Happy Friday everyone! Hope everyone’s 2024 is off to a good start so far. Here’s a little story I wrote called At the Crossroads. Hope you like it!

At the Crossroads by Adam Wright

It was midnight when Jasper McPheerson got to the crossroads, his guitar strapped across his back. 

He had a bag of ingredients with him. The sack was small. It fit in the palm of his hand. He looked at the full moon.

Slowly, he untied the string on the bag. He picked up the feather and blew it into the wind. He pinched the strands of hair between his fingers and gently dropped them to the ground. With the pocket knife he sliced deep enough into his palm to draw a few drops of blood and placed his hand directly in the center of the crossroads. Finally, he lit a small candle with his Zippo lighter and sat cross legged. 

Jasper closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He recited the chant. It had taken him months to learn enough Latin to be able to pronounce all the words. It had taken even longer to recite it from memory with no pauses, interruptions, or mistakes. Now he knew it as well as he knew the pledge of allegiance. 

 After the chant was finished, Jasper expected something to happen. He listened to the wind and waited. He heard the sound of crickets and waited. He smelled the fresh cut grass and the stench of residual oil hanging in the air and he continued to wait. Keeping his eyes closed, he fought to stay awake. His pulse slowed and he caught his head drooping a time or two.

The smells around him started to change. Instead of grass he smelled sulfur. Instead of crickets he heard the sound of crackling flames and felt the heat of a campfire all too close to him.

Jasper opened his eyes. Before him stood a man in a pair of old blue jeans, a dark leather overcoat, and a wide brimmed black hat. The man’s eyes glowed with a fiery red light. The man was thin and his face was gaunt. When he spoke to Jasper the voice sounded like the hum of electricity running through a high voltage wire.

“Not this horse shit again. I suppose you want something from me?”

Jasper found his mouth was dry and when he spoke it came out as a thin whisper.

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“On with it then, what do you want? You’ve got me trapped here until we make a deal. For both our sakes, and to keep me from boredom, make it a good one.”

“Famous. A famous musician. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

The man cocked his head to the side as if in thought. He scratched at his chin and Jasper saw razor sharp black nails.

“Fifteen thousand, four hundred and seven.” The man’s voice crackled once again.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s the exact number of times someone has asked me to make them a famous musician. You do a thing once and it never ends. I have immense power at my fingertips. Are you sure you don’t want something else? It’s not very original.”

Jasper stood up and stepped closer.

“Please, sir. Like I said, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. There’s nothing else for me.”

“Can’t you reconsider? I mean, you could be rich and not famous. Or, hell, here’s an idea, ask me to stop world hunger. You never know, maybe I could do it. No one’s asked. Maybe the reason you want fame is to meet women. I can do that for you also. But really, this whole devil down in Georgia at the crossroads thing is just a trope. Can’t you be more creative?”

Jasper took his guitar off his shoulder and grabbed a pick from his pocket. He started the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin. The man grabbed Jasper’s wrist. His hand was like a hot coal on Jasper’s skin.

“No need for that, son. I’ve heard that song plenty. I can see your mind is made up. You know what you’ll owe me?”

Jasper swallowed.

“My soul.”

The man nodded. He then spit into his hand and extended it toward Jasper. Jasper did the same and they shook.

“Well, that’s it I guess. I’ll be seeing you soon. Enjoy your fame.”

The man faded into haze until Jasper saw a blinding white light. He heard the sound of a horn blaring. Before he knew what was happening, two tons of steel collided with Jasper and he was no more than a streak on the pavement.

The next day the headline that made Jasper famous read:

MUSICIAN STRUCK BY PRESIDENTIAL MOTORCADE AT MIDNIGHT IN GEORGIA