Scary Stories - Twist in the Tale Series

Mrs Meredith Meets The Devil

When Mrs Meredithmet the Devil, she was surprised. She went to the park mostafternoons to feed the ducks, and invariably chose the same bench.It was unusual for anyone to join her. After all, she toldherself philosophically, who would want to sit and spend timewith a decrepit old lady? So, it was something of a novelty whenshe found herself sharing the bench with a handsome young man.

Of course, she did not immediately realise the young man was theDevil. That he seemed to suddenly appear at her side out ofnowhere, she put down to missing his approach due to her eyes andears not being what they used to be. Moreover, the young man didnot look like the Devil. True, he wore a dark, pointed goateebeard, but that seemed to be the fashion among the young thesedays. His ears were a little pointed and his eyebrows wereperhaps more arched than the norm, but they did not detract fromhis attractiveness. His eyes were a little disconcerting however;they were narrow and very dark and somehow they seemed to glow,though the afternoon sun reflecting from them could explain this.Despite these small reservations, Mrs Meredith thought the youngman quite devastatingly handsome and felt exceedingly flatteredhe had chosen to join her on the park bench.

It was only when the young man flashed a disarming smile at herand began to speak that Mrs Meredith realised she had been quiterudely staring at him for some time. "It's a lovely day,isn't it?" he said in a deep voice that came from a long waydown, "It makes you feel good to be alive, doesn't it?"

What a lovely smile he had! Though, weren't his teeth ever sooddly sharp and pointed? Mrs Meredith felt rather flustered; itwas rare nowadays to be addressed so politely by the young,especially one so charming. Dear me, she felt suddenly shy andgirlish! "Yes, yes it's a beautiful day. When you get to myage, you appreciate the warmth of the sun. It eases thearthritis; helps you forget your aches and pains," shereplied, all in a rush. Then - goodness me, why had she saidthat? Whatever would he think of her? She had always tried not tobe one of those old women that go on about their ailments andcomplaints, and here she was, doing that very thing. She wouldn'tblame him if he stifled a yawn and got up and left her.

However, the young man did not make a hurried departure. Instead,he moved closer to Mrs Meredith and, his deep voice oozinginterest and sympathy, said, "Why, you look very sprightlyto me. I can't believe you're troubled by the slightest twinge.Surely, you're still in your prime?"

"Oh, that's very nice of you, young man," she answered,feeling slightly gooey inside - his smile really was enchanting."But I can assure you I'm not. I'm seventy-five nextbirthday - if I ever get there - every day's a struggle and Isometimes wonder if it's worth it." There she went again,burdening him with her problems, he must think her a dreary oldbore.

But if anything, the young man became even more sympathetic,"Really?" he said, his voice a resonating purr, "Surelyyou can't feel that way?"

"Oh, but I do. Why, I'd give anything to be as young as you."Why had she said that? She didn't normally feel sorry for herself.There was just something about the young man that drew thesethings out of her.

"Oh you'd be surprised how old I am," the young manreplied, "I'm much older than I look - much older"

What a strange thing to say, thought Mrs Meredith, he couldn't bemore than twenty-four or five. "All the same," shesaid, "I wish I was young again."

The young man drew even closer to her, and for the first time MrsMeredith felt slightly uncomfortable in his company. She noticedhis breath smelled quite unpleasant. Sort of sulphurous, was thebest way she could describe it. And his eyes definitely glowed;she was sure of it now. More than that: they glittered andflickered, as if ... as if there was a fire behind them. Now hisvoice came from even deeper down, so deep it seemed to echo."So," he said, "You want to be young again, doyou?"

"Er ... well," mumbled Mrs Meredith, "Well, itwould be nice."

"And you'd give anything, would you?" the young mancontinued, his face inches from hers, "Anything at all?"

"Well ..."

"Would you," the young man pressed on, "Would you,for instance, give up a hour of your life?"

"Oh I ... I don't know about that ..."

Mrs Meredith felt decidedly uneasy now. A ridiculous suspicion ofthe young man's identity was growing in her mind. She wanted toget up from the bench and run from him, run and run and leave himfar behind. But, her running days were long gone, and if even ifthey weren't, she knew she'd still be incapable of fleeing.Something held her to the bench. She didn't know if it was theyoung man's will, some power in those burning eyes that kept herthere, or if it was her own curiosity. Could he really give herback her youth?

"What do you mean," Mrs Meredith asked hesitantly,"Give up a hour of my life?"

"Simply that," answered the young man, his eyes burningeven brighter now he had captured her interest, "You agreeto give just one hour of your life and in return you will regainyour youth. It's not much to ask, is it? Just one tiny littlehour, when you've had so many. Just imagine what it would be tobe young again. No more aches and pains, boundless energy, yourgood looks and attractive body restored. All you have to do issay 'yes' and it could all be yours."

