A demon’s dwelling was easily found if one walked in a crooked line down a back alley at twilight, desperately wishing there was a restroom nearby (one should drink lots of water before attempting this, in order to be as genuine as possible). Lo, a restroom door would appear, and inside the cramped stall (this one was made of wood, like an outhouse, for the aesthetics), one would find a demon.

This demon was lounging about, clearly drunk, with a magazine over his face (possibly to hide his tears – he was a morose drunk). Niphidron, the demon-seeker, coughed importantly.

“Let me guess,” the demon droned, not even twitching, “you’ll give your soul to save your family blah blah blah. Boring.”

“Incorrect. I don’t want you to just save my family. I want you to save the world,” Niphidron announced very importantly.

The demon sat up, laughing. The magazine fell to the floor to join its brethren, a brightly colored papery sea of tabloid aisle garbage proclaiming fake cures for real depression.

“Another one of those delusional do-gooders, huh? Think their one pitiful soul is enough for me to save all of humanity. Ridiculous.”

“I have a contract.”

Niphidron unrolled the contract very gracefully; it was filled with neatly typed paragraphs and sub-clauses. It was many pages long. The demon, understandably, froze in surprise. In fact, his jaw didn’t even move when he asked, “A what now?”

“A contract. All the things I’ll give you for all the things you’ll do for me and all the things we’re not allowed to do to each other.”

“Right. Heaven help you if a demon takes liberties.” (Demons did tend to take them – which was why one must be very careful when making a deal with a demon).

The demon dragged himself up from his lounging-throne (the toilet) and sauntered over with the grace of someone who could probably saunter very well when not piss drunk (which the demon was). He snapped and with a flash of light, the contract burned up.

“Hmm, how about no contract, and I give you your heart’s deepest desire in exchange for a bite of said tender heart?”

He leaned obscenely close to Niphidron and breathed deep, as if smelling for his deepest desire (demons could, in fact, smell desire. They were not, however, talented enough to smell what exactly those desires were).

“Nonsense, like I said: I already know what I want, I have a contract.” Niphidron, being quite a bit magic, snapped another contract into being.

“You’re magic! Haven’t tasted one of you lot in a while.”

The demon looked very hungry and was very, very close. His nose rested just a whisper away from the skin on Niphidron’s neck.

“The contract?” Niphidron waved it around importantly, undeterred by having a demon very eager to smell him and taste him.

“Bully the contract.” (He reached for it anyway).

The contract, some 312 pages, was very heavy.

“Cor, how long is this thing?”

“I’ve thought of practically every scenario and left out practically no details.”

“I can see that.” The demon flipped through it, shrugged. “Got a pen on you?”

“You shouldn’t sign contracts you haven’t read; it’ll get you into all sorts of trouble.”

“I can tell you’re going to get me into all sorts of trouble,” the demon said, delighted, “I’m looking forward to it.”