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Usually people sold their soul for the big stuff: fame, fortune, knowledge, power; that sort of thing.
Sometimes it seemed more trivial to the demons. It was an expensive bargain to sell your soul to make someone fall in love with you, or to enact some petty revenge. They were happy to oblige though.
They all ended up mucking in one way or another, but did tend to specialise. Ligur had always preferred the ones involving violence of some sort. Killings and destruction, or success in battle had been his favourites.
Dagon understood the dynamics of Power, which corrupts in a most pleasing way. Dominon over their fellow men and women. The ability to direct, control and master. It seemed to have an allure with the humans anyway.
Dagon themselves now knew the pitfalls of power too. Their experience meant they didn’t want the responsibility and accountability that comes with too much power. Better to sit a little lower in the hierarchy and influence others rather than being the one with your head on the block… so to speak…
Eric, and his brethren, were up to speed with modern tech. They could manipulate social media and the whims of the public to produce fame in the blink of an eye. Even before the internet, gossip and rumour were used to promote an artist. A lucky break, someone powerful or rich just happening to be in the audience… a coincidence one would think.
Hastur, poor unlucky Hastur! He would dearly have loved to torment his victims. To be a figure of menace and destruction. To enact revenges and destroy armies.
Unfortunately, due a mix up with his new office location, he’d been in the wrong place and was seconded as an Incubus for an uncomfortable couple of months. The indignity of it still haunted him, but had revealed a hidden talent for making humans fall in love.
Shax had an unlikely hand in the accumulation of knowledge. You didn’t have to understand the stuff to put it by way of the humans. They really were quite clever and could work things out that were well beyond her comprehension.
Yes, the big stuff was all covered.
…but then there were the odd requests. The ones that didn’t fit the usual pattern. This one in particular was a puzzler for the demons. The soul in question wanted something they called friendship. It was an unfamiliar concept.
The human had given some examples. Someone to hold hands with, to share a tub of ice-cream while snuggling on the sofa. A companion who would laugh at their bad jokes and ask how they were and reassure them through the waves of a panic attack.
The demons listened, but did not understand. They had no idea what a ‘pillow fort’ even was. The concept of ‘cuddling’ and hiding behind cushions during a ‘scary movie’ perplexed them… and who would want someone to help dry their hair when they’d been caught in the rain?
They racked their demonic brains. What demon in Hell would countenance this bizarre behaviour? What was a weighted blanket, or a hot water bottle, or comfort food? How would this strange contract ever be fulfilled?
It fell to Furfur to comply. At first it was difficult for him. Being ‘nice’ caused a prickly heat from head to toe. Assuming an intense mutual interest in some odd topic and researching at great length, so as to better debate the details, seemed like a waste of time.
However, over time he got used to it. The human didn’t go out much. In fact they often worked themselves up into a crying, shaking, frenzy of fear at the prospect of having to leave their little house. They didn’t interact with their fellows much either, those obsessive interests in weird subjects didn’t seem typical of the species at large.
Furfur learned when to hug his human and stroke their hair. He worked out when to avoid physical contact, instead talking in a low, reassuring voice about controlling their breathing or finding things to ‘ground’ themselves. He didn’t worry when they spent days in bed crying, instead he bought them hot chocolate and cold ice-cream with crunchy wafers.
He could spot which TV shows would interest them and was happy to discuss the ins and outs of the plot for hours. He smiled at them and held their hand and walked beside them when they went to the shops, to better ‘protect’ them from the other people. He laughed at bad jokes and even made up some of his own, not getting offended when they elicited a groan instead of a laugh.
He didn’t even mind when the human called him their ‘emotional support demon’ and giggled at his discomfort. They usually relented and apologised, trying to reassure him about his fierce demonic presence and reminding him of his abilities to terrify their annoying neighbours.
Somewhere along the line he even started to enjoy his role.
When his human eventually died, as they always do, he led them by the hand down to the pits of Hell. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to wish them a ‘miserable eternity’ though.
Usually people sold their soul for the big stuff. Sometimes they sold it for the important stuff and Furfur would always oblige.