Read by Lin Sagovsky
When Abbie summons me, she offers up her soul to destroy everything.
Laughing, I decline. “I’m a fallen angel,” I say, gesturing to my missing wings. “Exiled to Hell for greed. But one day, I’ll be freed and the world will be mine to play with.” I grin, showing teeth. “I need it undestroyed for that to happen.”
Abbie scowls. She’s young – maybe fifteen – and exudes loathing. “What makes you so sure you’ll be freed?”
I shrug, glancing around what seems to be her bedroom. It’s oddly bare. “Humans worked out how to summon us from Hell,” I say. “Eventually, one will work out how to free me entirely, in return for something they think they need.” I smirk. “In fact, I have some idea of how that ritual would work. You could –”
“Only if you’ll destroy everything,” she says quickly.
Another scowl.
My back itches where my wings should be. Without meaning to, I glance out of her window, at the sky. I can almost feel the rush of the wind as the world spreads out beneath me. The itch intensifies; I look back at her. Her scowl’s still there, an amusing complement to her black clothing and make-up. Behind her loathing, there’s misery.
Perhaps there’s a way to get something from this.
“If we will not offer what the other wants,” I say, “then let us compromise. I will destroy whatever you hate at the end of one year – if you keep me summoned here for the duration and I get your soul.”
She looks oddly satisfied as she nods. “Deal.”
#
I soon discover why the girl was so satisfied.
She hates everyone: the teenagers who bully her, the kids who pretend not to see, the adults who ignore her. This hatred spills into everything else: flowers in gardens, cats, buses, films, music, anything at all. It’s tiring, listening to it. But even worse, if she keeps this up then I’ll have to destroy everything in one year’s time.
So, I scheme. Abbie might be the only human who can see or hear me, but I can influence people around her. At first, I just follow her around, observing. When she asks why, I tell her my business is my own and she shrugs, uncaring.
After a few days of observation, I decide to start with the bullies – a group of two boys and three girls, who mock her, trip her up, and throw things at her. They would fit in well in the depths of Hell, and part of me wants to take them over the edge. Sinners’ souls are almost as desirable as those freely given. But there’s no guarantee one of my fellow-exiles wouldn’t devour them first so I stick to the plan. I seep distress into their minds when they approach Abbie, force unease and guilt when they prank her. At night, I fuel their nightmares with scenes designed to keep them away from Abbie. Whenever they back off, I ease up on the assault until, eventually, they stop bothering the girl at all.
The whole process takes nearly two months before I see the first sign that it worked. We’re in the school library at lunch. Abbie picks up a book from a shelf.
“Homework?” I ask, settling near her.
Normally, she grunts answers at me, viewing my queries as mockery. Now, though, she says, “No. Celtic myths and legends.”
“Grim.” When she tilts her head, I say, “I was summoned once during those times. Their stories were depressing and wrong.”
Her eyes widen with interest. I paste a smile on my face. “I can tell you later, if you would like?”
Almost shyly, Abbie nods. She spends the lunch-hour reading voraciously, not once checking for bullies. I influence the librarian to ask her about her reading and encourage the girl to take some books out. Unused to any adult caring, Abbie is initially defensive but eventually agrees to borrow some books. That night, as promised, I tell her what I saw of the Celts, centuries previously.
Over the next few weeks, I maintain my campaign. In her History class, I encourage Abbie to answer a question. I influence her teacher to talk to her about the material, filling his sleep with dreams of her death if he doesn’t check on her. I consider prompting her classmates to speak to her but I don’t want to overdo it. These things require finesse.
One evening, as we sit in her plain room, Abbie says, “I still don’t understand why you follow me around. Nothing I read said you were tied to me.”
She’s leaning against a wall; I sit in the middle of the floor, so the emptiness at my back can’t touch anything.
“That is true,” I say. “But safeguarding my investment is important.”
She smirks. “Think I’ll off myself first and deprive you of my soul?”
“In that situation, your soul is mine. Since my year here would be cut short.”
“Oh.” She hesitates. “What will you do with my soul anyway?”
I pause. “Surely you know, otherwise you wouldn’t have sold it.” When she shrugs, I shake my head. “Foolish child. I would consume it, so there is nothing of you left. After playing with it, of course, to savour its taste.”
She looks faintly disturbed. “Couldn’t you just down it in one? If I wanted more torture, I wouldn’t have made this deal.”
I stand and stretch, trying not to look out the window. “Perhaps. If I am very hungry.”
“Start dieting then,” she replies. I laugh, surprised at the quip. To my secret delight, she smiles back.
#
It is perhaps four months after the deal that I notice Abbie glancing at a poster. It advertises a weekend hiking club.
I say, “Hiking interests you?”
She shrugs. “Never been. Probably never will. Nobody here likes me: they won’t want to hike with me. God, I hate them all.”
I consider my options. “You could try hiking alone first.”
She gives me a shrewd look. “Why do you care?”
“Safeguarding my investment, remember?”
“… By telling me to walk in a forest alone?”
“Ah, but I can protect you,” I say with my pasted-on smile. “With me, you will be perfectly safe.”
Which is probably, but not definitely, true. It convinces her though: that weekend, we take the bus to the nearby woodland. Abbie’s parents have somehow looked up from their work to make her promise to check in every hour. It’s the first time since I started influencing them that they have remembered their daughter outside of their awkward family meals.
