" A knock on my window "
*"Dinner With The Devil"*
The invitation came with no stamp.
Just a whisper in my chest at 3:17am:
_“You’re hungry. Come.”_
So I went.
Through streets with no names.
To a table set for two in a room with no windows.
Only candlelight. Only him.
He wasn’t red. Wasn’t horns.
He wore my face, just 10 years older.
Tired eyes. Clean suit. Hands that had signed things.
“Been waiting,” he said. “You look broke.”
I was.
---
*First offer: Bread*
He tore it and handed me half.
It tasted like every shortcut I almost took.
“Eat,” he said. “It’s easier this way.”
And I did. Because easy is a drug when you’ve been fasting.
He asked about my dreams.
I told him.
He nodded like a priest taking confession.
Then he poured wine that tasted like validation.
“Drink,” he said. “Nobody clapped for you today.”
---
*Second offer: The Meat*
He served me a plate of everything I wanted.
Money. Respect. A seat at the table.
No sweat. No waiting. No being left out.
“All it costs,” he smiled, “is a small piece of you.”
Just the part that says no.
Just the part that bleeds for others.
Just the part that remembers being broke and promising
_“I’ll never do to them what they did to me.”_
The steak was perfect.
It tasted like revenge.
It tasted like finally being chosen.
My hand shook over the pen.
---
*Third offer: Silence*
That’s when I saw it.
On the wall behind him — a gallery.
Every man who signed.
Rich. Empty. Alone at tables bigger than this one.
And in the corner, a smaller picture.
Me. Broke. But my eyes were mine.
Hungry, but not hollow.
The devil saw me looking.
He didn’t beg. Didn’t threaten.
He just said, “Most men sign when they’re tired of being left out.”
I put the pen down.
“Water,” I said. “I’ll take water.”
He laughed. Soft. Almost proud.
“You’ll be back,” he said. “When the hunger gets loud again.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But not tonight.”
I walked out with an empty stomach
and a full soul.
The door closed behind me and the candles went out.
He wasn’t the devil because he offered me the deal.
He was the devil because he made it make sense.
And I was the man because I walked away hungry.
I thought I left.
But the door behind me didn’t close all the way.
And the devil? He was still at the table.
Pouring a second glass.
“Sit,” he said. Not a command. An offer.
Like he knew I wasn’t done being tempted.
*Fifth offer: Memory*
He served me a dish I didn’t order.
My old friends laughing.
Me outside the glass, watching.
“See?” he said. “They only invite money. Not men.”
The food tasted like salt. Like nights I cried alone.
“Take it,” he whispered. “Trade the pain for power.
No one will leave you again.”
I picked up the fork. Put it down.
Picked it up again.
---
*Sixth offer: the Mirror*
Dessert came on a silver plate.
It wasn’t cake. It was me.
Future me.
Watching from penthouses.
Doors opening. Names remembered.
But my eyes were dead in the photo.
“Success,” he said. “The kind that doesn’t ask questions.”
“What’s the catch?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You just stop feeling this.”
He pointed at my chest. At the ache.
At the part of me that still wanted to be good.
---
*The Bill*
When I stood to leave, he slid the check across.
It was blank.
“Pay whatever you want,” he smiled.
“That’s how it works. You decide the price.”
I looked at the empty line.
And I understood.
The devil doesn’t steal.
He lets you price yourself.
I took the pen.
Wrote two words: *Not Today.*
Pushed it back.
---
He walked me out. No anger.
Just that tired, knowing smile.
“Most men come back for dessert,” he said.
“The hunger gets louder at night.”
“It does,” I told him.
“But I’d rather be hungry
than be full and not recognize myself.”
The street was cold. My stomach was empty.
But my hands were clean.
And for the first time in a long time,
I wasn’t dining with ghosts.
The devil’s table is always open.
It’s warm. It’s easy. It’s full.
But every meal there costs you a piece.
Until one day there’s nothing left to serve.
So eat slow. Choose hard.
And if you ever go back —
go knowing the price before you sit.
B