Sell Your Soul

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Sell Your Soul | Apple Of Sodom | Black Light | HichHiker

Here's a story for you all to read, but before you do, let me warn you. Some people might consider this disturbing as it deals with issues...well, let's just say youre not gonna find it in your local people magazine.

Also, it's quite long. If you don't have the patience or the time to read it online, you can download it Here , in

By Jane Mitchell

This story has been published in Spaceways Magazine

Martha sat at the computer, ready to explore, Twinkies and coffee arranged behind the keyboard. "Soul music," she typed at the prompt. The search engine thought for a bit then presented its page of hits.

SOUL brothers: Black chat group, Malcolm X, Million Man March ...

Michael's Shoe Repair, Boston: Heels, SOULS, tips done while you wait...

Saunders, Harry: Ray Charles, The Duke, Motown, Vinyl finds. My home page really has SOUL ...

Sell Your SOUL: What does your evil little heart desire? We can provide it. All we ask for is your SOUL ...

Martha grinned and clicked the hypertext for Sell Your Soul. The site fulfilled her expectations. Lurid red headings dripped down a black background. The usual leering gargoyles graced the corners of the page. Every lover of gothic seemed to relish the same graphics package.

What do you desire? Sell Your Soul Inc. can provide it. We only ask one thing in return. Your soul. And since you're not using it anyway, no problem, right? Just fill out your desires, name and E-mail address below.

Martha laughed then scanned the headings down the left side of the page before moving the pointer and clicking on "Members."

Charlie Manson. Assistant Deputy.

Anti-Christ division.

Dr. Simon Walters. Veterinarian.

Hurting tiny furry animals division.

Jeffrey Dahmer. Retired Head.

Tasty human grisly bits division.

Martha grinned at the black humour and clicked on "Mail Bag."

Genghis: So now I'm an associate, who can I hurt? I want to hurt. Oh, thanks for the cherry coke.

Answer: Your instructions are in the mail.

Terry Wappel: I have not sold my soul and I don't think it's a funny joke. Remove my name from your junky list immediately.

Answer: You were a referral. Live with it.

A Christian: Give up evil. Accept Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior now.

Answer: Arghh! They found us.

Martha laughed out loud. She returned to the home page, entered her name and address then paused for a moment in thought before she typed, "Lose weight, a tall, dark, handsome man, " in the box under Desires. A brief wave of superstition engulfed her. No, she couldn't really sell her soul. Her ridiculous Christian school education nudged again. She pressed enter and sent the message on its way. Break time had ended, Martha bookmarked the site for a later return and resumed her work as a cataloger for a consortium that maintained a single on-line catalog for a thousand libraries throughout North America.

The computer beeped then displayed, "You have a message from selsoul.org.com." Martha clicked on her mail icon and laughed as the screen filled with an elaborately bordered certificate.

SELL YOUR SOUL INC.

This certificate confirms that Martha Reimer has sold her soul in return for weight loss and a tall, dark, handsome man. She is confirmed as an associate, Terror division. This agreement cannot be revoked.

Martha startled as the printer hummed. A hard copy of the certificate swished into the tray. The gold and black borders and the elaborate red writing created a work of art."This is a keepie," thought Martha as she propped it between her tiny speakers and the edge of the computer cabinet and returned to the merging of the multiple library entries for "A Philosophy of Hell."

The street lamp outside her apartment was shining behind the front curtains by the time Martha signed off from work. She remained the consortium's most productive cataloger, each day piling up enough corrected records to pay for her apartment, a few necessities, and her access to the internet. They had given her the computer and its peripherals. Working at home, she wanted for nothing. A socialist in her chat group had told Martha that the consortium exploited her, just like the old days when sweatshops used to cheat the women who sewed piecework at home. Martha laughed him off. She had a Master of Library Science, no one exploited highly educated workers.

Martha's stomach clenched with hunger. A canned corn beef sandwich cut the pangs while she waited for the microwave to heat two Jamaican patties. The half liter of ice cream for dessert made her feel guilty, but she hadn't eaten since the morning. A snack of carrot cake, her only vegetable, and the ever present cup of coffee nestled behind the computer's keyboard as she clicked the bookmark for Eastern Seaboard Friends and entered the chat room.

