Out_of_the_Devil_39_s_Cauldron

eat. People whispered in the background as we walked in, and the smell of liquor hung heavy in the
atmosphere. My mind was running at 90 miles an hour. Joe turned to me and smiled. “Wow, the place
is packed with beautiful women, just the way I like it.”
I smiled back.
We danced with the most beautiful women in the club, and I could sense the presence of the
spirits looking around, trying to target someone I could speak to—someone I could do a reading with
—but to my surprise there was no one there. I found that to be odd, but I kept dancing the night away
with different women and making new friends. As the music wound down and the bartender yelled out
“last call for alcohol” I went across the dance floor and told Joe it was time to go.
“Already?” he said in a drunken slur. “I’m just getting to know Wanda here.”
“Now!” I snapped, not even looking at the girl. “Let’s get out of here.” Anger simmered in my
chest at the night’s failed mission.
To my surprise, when we stepped out of the club one of the spirits whispered, “Look to your
right.” There sat a panhandler in a wheelchair, begging for money outside the club. I fixed my eyes on
him and went straight at him, knowing he was going to be my prey for the night. I was half demonpossessed
when I got up to where he sat—no longer me.
“Do you want to make a bet?” I said, a sneer spreading across my face.
Surprised, the panhandler remained silent and glanced from me to Joe to see what was up.
“Hey, come on, bro, leave him alone,” Joe said, nudging me with his arm.
I shook him off and glared at the man in the wheelchair. “I said do you want to make a bet?
I’m willing to bet the money I have left in my pocket to the money you have in that pathetic paper cup.
That’s a whole night’s take, isn’t it?” I added with a sinister grin.
“What are we betting on?” the panhandler asked.
My smile froze. “Your life.”
He gave a nervous laugh. “The bet is on.”
“Good,” I said. “I can tell you your whole life story in ten minutes and how you ended up in
that wheelchair. Are you up for the challenge?”
The man shrugged. “I got nothing to lose.”
“Only your soul,” I murmured. “Tonight’s your lucky night.” As I went on to describe his life,
I could see that I was breaking him bit by bit spiritually. What started with a chuckle and a smile
ended up in tears and sorrow. I knew I had him just where I wanted him—to the point that I tried to
force him off the chair and make him walk, even though he was paralyzed.
“Stand up, you lousy beggar! Stand up and face me down like a man!” I shouted.
The panhandler crumpled over in his wheelchair and covered his face with his hands, his sobs
escaping into the now-silent night.
Joe stood by with a blank look on his face. I knew that as soon as I was done with this man he
was destined for hell. As I won the bet and left him sobbing in a pool of tears, I took his cup full of
change and threw it into the street.
Before I turned to leave, I leaned over the man and said in a low voice, “You’re a waste of a
life on Planet Earth. Nobody loves you. Why don’t you do yourself a favor and die?”
“Now it’s time to go,” I said to Joe, jerking my head in the direction we should walk. I could
hear his voice cracking as he tried to speak up, like he had a knot in his throat. All that came out was
“John, John . . .”