Mrs Meredith felt very strange. The young man's eyes blazed, hiswords filled her ears and images flooded her mind. Images of theyoung woman she used to be long ago before old age overcame her.She felt an aching desire to be that young woman again, to bestrong and fit and carefree, to have the world at her feet. Atthe same time, alarm bells rang loud inside her head. Who wasthis young man? Was he really who she suspected? What would bethe consequences of going along with what he suggested?

"Just one little word," the young man wheedled, "That'sall it will take. One tiny word and ..." The imagesintensified, taunting, tantalising. "That's how you want tobe, isn't it? Not the ancient and crotchety woman who everyoneignores, but the young beautiful one that people stop to admire."

Mrs Meredith compared her present self with the one she could seeso graphically pictured in her mind. The frail and feeble waitingfor death against the vibrant and vivacious with a full lifeahead. There was no match. She felt an overwhelming, passionatedesire to exchange one for the other.

"Just one single, solitary hour, that's all I ask,"persisted the young man, his eyes blazing like twin furnaces.Just say 'yes.' You know it's what you want, don't you? Don'tyou?"

"Yes, yes, yes," cried Mrs Meredith. Then - "No,no ... I didn't mean it, I take it back."

But it was too late.

The young man was gone.

Mrs Meredith swore to herself that she hadn't looked away fromhim; yet, she did not see him go. There was no puff of smoke oranything like that; he was there, and then he wasn't - as simpleas that. As if he had never existed in the first place.

Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps it had all been a silly daydream.Since she had become old, Mrs Meredith regularly found herselfimagining things, things that could not possibly be. It had allbeen one of her ridiculous fantasies - that's what. Just anothersymptom of old age. She really was a batty old woman, she toldherself with a resigned shrug.

How odd - she still had some bread left; yet, the ducks werenowhere to be seen. They normally stayed until they'd gobbledevery last crumb. Whatever had frightened them away?

Shaking her head, Mrs Meredith rose with some difficulty from thebench and placed the remaining bread in an adjacent bin.Supporting herself on her walking stick, she shuffled off downthe path to the park gates. It was time for her tea.

After washing up her single plate and cup, Mrs Meredith settledherself in her armchair to listen to the radio. Her memory of theafternoon in the park was vague now, as were all her memoriesthese days. She was such a forgetful old soul! Had theconversation with the young man really taken place? Had the youngman actually been there at all? She really wasn't sure any more.How could she have thought he was the Devil? What absurd notionsyou get when you grow older. The Devil indeed! Dear me!

Mrs Meredith gave a startled grunt. Where was she? Oh dear, she'dfallen asleep in the chair again - that's something else she wasalways doing these days. Why, she must have slept through thatprogramme she'd particularly wanted to listen to. What a nuisance.

Something had woken her, though. What was it? A noise? She didnot think so. It was more a sudden strange feeling that thingsweren't quite right, that something was amiss.

Whatever could it be?

The house was silent; everything seemed normal; yet, theuncomfortable sensation persisted.

With difficulty, she hoisted herself from the deep chair. Herlegs were so stiff, she could hardly move them. Painfully, shehobbled around the house, checking each downstairs room andensuring the doors were securely locked and bolted. Everythingappeared well, but still her uneasiness remained.

Maybe she was simply tired; she so often was nowadays. The oldgrandfather clock in the hall loudly struck eleven, making herjump. It was always doing that; she really ought to get rid of it.Where had the time gone? She may as well go to bed; there wasnothing else to do.

As always, the stairs were a challenge to her. She really mustthink about moving to a flat or bungalow. At last, she reachedthe top and set about preparing herself for the night beforegratefully climbing into bed.

It was a long time before sleep finally came to her, and eventhen, it was fitful and filled with vivid dreams. Often she woketo find herself soaking with sweat and her vision filled by twohuge, burning eyes. Eventually, in the early hours, exhaustionovercame her and she fell into a deeper, less disturbed slumber.

It was exactly seven o'clock when Mrs Meredith woke the nextmorning. It was her usual hour for rising, so she got immediatelyout of bed. Only after she had done so did she realise how easythe process had been. Normally, much creaking of protesting bonesand sinews was involved in the slow passage from bed to floor.Yet, today she had risen quickly, easily and fluidly without hintof pain or discomfort. Confused, and suddenly conscious thatother things were different, she stood and looked down at herself.She was stunned at what she saw.