"Welcome Trix!" read the screen as the automated attendant noted the pseudonym that protected Martha's anonymity and logged her on.

"Hi, Trix," repeated several different people with names as varied as Flame, Lillith, and Oz. The chat began.

Flame: How's the frozen north?

Trix: Fine. The sun shone.

Oz: I've just come from a swim in the sea. Though it's a bit chilly here in Melbourne. In the 60s.

Lillith: "Oh, I feel so bad for you. Not!"

Automated attendant: Welcome Luc!

Trix: Hi. Luc. Tell us about yourself.

Luc: This seems like a good group. My other chat's been invaded by people who want to cybermate all the time. I wouldn't mind but none of them can spell tongue.

Oz: Yeah and have you noticed? All the women's eyes are green

Lillith: And the men. Everyone of them nine inches. ;) ;)

Luc: Trix and Lillith, you are so cruel. I love it.

Flame: So what do you do? Where are you from?

Luc: I'm a repo man.

Flame: A repo man?

Luc: Yeah. I repossess when people stop paying the price.

Trix: Oh, like cars, furniture, stuff like that. I saw a show about it. It can get pretty hairy, eh?

Luc: Yeah. Sometimes. You have to be quick and quiet.

Oz: Are you watching Rev. White tonight, Trix? Give me the blow by blow.

Martha clicked her TV icon and a small window opened in a corner of her screen. Inside it, Reverend White, the local community channel tele-evangelist, reached his sermon. His face reddened as he exploded into a righteous tirade.

Trix: He's ranting on about the evils of the internet again.

Oz: Hurrah. What's he say?

Trix: It's the work of the Devil. Kiddy porn all over it. Terrorists making bombs. Christian hate literature.

Flame: And don't forget the Sistine Chapel site. Naked baby angels all over.

Trix: Yeah. He would hate the site I found today. Sell your Soul.

Luc: I know that site. *LOL* But you've got to like black humor. Say Trix would you like to talk privately? I like your style. I'm tall, dark and handsome.

Flame: Oh my. Go for it, Trix. She doesn't get out much, Luc.

Trix: Blush. I hope you don't go in for misspelled tongues.

Luc: Not at all. I just want to chat and get to know you. Like going out for coffee. I have a room in Chat Hotel. Thirteenth floor, number 6. And it will only open for Trix tonight, if anyone else is getting ideas. I'm gone. *Poof*

Trix: Bye, talk later.

Lillith: Yeah, give us the gory details.

Martha had never visited the Chat Hotel. Her sex life, cyber and real, added up to zero and her long dead mother had drummed into her that masturbation and its feelings came from the Devil. Martha felt a little guilty as she located the virtual hotel in the midst of a list that included cockroach killers and exotic travel destinations. The Chat Hotel home page showed a luxurious lobby complete with bell hops and manager. Luc had said he only wanted to talk. Besides he didn't know her real identity, everything was pretend. She picked out floor 13, number 6 from the list, clicked her mouse and waited until the blurred colours of the screen shimmered and cleared into a picture of a cozy living room. A message appeared in the middle of the screen.

A plug-in is necessary to fully appreciate the audio and video of this site.

Do you wish to download the file?

Martha pressed "yes" and another message appeared.

There is a possible security hazard here. Audio/video d mk-666 is unknown. You should be aware that any file you download from the network could contain malicious program code (applications) or scripting languages (documents). Simply viewing the contents could be dangerous.

Take precautions: Do not download anything from a site you do not trust.

"Yeah, yeah," thought Martha. The consortium panicked at any hint that a virus might invade their catalog. She clicked "continue". The messages disappeared. The pendulum in the virtual room's grandfather clock began to tick. Flames flared up in the fireplace. A black cat settled on the braided rug, twitching the end of its tail as it examined the fire.

"What do you think? You're the first person I've shown this to." The warm male voice purring from the speakers made Martha jump but she couldn't miss the eagerness for approval in it. Aretha Franklin wailed softly in the background.

"It's fine. I like your music," said Martha. "Can you hear me or do I have to type?"

"I can hear you. I call this my home page away from home. Point where you'd like to sit. There's the chesterfield, a seat and a rocking chair for those who like to rock." The rocking chair began to glide back and forth.

"You watched The Friendly Giant when you were a kid?" asked Martha.

