Night Fright to Deutschland
By Dean Borok

(continued)

A man ran up the stairs toward them. He was wearing glasses, a black cotton sports jacket with pins and buttons all over it and a black peaked cap, like a tour operator. In his hand he clutched a sheath of tickets. "Are you desiring tickets to the Pleasantine Motel?" he asked politely.

"How much do they cost?" asked Havelock.

"Quinze ans."

"Quinze ans de vie?"

"Oui, monsieur."

"Take the tickets and let's go!" insisted Rita.

"Et vous êtes…..le diable?"

"Oui, monsieur," said the inoffensive-looking tour operator.

Havelock turned to Rita and despairingly told her, "We can't go."

"Why not?"

"Because it's the devil, and he's asking for fifteen years of our lives as the price."

Rita pleaded, "Please, I'm cold and I want to go to the motel!"

Havelock was in despair. More than anything else, he wanted to get out of the cold and go to the motel with this delightful woman. But the price, fifteen years cut off their lives by the devil, was too high. Havelock turned to the patiently waiting devil and informed him politely, "Ce n'est pas possible."

"Très bien, monsieur," responded Satan with equal civility, and he let himself through the glass door, disappearing into the building.

As Havelock's dream faded, the last thing he saw was she, her arms outstretched to him, imploring, "I want to go…"