Chapter Six: Welcome home, Caleb.
1505 Words
Caleb woke up to the smell of pizza.
Not a normal pizza smell either — not grease-slick delivery boxes, not frozen cardboard reheated at three a.m., not even Lena’s half-burnt homemade “I followed the recipe, I swear” attempts.
This was perfection.
The kind of smell that made your stomach growl before your brain even caught up. Dough kissed by smoke, cheese melting like sunlight, toppings arranged with the mathematical precision of a god.
He opened his eyes.
There was a steaming, perfectly boxed large pizza sitting on his nightstand.
Caleb sat up so fast he nearly headbutted it. “What the—?”
The box was pristine. No grease stains, no delivery stickers, no receipt shoved under the lid. Just a little embossed symbol on top: a circle with a tiny devil tail curling off the edge.
“Oh, hell no,” Caleb muttered. “Literally hell no.”
But his stomach betrayed him. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday, when Lena had confiscated his “emergency ramen stash” after discovering it was six months expired. His gut groaned like a dying walrus.
One slice wouldn’t hurt.
Caleb flipped the lid. Steam curled upward like incense. He grabbed a slice, strings of cheese stretching like cobwebs, and shoved it in his mouth.
It was heaven.
Or maybe the exact opposite. Either way, it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Every bite sent a warm pulse through his veins. The crust had the crunch of a perfect autumn leaf. The sauce was tangy, sweet, and smoky all at once. He nearly cried into his boxers.
He was halfway through his third slice when he heard it.
A voice.
Not Lena. Not Dev. Not anyone human.
The whisper came from inside his head — no, inside his mouth.
“…hungry…”
Caleb froze, sauce dripping down his chin.
“…feed us…”
He spat the half-chewed bite into his hand like it was poison. The half-mangled pepperoni landed in his palm, and for one horrible second, it twitched.
“NOPE.” Caleb hurled it across the room. It smacked the wall and slid down, leaving a greasy trail.
He wiped his tongue on his bedsheet, gagging.
The pizza box shut itself with a soft click.
“Okay,” Caleb panted, clutching his stomach. “New rule. No eating mystery pizza. Even if it smells like Jesus’s last supper.”
The closet door creaked open.
Caleb flinched, grabbing his guitar stand like a bat. “I swear to God, if that pizza grew legs—”
Dev leaned lazily against the frame, latte in hand, tie crooked like always. His eyes flicked to the closed box on the nightstand.
“Breakfast of champions,” Dev said with a grin. “How’d it taste?”
Caleb pointed the guitar stand at him. “You knew about the voices!”
“Perks come with side effects,” Dev said, strolling in. “Don’t act shocked. Coffee makes you jittery, tequila makes you puke, hell-pizza makes you whisper to yourself in tongues. Price of doing business.”
“Whispers are not a side effect. Whispers are possession!”
Dev sipped his latte. “Possession’s a strong word. Think of it more like… roommates.”
Caleb groaned, collapsing back onto his bed. “I already have roommates. They yell at me enough.”
As if on cue, Lena burst into the room without knocking.
“Roommate meeting. Now.”
Caleb flinched. “Can I not digest first?”
“You don’t digest pizza that talks back,” she snapped. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and she was holding a notebook like it was a weapon. “Sit up. Both of you. I want answers.”
Dev raised his brows. “Ooo, interrogation. Fun.”
“Shut it, latte boy.” Lena pointed at Caleb. “Start talking. What did you sign?”
Caleb wilted. “A lease.”
“No, genius. What did you really sign?”
“…a slightly cursed lease?”
“Try again.”
“…a soul-binding contract written in blood?”
Lena’s eyes widened. “Blood?!”
“It was an accident!” Caleb said quickly. “Paper cut! Totally unintentional! Sharp edges should be illegal!”
Dev chuckled. “Hell’s lawyers disagree.”
Lena rounded on him. “And you. What exactly are you?”
“Tall, dark, sarcastic, irresistible—”
“Demon,” Lena cut him off.
Dev mock-bowed. “Handler. I shepherd little lambs like Caleb through the process. Make sure they don’t faint, cry, or start calling priests too early.”