"Didn't everyone?" Luc's voice held a smile. "I loved Jerome."

A carved door creaked on the left side of the room. An animated figure of a tall jeans-clad man with a black pony tail walked through and into the room. He waved stiffly at her and a cartoon twinkle flashed from his green eyes.

"That's you?" laughed Martha. "Are your eyes really green or is this a Chat Hotel thing?"

"Yes. That's me. But don't think I'm going to tell you how big I am in the penis department," said Luc. Martha giggled. "Now describe what you look like then click where you'd like to sit. Go on."

"I have mouse brown hair and gray eyes," Martha paused. "And I'm fat. Do you mind?"

"No. Why should I mind? You sound like a lovely person. It doesn't matter to me."

Martha clicked on the couch. A young woman with long shining brown hair and a Venus de Milo figure appeared and sat down. She wore pants and a T-shirt identical to Marthas, only they fit better.

"Is that you, Trix?" asked Luc.

"Dreams have a way of becoming reality," he replied. "I'm sipping on a cup of coffee, how about you?" A laden tray appeared in front of the animated Trix and she picked up a cup.

"Just a minute. I'll get fresh from the kitchen." Martha hurried and poured herself another coffee then rushed back to the screen. The animated characters were busy sipping and chatting. The real Luc and Martha also spent a long time talking. Later, Martha realized he had revealed little, but she had told him all about herself.

"See you tomorrow night?" asked Luc. "Take a walk and tell me what you see. I want to know all about Canada."

__________________________________

Morning arrived. For the first time in a long time, Martha pulled open the front curtains. The tree shading her upper floor apartment, blazed with autumn. She tugged up the window and a crisp breeze rippled through the room. Martha decided to take Luc's advice.

Weeks had passed since she had last ventured outside. Her small freezer, packaged milk, deliveries and take-out helped make visits to the supermarket a rare humiliating chore. Martha thought the other shoppers examined her body then passed judgment on each of her purchases. She hoped no young boys would taunt today. Fortunately, school had begun, the street was deserted.

Martha shuffled through fallen leaves. Red, gold, orange. She bent and gathered a bouquet. The sun shone, the sky radiated autumn blue. A black squirrel ran up a tree. The brick houses presented a quiet solidarity to the day, the green painted porches concealing their secrets of plastic tricycles, full recycle boxes, and sagging couches. A tiny girl waved to her. Martha surprised herself and waved back.

The street ended in a busy thoroughfare. Martha turned left and walked past more houses, a synagogue and a medical building. She arrived at her destination, the local corner store. A bell tinkled as she went in. The shelves were crowded with all the necessities -- deodorant, garbage bags, soup, magazines, birthday cards. The synagogue's influence filled the front corner with kosher goods. Martha sent them a superstitious glance, her fundamentalist upbringing having left her wary of foods stamped sacred by another religion. She pushed her way to the small vegetable cooler at the back, unsure why she wanted to visit it. Unlike most corner stores, the lettuce, carrots and spring onions looked fresh. The loose Macintosh apples tempted, fall crisp. The local tomatoes glowed like rubies. Martha craved them. She gathered some of each and brought them to the front.

A kerchiefed woman rang up the purchases. Her small son peeked around her skirt and glanced shyly up at Martha. He stared at the leaves and in a moment of impulse, she handed them to him. He examined them with wonder.

"Say thank-you, Jakob," said his mother. Jakob stared round-eyed instead and she explained, "He's shy. Thank you. He loves leaves."

"You're welcome," smiled Martha. "He's a lovely boy."

"Yes. But too shy." Jakob's mother returned the smile. "Have a nice day."

The moment she returned to the apartment, Martha built a huge salad and devoured it. A bomb going off wouldn't have stopped her, her body corrected for the malnutrition of the obese. Dumping the empty plate into the sink, Martha grabbed one of the apples and her coffee, placed them behind the keyboard and started work rejuvenated.

Night fell. Martha popped into room number 6. The animated Trix came through the door and sat on the couch. Trix turned and watched Luc enter.

"How's it going?" asked Martha.

"Great. Only a few repossessions. And you came back." Virtual Luc's smile lit up his handsome face. "Tell me. Did you go for a walk?"

"Yes. It was wonderful. I'd forgotten how beautiful the fall can be," enthused Martha. She told him all about her day.

