The Ghastling - Book One

T H E DEV I L invited me over for tea: English Breakfast, Earl Grey or Chai.

French Fancy? He asked.

Just the one.

I wondered how his collection of souls was coming along.

He grinned and showed me his favourites.

Very impressive.

He gave me one to take home as a memento.

A precious little thing.

Cries if I forget to tuck it in at night.

Laughs if I tell it a funny story.

So simple. So human.

I suppose that’s the attraction for him.

His house was full of them.

Gathering dust on mantelpieces, stacked up in corners like old newspapers, filed away in countless collations of creaking red leather.

The best ones he had displayed in a glass cabinet, specially lit to show off their most attractive features.

This one here, he said, is yours.

He wouldn’t let me take it away with me.

But he didn’t want me to leave empty handed either.

So he gave me someone else’s.

They won’t miss it, he said.