The Devil's Lease

Chapter nine: The notebook

The garbage can shook once more, an enraged, leaping jig that caused the recycling can beside it to sway. A pool of soy sauce spread along the floor, one black line of liquid ink-thick that declared HUNGRY, the words trembling slightly as the can heaved. A soft, greenish glow emanating from within beat with a life of its own. It was an ugly, gut-roiling spectacle.

Caleb’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He stood in the middle of his kitchen, a frozen statue of abject terror. He’d faced down an impossibly perfect demon, a terrifyingly ordinary accountant, and a smug eternal coffee drinker, but this? This was new. This was different. The mundane had become monstrous.

Just as the garbage can trembled with one last violent jerk, and the hum along the baseboards started to build to a frenzy, it all just ceased.

Immediately.

The glow went away. The garbage can landed gently with a click. The humming stopped, leaving a silence so profound it felt like a physical void. The only evidence that those few minutes had ever been was the stain of soy sauce on the floor that still spelled that one ugly word.

Caleb stood there for ages, the silence bearing down on him. He felt like the mouse who just saw the hawk take flight, but he could not move just yet because he was still scared stiff. He slowly, tentatively made his way over and looked into the bin. Nothing. A used napkin and a lone, somewhat soggy morsel of something that appeared to be a fish cake. He prodded it with his index finger, a stupid, automatic thing to do. It felt completely normal.

He took a step backward, his thoughts reeling. A trick? A warning? He experienced a sick thrum of fear at the base of his stomach. It wasn't an empty stomach. It was a frightened one.

He remained the remainder of the evening on the couch, covered by a blanket, phone gripped firmly in hand, prepared to dial up Lena if the walls would begin to bleed once more. But nothing commenced. The apartment remained completely still, like it held its breath. Caleb's head, on the other hand, remained in a state of panic at all times. Every groan of the old structure, every whoosh of the wind along the glass, were like the start of the next horrific ordeal.

He didn't sleep. He lay awake, wide-eyed, watching the shadows on the ceiling move till exhaustion finally took him and carried him off. He didn't see visions of devils nor of agreements. He saw visions of a talkative fish cake asking him to get it a snack. It made it worse, some how.

Caleb woke up to the type of silence that registers like a Tuesday. His back hurt from sleeping on the couch, and the taste in his mouth was. well, like he had been sleeping with his mouth agape. He was also, and this was the gravest of all concerns, starving.

The memory of the previous night’s horror was still fresh, but his stomach was a ruthless, unyielding master. It was like his body had a separate, more primitive brain that just wanted food and didn’t care about demons or haunted condiments.

He paced into the kitchen, alert. The garbage can seemed… normal. Innocent-looking. An ordinary, plastic barrel of unadulterated normalcy. The floor remained spotted with the soy sauce message, a dark, indelible reminder of his new, dreadful existence.

He opened the fridge, half-afraid of finding a chatty head of lettuce or a tomato that breathed a sigh of remorse. But he opened it to find a brand-new carton of milk and a box of frosted corn flakes. He snatched them, shaking slightly. It was that easy, that mundane. It was perfect.

He tipped the flakes into the bowl, then took hold of the carton of milk. He prepared himself with a breath. No whispers. No strange smells. No glow. A normal, rectangular carton of milk. He poured.

The milk, a stream of clean, white fluid, poured into the bowl, engulfing the corn flakes. He took a breath of relief. A true one this time. A true instant of plain happiness. He took the spoon, a grin beginning to develop on his face.

Then, from deep within the bowl, came a low, mournful sound.

"DD

It was soft. Just a single, pathetic noise. But it was there. Caleb froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

He looked at the bowl. The milk seemed fine. The flakes were crunching gently.

"Moo," it repeated, a bit louder this time. It was the saddest, most defeated moo he had ever heard. It sounded like it had broken its heart.

Caleb splashed the spoon into the bowl, milk going every which way. He jumped backward, taking a chair down with him. He glanced at the bowl of cereal, half-pretending that a small, spectral cow would get up out of it.

“What the hell!” he yelped, backing into the wall. “What is wrong with you people? Why are all my groceries emotionally unstable?”

Just as he opened the front door.

"Morning, stranger," Lena said, entering the room. She carried a bag of one of the local burrito joints, and the aroma of hot coffee and aromatic fillings wafted through the air. She appeared well-rested, and the smile on her face beamed bright. "Did not expect to see you here. Thought you were either still having a panic attack or getting escorted to Hell by a very mannerly demon."

She stopped and took it all in: Caleb against the wall, broken chair, bowl of cereal tipped and a small pool of spilled milk, and a face of pure, unadulterated fear on his face.

"Back," she replied. "Back, panic attack it is then."

Caleb wagged a trembling finger at the bowl. "The milk. It mooed at me."

Lena gazed. "The milk… what

"It mooed! Swear it did. Long, sad, defeated moo. Like its hopes were dashed!" he argued, his voice a hysterical whisper.