"That sounds so beautiful. Just like you."

The animated characters kissed. Martha could have sworn she felt it, right down to the pit of her stomach. Her imagination ran away with her.

"Hey," she protested.

"What? You didn't like it?" worried Luc.

"You're a little fast."

"It's not real," he pointed out. "We didn't really kiss. It's just pretend. Like going to a racy movie or reading a spicy bodice ripper. There's no harm. Even married people have cybersex with someone else. A little fun. Nobody's hurt. You can't get pregnant or AIDS."

"Well, O.K. But go slow. I'm a virgin," smiled Martha.

"You're thirty. It's about time, don't you think? Lean back, listen to me. Watch Luc and Trix. It's easy. My hands are your hands. Relax. I'm stroking your hair. Kissing your neck. Hug me."

Martha leaned back in her chair and watched the two characters embrace. She felt silly stroking her own head and laughed.

"That's good. See it's a laugh," said Luc. "What're you doing to me?"

Martha reached out to the screen. "I'm touching your face. Don't you ever shave?"

"Yes, I shave. Now I feel dumb. Stroking my own face. I'm going to kiss you again. And don't worry, in my mind, the word tongue's spelled right." Luc's words made Martha grin. His voice turned warm, seductive, hypnotic. "We kiss, tongue to tongue. You're relaxed. You're very relaxed. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice. I'm kissing your neck. Now I'm slowly opening your blouse, button by button...."

Martha closed her eyes. She felt him. Her hands became his hands. He kissed her, breathed above her. She felt his arms around her, her skin became his skin. She lost her virginity to him. It didn't hurt a bit.

"So how do you feel?" Luc asked as the characters on the screen dressed and tidied themselves up. Martha realized she had pulled off her clothes in the throw of passion. She blushed, glad the curtains were closed, and pulled on her pants then buttoned up her shirt. Thank goodness he couldn't see her real, ugly body.

"I'm so relaxed. I can't believe I never did this before," she said.

"Great. Because I'd like to cybermate with you."

"Now. Come with me. I'm going to show you some great sites."

"No. I want you all to myself. Click on the icon."

An icon shaped like one of the corner store's marvelous Macintosh apples appeared in the upper right hand of the screen. A snake curled around it and winked. Martha laughed and clicked. Luc danced her across cyberspace. They visited jazz sites with clear crystal music and checked out a Supremes home page He introduced her to new singers, showing Martha how to talk and listen to the ghosts of Janis Joplin and Kurt Cobain. They played a complete game of the unreleased Doom IV. Martha slumped exhausted in her chair by the time they said good-bye. She could barely crawl to bed. The noon sun poured down before she woke.

___________________________________

Luc swept her away. All fall Martha walked, then jogged in order to gather conversation for him. She ate more fruit and vegetables from the corner store and filled up on grilled chicken and fish. Her weight slid off, her energy grew. Luc built her self esteem. When he whispered that they would soon meet and make real love, she anticipated instead of dreading. With the time spent with Luc -- he would appear whenever she decided to visit room 6 and she visited often -- her work for the consortium began to slip.

Winter, late arriving, drifted down from a snow laden sky. Soft flakes brushed Martha's cheeks as she jogged, reminding her of Luc's touch. She could swear she felt him when they made cyberlove. The synagogue loomed ahead of her. Martha shuddered and crossed to the other side of the street to pass it. Luc had shown her the sites about the Jews.

It had amazed her, the information on the internet. No wonder the government and big business wanted to censor it, even shut it down. A shadowy world wide conspiracy existed that wanted to control her whole life and the Jews pulled the strings. The internet stopped them with the truth.

Luc had shown her such startling revisions as "Did Six Million Really Die?" Learned academics, published in the familiar sounding periodical, The Journal for Historical Review, pointed out how the Allies in World War II made up stories about human fat being used for soap as part of propaganda used to discredit Germany. An engineer had examined Auschwitz and pronounced the showers fake. Sure many had died, that was war. The Jews had blown things out of proportion to obtain Israel.

Martha believed every word. She had learned about the evil ways of other religions in Christian school. The Jews had murdered Jesus, they could stoop low.

