The First Customer

This story was made using the solo RPG Caveat Emptor, by Exeunt Press.

Qhog tapped their long thin finger on the shop counter. Ordinarily, they would have felt bored, but given they had yet to see a single customer brought Qhog closer to panic.

It wasn’t so much that they were afraid of disappointing their general manager, it was more that they were terrified of burning in the Lake of Fire for even a portion of eternity. There were a lot of punishments in Hell — Qhog had felt them all at some point — and the Lake of Fire was definitely their least favorite.¹

Qhog leaned out over the counter and stared out the window. It was a sunny day — at least, as sunny as it got in Wittenburg — and a number of souls were walking about, doing their daily chores. Several looked to be shopping, so why weren’t any coming into their shop?

Perhaps, Qhog thought in a haze of fear, if no one shows up, they can’t blame me for not tormenting any mortal souls? The hope vanished almost instantly. Hell was not known for mercy.

The bell over the door rang, snapping Ohog out of their sour disposition. Brushing away their tail and hooves in a cloud of smoke, they waved the prospective customer inside. “Welcome! Welcome! I am at your disposal, should you need anything. Our greatest wish is only that you are satisfied with your purchase.”

The man looked around, blinking in the dim candle-light. “Funny, I’ve never seen this shop before.”

“Oh, we’ve been here a while,” Ohog coughed, waving at the smoke even harder. “Yes, well respected members of the community, we are…”

“Are you alright?” the man frowned. “Are you on fire?”

“No, no,” Ohog stamped the last of their hooves away, turning them into fine leather boots. “Say, you seem quite tired. Long day at the mines, eh?”

“Oh, uh…” the man shifted. “I’m a paper-maker, actually.”

“No matter, no matter,” Ohog wiped a spot of sweat from their brow. “All the same, I’ll bet you’re in the market for something to keep your evenings…relaxed, yes?”

The man looked quite confused, now. Ohog could tell they weren’t making a good impression. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean, Konrad, I can give you what you want.” It was a clumsy gambit to pull so early in the day, but it usually grabbed mortal’s attention. Knowing their names without being told was easy magic. Hell, you could do it just by pressing your ear to a door, but somehow it always made things easier.

Sure enough, Konrad was stammering now. “What…what I…How did you know my name?”

“Oh, I know all about you, Konrad Kohlstedt,” Ohog moved to close the deal. “I know how you long for a life of luxury and opulence, to no longer work day in and day out at the paper-mill, nothing but sugared sweets and rich chicken to eat, and only the best wines to drink with the finest clothes…”

“Are you a sorcerer?” Konrad stepped back towards the door as Ohog slipped out from behind the counter.

“Not at all,” Ohog said, the truth tasting foul on their tongue. “I’m merely a humble merchant who can offer you this.” They desperately snatched the first thing they could reach, holding it out to the man.

“A scroll?” Konrad’s confusion had at least arrested his exit.

“Not a scroll, but a…” Ohog unrolled the parchment and displayed its contents, glancing quickly to refresh their memory. “…A map! A map of hidden paths and secret portals all over Wittenberg! You could hop into the bank and take all the money you need, or slip into the kitchens of the finest chefs. Take all the wine and food you want! You’ll never have to work again!”

Ohog could feel the yearning boil in the man, his aching desire for hedonistic pleasure leaking off him like steam in Hell’s Sauna.² All he needed to do was accept the map — touching it was enough — and he would be doomed, cursed to suffer the worst fate any mortal could suffer until he cursed God themselves. Then he would walk himself to the iron gates of Hell and beg to be let in. It was such a simple scheme, Ohog was ashamed they didn’t think of —

“No thanks.”

Ohog blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“No,” Konrad took a step back. “I don’t have enough money.”

“But…I haven’t even told you the price yet,” Ohog felt the man slipping through their fingers.

“That is, I don’t have any money,” Konrad said. “At least, not on me. Maybe I’ll come back later? Goodbye!”

The door-bell chimed again as Konrad bid a hasty retreat.

Ohog tossed the map back on the shelf. With a smoky huff, they crawled back around to the other side of the counter. Too much of the hard-sell, they had come on too strong. It was probably for the best; it wasn’t their greatest curse, frankly. Yes, the map would show all the hidden paths and portals of Wittenberg, but they would all be far too small for Konrad to use. He would have spent his days searching for usable doorways, only to be tantalized by the luxurious sights, sounds, and smells on the other side of tiny mouse-holes and cracks in the walls. He would be driven to madness, never quite getting his hands on everything he ever wanted…

Feh. It was such a lazy curse. Hells below, windows did the exact same thing and they didn’t require any twisting of the arcane arts, just a bit of sand and infernal heat. Ohog had once been able to weave such curses that even Mephistopheles had been impressed, and now they were scraping the top of the smoke-barrel.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Eden, probably. At least, that was the answer their fellow devils always gave, but Ohog wasn’t sure. Somehow, they felt things were pretty alright there for a bit, and then sometime around the turn of the century, things had suddenly stopped going well.

It used to be about art, temptation, and the folly of mortals. Now it was all about quotas, deadlines, and “Tzergalbug doesn’t seem to have any trouble cursing souls for Satan, I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

No, they needed to get back to basics. Ohog knew curses. There was no need to be grandiose or flamboyant, you could keep it simple. It was such a solid business plan, designed to work around the simple fact that you couldn’t just take a mortal’s soul, nor trick it out of them. They had to surrender it willingly, and that was a hard sale to make for most of humanity. Instead, Mephistopheles realized you could torment mortals with dark curses and ironic suffering, and then when their prayers for balm went unanswered — because they were doing it to themselves, really — they would turn away from Heaven on their own. So elegant!

Ohog studied the curious collected on the stores shelves. Yes, an elegant plan because it was simple. Some of the best curses were the simple ones, really, and Ohog was good at simple. At least, they had been, and now was the perfect time to get back into practice.

Sloughing off their human disguise, Ohog began to practice, weaving curses back and forth across the items in the shop. When the next customer came, they would be ready.