She put her bag of burritos on the counter. "Okay, stop, I know that you're on a lease from Hell, but that is a new one. You have to get some sleep, I think." She opened the bag and removed her own breakfast. "You think that I would eat that detestable pantry of yours? No, I got up and got myself a burrito at that restaurant down the street. It has a normal, non-mooing beverage and all that."

Caleb's stomach growled loudly. Lena's burrito had the taste of salvation.

Dev, looking bored, materialized next to the counter. “A wise consumer. A lesson for you, Caleb.”

Caleb nearly jumped out of his boots. "Stop that! Seriously! Can't you ever just walk into the room like a regular human being?"

I'm not like anyone else," Dev said to him, a grin skipping across his face. "And so is the cooking.".

He nodded to the bowl with a jerk of the wrist. "The little show last night? Did you enjoy it?"

Caleb gulped. "Enjoy it? It was a nightmare! The garbage can was luminescent! The soy sauce was. alive! It was writing messages!"

Dev smiled. “Ah, yes. The ‘HUNGRY’ message. A little low level manifestation. A taste of what’s to come if you continue to be… idle.”

"Busy?" Caleb screamed. "I just spent the past day running from ghost fish or cowering in my apartment! I've been busier than that!"

Dev shrugged. "Busy doing nothing. That's the problem. The lease is a living thing. It demands a return on investment. It provides that high-end apartment and the good life. You provide it. service. You haven't been working all that hard, have you? That has caused some passive aggressive memos."

He waved a hand at the room. “The mooing milk. The rattling bin. The soy sauce. It’s all a form of supernatural performance review. We find that a little fear is an excellent motivator. We're very modern in our HR policies.”

Lena, who had been listening with disgust and some kind of sick curiosity, shook her head. "That is ridiculous. You can't threaten him with his own groceries."

Dev glanced at her. "I can. It has a proximity clause. And you, lovely Lena, are quite proximate. Tell me, ever get a fleeting sensation of. profound, unexplainable sadness? Or get the urge to loathe the sound of one's own chomping?"

Lena frowned. "I told you, I have nothing to do with it."

"You don't have to be," Dev told him, facing away from her and continuing to speak to Caleb. "The lease is a living, breathing thing. It has to evolve. It needs something to nourish it. And since you've put yourself on a mental diet of nothing more than panic, it's been starving. It's been giving you a message."

He got the small, black book out of his jacket and offered it to Caleb. It wasn't the one he had penned the contract on. It had a vacant, leatherbound cover and he could detect the weight of it in the palm of his hand.

"It is time that your training commenced," Dev stated. "You are entering the observational period. I want you to begin observing people. Identify their weaknesses. Their regrets. Their motivators. It is like a scavenger hunt, but of emotion. Consider it. emotional research on the market."

Caleb went numb all over. "No. I can't. That's. that's wrong. That's an invasion. I'm not doing that."

Dev's gaze flashed cold and hard. "You have no option. The lease is a contract, not a recommendation. The small hauntings will worsen. Trust me. This is the easy option." He beamed. "And to make it more. tolerable, I will accompany you. I will make the field excursions enjoyable. Consider me as your guide. Your mentor. We will have fun making it a game."

She advanced, clenching her fists. "Don't listen to him, Caleb! It's just a test! He wants to turn you. into a monster.".

Dev chuckled. "He already is. He just doesn't know it yet." He glanced at Caleb and his eyes mellowed, a predatory fondness in them. "Don't panic, sunshine. I'll be there. I'll make it all less. horrific. More of an adventure. I'll show up suddenly and lead the way. Make it thrilling, not ghastly."

He grinned, then with a sudden, soundless whoosh, he disappeared.

The silence was oppressive.

Lena spoke to him, looking afraid and indignant. "Don't do that, Caleb. Whatever he says, it isn't true. We can get out of it. I can get us out of it."

Caleb looked from her face, full of hope, to the black notebook in his hand. He remembered the soy sauce, the rattling bin, the low hum that had promised a creeping, supernatural dread. And he remembered the fear. The sheer, unadulterated terror of being a puppet to some unseen, bureaucratic force.

He glanced over at the counter, where the bag of Lena's burrito lay next to a hot cup of coffee. He breathed in the wonderful, ordinary aroma of breakfast. Lena was an ordinary individual. She consumed ordinary sustenance. He was going out and hunt spirits with a leather journal.

He closed his eyes and took a long breath.

He had to choose. And to choose, he had to exit the safety of his apartment and confront the world. He had to become a monster.

Taking a single, momentous step, Caleb walked out his front door and into the bright, unsuspecting morning. He held the black notebook in his hand, its pages blank, but its purpose terrifyingly clear. He was no longer a victim hiding in his home, but a reluctant participant on a mission.

He was just days away from embarking on his very first mission, not yet knowing who he would be targeting nor what atrocities he would be facing on the battlefield. He was a soul hunter, and it all started here, on his very inaugural hunt.