Luc found lists of Fortune 500 companies owned by Jews. They controlled Hollywood and the media. Reverend White was right. Steven Spielberg, Metro Goldwyn Mayer. No wonder so many movies spoke against Christianity. Luc pointed out pro-Israel articles in the Globe and Mail and the New York Times that proved the Jews placed their propaganda everywhere.

Martha knew the truth of it. When she had attended the University of Toronto, classes were canceled and exams rearranged so the smart, rich Jews could celebrate their holidays. They had Christmas and Easter on top of it. Everyone catered to the loud mouths in their expensive fur coats.

The synagogue behind her, Martha recrossed the street and jogged up to the corner store. Jakob struggled to lift a medium sized snow ball onto the top of the large one sitting in front of the store.

"Can I help?" smiled Martha.

"Mama had to go in," he noted.

Glancing in the shop window, Martha saw Jakob's mother busy with several customers. Martha picked up the snow ball and placed it, then rolled another for the head and secured it to the top. Jakob handed her two radishes for the eyes and stones for the mouth. She wound an old wool scarf around the neck.

"No," said Jakob. He made long motions down his chest. "Tallith."

"Oh. You want the scarf unwound?" asked Martha. Jakob nodded.

She placed so it hung over the snow man's shoulders, then picked up a battered cap lying in the snow and perched it on top of the head.

"There," she pronounced.

Jacob smiled with satisfaction. He pointed to the snowman then to an upper window containing a brass, eight-branched candelabrum.

"Shh. Papa studying," he said solemnly.

"O.K. I'll be quiet when I go in," smiled Martha.

She entered the store, bought her usual things, then decided on a few carrots. Jakob's mother greeted her as placed her purchases on the counter.

"You're looking nice. Maybe too skinny," she grinned.

"Thanks." replied Martha. "Jakob's sure getting over his shyness."

"Yes, we send him to the preschool. And he likes you. Thanks for helping him with his snowman. I get busy. Have a nice day."

"I like him too. You have a good day. Don't work too hard."

Jakob's mother laughed. "I always work too hard. That's life without money."

Outside, Martha drew one of the carrots from her bag and stuck it in the snowman to create a nose.

"Now he's done," she said.

Jakob grinned up at her. As her reward, he drew something precious from the pocket of his snowsuit and showed it to her. It was a shiny loonie dollar.

"My present for first night," he told her.

"Aren't you a lucky boy," smiled Martha. "Don't lose it. That's a lot of money you've got there." She patted his head then pulled his wool toque down below his ears. "Bye bye."

Back at the apartment, Martha sat down at the computer and logged on to work.The message that appeared shocked her.

Due to downsizing, we no longer require your services. A reference letter will be supplied on request. Good luck in your future endeavors.

Martha stared at the message with horror, then rushed weeping to Luc's room.

"I'm fired," she cried. Virtual Luc hugged a sobbing virtual Trix.

"It's not unexpected as far as I'm concerned," he said. "They exploited you. And why not? You know, of course, that Jews run the consortium. Your job's gone to one of their relatives."

"Those dirty Jews," muttered Martha.

"Why don't you show them whose boss? Shake them up a bit?" suggested Luc. "I know where you can find bomb making instructions on the net. A small explosion at the synagogue would show them."

"Not enough to hurt anybody. And you can phone to clear the building. Just enough to scare them into rethinking things. It's happening all over the continent. Brave people getting back at them for their lies and manipulation. Why should they take your job?" Luc's words dripped like hypnotizing honey.

"I've done it. A couple of times. Got some of them to give up their control and leave town. It's exciting. The Jew police didn't catch me."

"You have?" Martha took a leap of faith. "O.K."

Luc showed her the site. Using special passwords, they passed by the Soldiers for Hire home page with its bomb making instructions and mercenary want ads and into a paramilitary catalog store. Luc ordered everything she needed.

An overnight courier brought the package, though according to the instructions she had downloaded from the site, everything could have been purchased at local stores. Martha assembled the pipe bomb, her excitement growing.

"You're a woman. They don't think much of women, Trix," said Luc. "And they don't think of them as dangerous. Just walk in as if you own the place. The synagogue'll be empty. Place the package at the front. A small explosion near their Holy Scrolls will get their attention."

