stone steps. ‘Watch yourself here.’ Two large mastiffs stood up from their sleep and began barking. ‘Sshsh, you two, for god’s sake!’

 

Lucy sat down in front of a computer and typed in some passwords. ‘So what’s your name and when did you sell your soul, what did you get for it and did you sell it willingly?’

 

‘It’s Peter, Peter Marshall and erm…’ he began pacing up and down, remembering details, ‘I suppose it started when I began my job, I was in sales. I was on big money, commission, I started lying to people, taking bribes, that sort of thing, I was done for drunk driving, then I had an affair with my colleague, a younger woman, Sharon. I left my wife and I stupidly moved in with her…’

 

‘Children?’

 

‘Yes, two. I see them every month..and on their birthdays. Oh, and I take them to Disneyland every year.’

 

Lucy snorted. ‘What else you done, bad I mean? You look like you’ve had a hair transplant..’

 

‘Yes, yes, that was my girlfriend, she told me I’d look better with hair.’

 

‘That’s not hair though is it, it’s black pepper. I bet you’ve got a fancy car with a personalised number plate,’

 

‘Yes, yes I have.’

 

‘How’s your speeding? What lies have you told? Do you always pay your ex-wife for the kids things?’ Lucy was typing details into the computer, ‘Do you want her back, is that it? Are you having regrets now?’

 

‘Yes! I just want to go back to who I was, before I met Sharon, the woman at work, she’s led me astray. I used to be a family man, now I hardly see my kids. I want my wife back.’

 

‘What’s she doing now, moved on has she?’

 

‘Yes,’ Peter lifted his clenched fist up to his face, ‘she’s met someone else and apparently he’s a very good man, he’s a teacher and the kids love him, he’s a good cook and a Scout leader and he does charity stuff and sponsors homeless people and..’

 

‘Oh what’s his name, when was he born?’

 

‘He’s called Steve Berry and he’s forty seven.’

 

Lucy typed the details in and tapped her long fingernails on the table while the page loaded, then put her face up to the screen. ‘His soul looks very interesting, immaculate in fact. I’m sure Daddy will be interested in securing it for his collection but Steve doesn’t look the type to give it up without a fight does he..’

 

‘What about mine? I used to go to Sunday school. I got married in a church and Wendy, that’s my wife, she was so good to me, we had everything. If only I could get my soul back, I might be able to make things go back to how they once were.’

 

‘That Steve though, he looks like a really good sort, more Wendy’s type, you know.’

 

‘I,’ Peter raised his voice, ‘I was her type, before I was led astray by temptation, that Sharon, she prayed upon me and your father, he just kept..dangling things in front of me.’

 

‘Material things, trinkets, shallow hits and cheap thrills, yes,’ Lucy laughed, ‘he does that and it’s amazing how many people fall for it.’

 

‘So then, my soul. Do you think I can get it back? I’ve brought money. I’m willing to sell everything. I’m so unhappy these days. All the stuff I have, cars, clothes, holidays, restaurants, Sharon and her jewellery and sexual aberrations..’

 

‘Don’t wanna know, Peter.’ Lucy held up her hand and pulled a disgusted face. ‘Sounds like you’ve been a dick, led by your dick. Happens all the time but most men don’t go back.’

 

‘I’m lonely. Sharon is cheating on me now. I’ve lost everything. If I could get my soul back, I know things will improve.’

 

Lucy opened a drawer in her desk and removed a bunch of keys. ‘You know, it’s possible that Daddy’s eaten it, he does that sometimes.’ She unlocked a cupboard and took out a couple of jars and held one up in front of Peter. ‘Does that look like yours?’

 

Peter leant in and looked through the glass. ‘Looks all bent out of shape,’ he said.

 

Lucy tutted. ‘This one?’ 

 

‘No…no,’ Peter stepped back, ‘they’re not mine. I don’t feel any affinity with either of them.’

 

‘We’ve got some templates, you know, blank souls. I could sell you one but you’d have to start from scratch and at your age, you’d struggle to reach average, even if you work on yourself every day, doing good deeds, no violence, no thinking bad of people, no drink, drugs, affairs, etcetera.’

 

‘I don’t want a template, I want my original soul back.’

 

‘Look to be honest, Peter, we don’t keep them all. Some of them perish, they go off, Daddy eats them or feeds them to his dogs, sometimes they just change shape in storage. You sold it so you have no claim, we’re not pawnbrokers. It was a deal, you got what you wanted at the time, temptation got the better of you and you gave up your soul. Like I said, most people just move on and get worse, then they come here at the end.’

 

Peter wiped the sweat from his brow as a tear formed in the corner of his eye. ‘Okay, ‘he nodded, ‘well I suppose it was a long shot.’

 

‘Look, take one of the templates, free of charge. I’ll get Tony to show you the way out and Peter?’

 

‘What?’

 

‘I’m impressed that you’re trying. We don’t see that much here. I’ll tell Daddy to speak to the other side, you know, where the angels live, put in a good word for you, they’re much more forgiving up there. You never know, you might not end up here after all

 

‘Thank you,’ Peter nodded, ‘thanks Lucy.’

 

Tony appeared, holding one of his prods. The mastiffs sat up and barked again. ‘Shsh you two, back in your beds!’ The smell of menthol from his breath was rather cooling. ‘This way Sir please. You must leave now or you’ll start to look like me. Have you got a jacket somewhere? You’ll feel the chill once you get outside that door.’