Caleb muttered, “I’d like the priest option, please.”
“Not on the menu,” Dev said.
Lena paced, fuming. “So let me get this straight. You signed away your soul, you’ve got thirty days to deliver others, and you’re just… casually eating cursed pizza in your room?”
Caleb winced. “When you say it like that, it sounds dumb.”
“It is dumb!”
“I was hungry!”
“Hungry doesn’t excuse damnation!”
Dev clapped once. “Loving the energy, guys. Great sitcom material. But Caleb’s not totally hopeless. He just needs training.”
Lena froze. “Training?”
Dev’s smile widened. “Orientation, let’s call it. Tiny errands. Harmless stuff. Baby steps before he’s ready for the big leagues.”
Caleb sat up, suspicious. “Define harmless.”
“Observations. Practice exercises. Spotting vulnerabilities.”
Lena narrowed her eyes. “You mean teaching him how to trick people into damnation.”
Dev shrugged. “I mean, when you say it like that…”
Caleb groaned. “No way. I can’t even convince a bartender to give me a free refill. You want me to go full demon sales rep?”
“That’s why we start small.” Dev tossed something shiny onto the bed: a little black notebook, its pages blank. “First task. Write down people you meet. Notes. Weaknesses. Fears. Regrets. Think of it like… character study.”
Caleb flipped the book open. It smelled faintly of sulfur and leather. “And then what? I hand you a list of my friends’ insecurities?”
“Exactly.”
Lena snatched the book. “Over my dead body.”
Dev smirked. “Noted. That’s option B.”
“Ha. Ha.” Lena glared. “He’s not doing it.”
Caleb held up his hands. “Honestly, yeah, no thanks. I don’t need extra homework.”
Dev sighed dramatically. “You mortals. Always resistant to self-improvement.”
Lena turned back to Caleb. “See? This is what I mean. You keep pretending it’s fine, but every second you’re sliding deeper into something you can’t crawl out of.”
Caleb rubbed his temples. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“You signed for it!”
“I wanted cheap rent!”
“Newsflash: eternal damnation costs more than $600 a month!”
They might have kept screaming if the apartment hadn’t suddenly gone quiet. Too quiet.
The fridge clicked. The lights dimmed. Even Dev’s latte froze mid-sip, steam curling unnaturally still.
A shadow slid across the living room wall.
Then a figure stepped through the door.
Not the collector from before.
This one was worse.
It wore a perfectly pressed suit, hair slicked back, smile sharp as broken glass. A badge gleamed on its breast pocket: Hell’s Department of Customer Satisfaction.
“Good evening,” it said, voice smooth as oil. “We’re conducting a routine survey.”
Caleb blinked. “A… survey?”
“Yes. Just a few questions to assess your infernal experience thus far.”
Lena whispered, “Oh my god, Hell has Yelp.”
The demon clicked a pen. “On a scale of one to five, how satisfied are you with your lease agreement?”
Dev muttered, “Oh, this guy. Ignore him.”
The inspector’s smile didn’t waver. “Failure to participate will be marked as noncompliance.”
Caleb gulped. “Uh… three?”
The inspector jotted it down. “Noted. Would you recommend our services to a friend or family member?”
“Hell no!” Caleb yelped.
“Duly recorded.” The inspector’s eyes glinted red. “Final question: do you feel adequately prepared to fulfill your obligations within the thirty-day timeframe?”
Lena’s jaw dropped. She looked at Caleb, horror dawning. “Obligations? Thirty days?”
Caleb went pale. “Uh…”
The inspector leaned closer, smile widening until it showed too many teeth. “Remember, Mr. Harris… the clock is always ticking.”
The lights flickered out.
When they returned, the inspector was gone.
Only the faint smell of burnt paper lingered.
Lena turned slowly to Caleb. Her face was unreadable, her voice tight.
“Thirty. Days?”
Caleb swallowed. “I was… gonna tell you.”
Her eyes burned. “You’d better start talking. Now.”
Caleb looked at her, at Dev, at the cursed pizza box still humming softly on his nightstand.
He was doomed.
- Writer