Martha shook with excitement as she placed the bomb in a shopping bag. The late morning shone crisp and clear. She sauntered down to the synagogue, sure everyone in the passing vehicles stared at her. A few empty cars huddled in the synagogue lot. Perhaps she should return later. Luc seemed to whisper encouragement in her ear. Martha found a side door and slipped in. The long hall echoed with her footsteps. She entered the vestibule. A faint sound of music and clapping wafted from a room on the other side. She eased through the heavy doors and into the sanctuary before someone came. Gloom steeped the place, the only light coming from high windows and a stained glass Star of David placed above the entrance. She could feel the evil. Martha lost her courage. She dropped the package beside the doors and rushed out. Twenty minutes before detonation.

Martha walked to the corner store, hoping no one noticed her nervousness. She entered a nearby phone booth, found a quarter and lifted the receiver. A tremendous bang rent the air. The booth shook with the explosion. Martha covered her head as glass shattered. She heard screaming and realized she heard her own voice.

Martha stumbled from the broken booth. Smoke billowed from the crushed remains of the synagogue. Jakob's mother rushed from the store as fire trucks and police shrieked by. She stood stunned for a moment, taking in the destruction.

"Jakob, Jakob," she screamed and tore down the street; no coat, no boots, the minding of the store forgotten. Martha rushed behind her, heedless of the blood dripping down her jacket. Something had gone wrong. The bomb couldn't have caused this destruction.

Stunned men and women, some covered in soot and blood, tried to storm the building but the police held them back. Jakob's mother dashed to the ruin, a quick cop pulled her away.

"My son, my son. He's in the preschool," she sobbed. "I have to get to him."

"They're getting them out as quick as they can," soothed the officer as he held her.

A blanket appeared from somewhere and was placed over her shivering shoulders. Time slowed into a nightmare. Smoke and ashes seared Martha's throat. Water from hoses whooshed up to kill the spreading flames. Stunned firefighters carried out one tiny body after another as the paramedics rushed forward. Occasionally hope soared with the cry, "Here's a live one." Jakob's limp body was lifted from the ruins. His mother ran to him as the ambulance attendant checked the vital signs.

"I'm sorry, " he said. "There's nothing I can do."

Jakob's mother clutched her son, keening, "No, no. He's my only child. Oh, God. Why always us?" She stared up into Martha's stricken face. "Why? Why would someone do this? What monster?"

Martha fled. She rushed into the apartment and stabbed at the computer keyboard until she entered Luc's room.

"You lied to me!" she shrieked. "The bomb killed babies. It killed Jakob. There's no bad people there."

"But I'm the Father of Lies. Surely you knew. I gave you my real name," smirked Luc, his voice warm butter. " Luc, Lucifer. Who'd you think you sold your soul to?"

"What! That was just a joke."

"You tricked me." Martha grabbed the certificate from the side of the computer and ripped it into a thousand fluttering pieces.

"Trix are for kids," sighed Luc, imitating the children's cereal commercial. "Oh my. A repossession. Martha, Martha, I had such hopes for you."

A buzzing of flies filled the room. On the screen, Trix screamed, raising her hands in defense as a black cloud smothered her. Luc's handsome leering face dominated the screen. It swirled into a black red vortex of death, Trix writhing and distorting down to the center.

Something hurt in Martha's lungs. She couldn't breath. The buzzing filled her ears. Red darkness engulfed her. Martha slid onto the floor, her bones imitating an inmate of Buchenwald as her body folded into a foetus of death.

The computer quietly turned itself off.

_______________________________________

Flame, in reality a sometimes lonely housewife in Sacramento, hadn't thought about Trix for a long time. Strange how close people could become on the net, then one day they find another chat room and are never heard from again. Trix could be lying dead somewhere and she would never know. Flame remembered the humorous site Trix had mentioned. Sell Your Soul she called it. Flame located the site. The list of members made her laugh too.

Charles Manson, Assistant Head

Anti-Christ division.

Dr. Simon Walters. Veterinarian

Hurting tiny furry animals division

Martha Reimer. Retired associate

Blowing up little kids division

Flame chuckled to herself. She returned to the home page and typed in her name and E-mail address. Flame thought a bit. She loved her husband but sometimes he got on her nerves. A bit of harmless revenge. Under "Desires" she put, "Death of lug of a husband with a large insurance settlement." Her toddler woke from her nap with a screaming fit, demanding attention. Flame added, " And the kids, too."

She laughed and pressed enter.