Interest Payment

Flash Fiction

There was a showering knock on my black apartment door on the 2nd of November in Detroit. I gingerly opened it though I knew who it probably was. Against the brow leafless crab apple trees in the twilight was my black-suited landlord his eyes a fire. Almost foreshadowing was the white glow of a star, I think it was Aquila.

I gulped. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, oh tenant. It is one day late on your daily rent. And with the last Council meeting, there are no extensions by law. I have come to collect.”

Shivering I asked: “You might have called. Could you give me a couple of days?”

His broad top hat gleamed. “Why certainly, just sign right here. The will be a slight remuneration for my trouble.” He held up an old paper and an eagle-quilled pen. The was a slight smell of brimstone. I signed hurriedly not reading the finest of fine print.

The next day I walked out and was slammed by a truck. On the ground, I opened up my eyes and saw death’s angel beckoning me. I moved and saw below my corpse - with a cheque in hand for the rent with interest as I had agreed. It clawed out the last bit of savings.

Now I am paying the cost. The devil always gets what people ask for in writing, with interest. In payments due to death, in the heat of the night.