The first thing she noticed was that her nightie no longer fittedher. With the advance of the years, her body had become shrunkenand withered, her frame bony and skinny. It had become difficultto dress herself with any degree of style and she had grown usedto her clothing hanging loosely and unflatteringly from her. Allthat had magically changed, however. Now, the nightie wasstretched and taut, straining to contain a body that was fullyfleshed and voluptuously proportioned, though by no means fat.Mrs Meredith was looking at the body of a young, exquisitelyshaped and eye-catching woman. Just like the body she used toown, long, long ago.

Tentatively, marvelling at how smoothly her limbs worked, shewalked to the wardrobe. With effort, she removed the tightlyfitting nightgown and, naked, stared at herself in the full-lengthmirror. She could not believe what she saw; it was like steppingback in time. When young, she had been known for her beauty. Herstriking figure and attractive face had always turned heads. Shehad thought them long-gone; the reflection in the mirror was fromthe past.

The face that looked back at her was fresh and fair, withouttrace of wrinkles. Rich, dark glossy locks that shone healthilyhad replaced her thin, lank grey hair. Most of all, the saggy,creased and lined body she despised had transformed. Gone werethe flaccid, hanging breasts; they were now full and proud, aswere her hips and buttocks. Her stomach was flat and smooth, herlimbs strong and firm. She was beautiful once more. If anything,even more beautiful than she remembered being.

She twisted and turned, admiring herself from every angle, unableto believe or understand what had happened to her, yet not caring.She was young again, and that was all that mattered. What if shehad made a deal with the Devil? She did not care. He had kept hisside of the transaction.

She danced about the room, revelling in the easy action of hermuscles, delighting in her freedom of movement. Again and again,she went to the mirror to glory in her beauty. She couldn't keepall this to herself; she had to share it with the world. She hadto go out and let everyone see her; see how perfect she was.

It was only when she opened the wardrobe that she realised theproblem. She had nothing suitable to wear. All her clothes wereold women's; she needed ones that showed off her youth andattractiveness. No matter: she would do the best she could fromthe dowdy, old-fashioned things in front of her and make herfirst port of call the shops, where she could outfit herself moreappropriately.

Dressing herself was more difficult than she anticipated. She hadfilled out so much that everything she tried was much too tightfor her. Item after item she threw to the floor in despair,clothes that had been slack and loose on her former body shecould no longer get into. At last, at the very back of thewardrobe she discovered a dress that the old Mrs Meredith hadfound too big for her. It was still a squeeze; she had to breathdeeply to button it and it gripped her legs and chest tooclosely, but it would have to do. Even shoes were a problem. Herfeet had also lost their shrunken boniness, and the shoes shefinally settled on had to be forced on.

She had a last glance in the mirror. She was unhappy with the wayshe was dressed, she looked and felt trussed-up, but it couldn'tbe helped. The sooner she got some new clothes, the better.

Awkwardly, the tight dress restricting her movement, hobblingslightly in the ill-fitting shoes, she walked from the bedroomand crossed the landing to the stairs. It was just as she wasplacing one foot on the first step that the clock in the hallbegan to strike eight. Everything seemed to happen at once. Thesudden loud noise in the quiet house startled her, the too-tightdress rode up her thighs, binding them together, and her foottwisted painfully in the uncomfortable shoe.

She made a desperate grab for the banister, but it was too late.She was falling. Headfirst she plunged down the stairs, the clocktolling out its steady chimes. The clock's clangour was not theonly sound she heard as she tumbled down, however. Above its loudpealing, she heard a louder sound - a deep, booming laugh.

Coinciding with the last stroke of the clock, her head hit theparquet floor of the hall with a resounding thud. There was ablinding light, and then - blackness.

Mrs Meredith opened her eyes. Standing next to her was the youngman from the park. He was smiling. She wasn't sure she liked hissmile. Confused, she said, "What are you doing here ... whatdo you want?"

"What do I want? Why, I want you, of course. I've come totake you with me."

"But ... I don't understand"

"It's time to keep your side of the bargain.

"Bargain?"

"Yes," replied the young man, "Look."

Mrs Meredith looked. On the floor at her feet was a body. Thevery dead body of an old woman wearing a dress that was much toobig for her.

"But you promised ..." she said, realisation slowlydawning on her.

"That's right. I promised you youth for one hour of yourlife. Your hour's up."

"But, but ... I didn't think you meant ..."

"Ah well, perhaps you should have listened more closely. Ialways keep to my word - exactly to my word."

"This isn't fair.

"No, life isn't fair. Death's even less fair." He heldout his hand, "Come on, it's time to go."

Mrs Meredith took one last look at the old broken body on thefloor, sighed resignedly and took the proffered hand. At leasther arthritis didn't bother her any more.