At first, the girl complains – it’s too cold, too quiet, it smells – but soon, she quietens. To my surprise, she starts identifying things: ash trees, daffodils, fox tracks. Above us, birds sing sweetly and Abbie stops to listen. She whispers their names. A joyful smile teases her face. I can’t stop staring at it.
Eventually, we crest a hill. As we look at the view, Abbie says, “It’s stunning.”
“Yes,” I agree quietly, staring at the tiny farms and verdant trees. My back itches with the useless urge to soar.
Abbie glances at me. Softly, she starts to tell me of the roads and hills while nearby birds serenade us. It’s not until later that I realise it never occurred to me to be jealous of their wings.
#
Something has changed. On Monday, Abbie signs up for hiking club. Instead of the library, she reads on an outside bench, drawing the interest of another girl. In class, she participates, even offering help to another student. The bullies are long gone.
Perhaps I could leave and finally see the rest of the world? But there remains too much scope for error. Her parents are very resistant to doing anything other than work. She has one possible friend. I have never heard her talk of growing up.
A few more weeks, at least, are needed.
So, I sit with her as she tells me of histories and books, how she wants to see Egypt, how the girl who found her reading is ‘really pretty’. She shows me pictures of the world, films and shows, asks me for stories. On her first club hike, I watch as the girl she likes coaxes her into talking. Abbie is shy at first, but a few kids make an effort and she opens up. To my delight, I find my presence is redundant – Abbie smiles more than I’ve ever seen her smile. Once, she even giggles, the sound sparking a warmth lovelier than hellfire.
That evening, I leave her to make camp with the teacher and her new friends. Venturing higher up the mountain, I seek the stars, the rocks, everything. I want everything.
I’ve always wanted everything.
But when I reach the top, and see the twinkling lights of the town, I feel empty. Hollow. Aching absence is a familiar companion in Hell but somehow, here, it surprises me. Unnerved, I look around. It’s too quiet. I’ve become used to soft-spoken commentary.
Disgruntled, I return to the camp, to check on Abbie. She’s in her tent, cheeks flushed. When she sees me, she blushes.
Confused, I say, “Are you OK?”
Her blush deepens. “Yeah.” She coughs. “Mai kissed me.”
It takes me a second to remember Mai – the human girl who saw Abbie reading. I paste on my smile. “It was enjoyable?”
She giggles, sparking that warmth again, and looks at me almost fondly. “I forget you’re not human sometimes. Do fallen angels kiss?”
“No,” I say and consider. “Tell me about it. If you want. I know humans like to keep these things secret.”
But Abbie does tell me, about going to collect water for the camp, about Mai’s hand brushing hers, about the softness of her lips and the fire in her soul. I listen quietly, watching how Abbie’s eyes sparkle and her fingers keep touching her mouth. Outside, an owl hoots.
“I suppose,” she says finally, “my soul will be all the tastier for it.”
“It adds a flavour I do not normally get to taste,” I reply, touching the emptiness at my shoulders.
“Variety’s good, I guess.” A pause. “Hey. I … don’t hate Mai. Don’t destroy her.”
I shrug. “Done. Our sole survivor.” She laughs, which makes me chuckle despite myself. “You should leave some of the world behind for her,” I say. “Otherwise, she won’t last long.”
“Yeah.” Abbie looks away. “I know.”
#
As time passes, my manipulations decrease. Abbie’s parents finally start asking how her day is going. She participates enthusiastically in nearly all of her classes. At lunch, she sits with Mai and her newfound friends. On weekends, she hikes.
I stay with her – to make sure nothing goes wrong, of course. I expect Abbie to ignore me, now that people are invested in her, but she doesn’t. She still talks to me whenever we’re alone, eagerly telling me of new things she’s learned. Once a week, we walk together, always somewhere high. I’m surprised to realise I enjoy those trips most of all. Standing with Abbie, the world feels somehow whole. As it did, long before my exile. As I’m sure it will when finally, I am freed.
After one such trip, I watch her add photos to her wall. Some of Mai; some of forests and mountains.
Behind her, I murmur, “You’re happy.”
She pauses then nods, her smile shy.
Unbidden, I smile too.
#
And then it’s the anniversary of my summoning. We stand opposite each other in a room filled with photographs: of Mai, kisses, hikes, karaoke. Around us, pebbles and flowers provide joyful reminders of a dozen little adventures.
“Tell me,” I say. “What do you hate?”
Abbie swallows. Her eyes close. “Nothing,” she says. “Just … take my soul.”
I grin triumphantly.
Exactly as planned.
But as I reach for her, I see her fingers play with the ring her girlfriend gave her. I remember her enthusiasm, outshining the skies. Her laughter, the warmth it sparks. Her eagerness to love.
I step back. “Keep it,” I mutter. “The world needs it more.”
Her eyes fly open. Scowling, I turn away. My back burns.
Abbie gasps. “Look!”
I freeze. Tentatively, I reach back, and my fingers brush –
“Wings!”
(c) Katie Lewis, 2023
Katie Lewis is a lawyer, originally from Wales and now living in London.
When not talking taxes, Katie likes to write all kinds of things. She has
had a few short stories published. Thankfully, none of them were about tax or law.
Apart from her voicework in various media, Lin Sagovsky helps
non-actors become better communicators, on Zoom & in person.
She also acts in theatre, film, TV – & has recently played a
barrister in a corporate theatre-based training programme for
railway track workers. They were terrified …
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