Hi, I'm dead! That's not my name. It's my state of being. I am a deceased person. My name is Dave. Dave Daverson. Yes, that is my real name. How did I die? The way most people do. By ceasing to be alive. That's the short version.

  For the long version, we'll have to go all the way back to yesterday evening, which might as well have been ten years ago; it feels so long. It was Halloween night, so I did what every single man in his early to mid thirties does when he lives alone in an apartment. I streamed crappy horror movies and drank. But don't worry, I ate food too. Popcorn is a vegetable, right?

  It was my third movie and my second six-pack. I was watching this extremely low budget film called "The Devil's Hand." It was about a guy who made a bet with the devil. The movie throws a few twists and turns at you until the hero, Chad Chaderson, beats the devil. Psyche! Apparently, it was all a fake out by the devil to give him a false sense of victory, before crushing his dreams and his body into dust.

  "Bah! That's so dumb! I could do that!" I said casually, as one does. I got a call from an unknown number on my phone. Normally I don't answer my phone, but I got the call after I said a dumb horror movie line, so some part of me wondered if it was the devil calling me out on what I said.

  I picked up the phone. Before the person on the other line could say anything, I said, "Is this the devil?"

  The person on the other end didn't say anything for a while, but eventually responded. "You sucked all the fun out of it! I was going to say, 'Oh yeah? Prove it,' but you already guessed it was me, you jackass. Yes, this is the devil! Now, do you want to make that bet or not?"

  "Uh, sure I guess. What should it be about, though?" I wondered.

  "I have an idea!" The devil offered.

  "No, you shut up. You're the devil. If you choose the bet I'll lose automatically. Give me a second to think," I said.

  "Wow. No one's ever told me to shut up before. It feels…bad."

  "Sorry, I just really don't want to lose this bet," I told him.

  "I get it, but geez. Ouch," he said.

  "Oh, I got it!” I exclaimed. “What about a 'you can't kill me' bet?"

  "That sounds fun, but too easy. I could snap my fingers right now and kill you. Make it harder," he said.

  I thought long and hard. How could I make a bet where I outsmart the devil? There was only one way to win. With a trick. I thought for a while longer, and then I had it.

  "Hey, guy. You still there?" The devil asked.

  "Okay. What if the bet was ‘you can't kill me at 7 pm tomorrow night?’ 7 pm in my time zone. You can't say it's 7 pm in China and kill me then. Wouldn't count," I said.

  "Hmm. Interesting. It sounds like you have some sort of trick up your sleeve. I like it. I guarantee you there's nothing you can do to beat me, but you're welcome to try," he answered.

  "Before we start, I have some questions and a request," I said.

  "I'm not guaranteeing I'll answer or grant your request, but if I do, I'll tell you and I'll be honest. There's nothing I hate more than lying. Tricking people with honesty I'm all for, but pure lying defeats the purpose of the game. It's cheating. Plain and simple. And I do not abide by cheating," he said. "If you lie to me, you will immediately forfeit the integrity of the bet, and receive no reward."

  "That’s good to know. Okay, first off. Do you have the ability to read minds?" I responded.

  "Yes."

  "Will you agree not to read my mind for the entire duration of the bet, including the time that I used to come up with the idea for the bet?" I said.

  "I can't turn back time and unread your mind if I did, but I assure you I haven't read your mind and I will not for the entirety of the bet. I consider mind-reading cheating as well. You're not outsmarting someone if you just peek into their mind to find out what they're thinking. My father did that shit to me all the time and I hated it," he said.

  "Wow, that sucks, and fair enough. Can you bring people back to life? For instance, if I were to die before 7 pm, could you bring me back, just to kill me again so you could win?" I asked.

  "No, I can't do that. Only my father can do that," he said.

  "Okay, cool. Also, I'd like to determine my prize for winning," I said. "I assume your prize for winning is my soul."

  "Naturally," he said. "Now tell me, what do you want?"

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "I want three wishes," I said.

  "I can't do three. I can do one though," he answered.

  "I want one wish, but if you don't fulfill it exactly as I intended it, I get another wish. And you don't get to read my mind to find out what I meant," I said. "You have to interpret what I meant. I will never lie about what I want though."

  "Hmm. Very tricky. I love it! Done and done. Now all you have to do is make the bet," he said.

  "Okay, I bet you can't kill me at exactly 7 pm tomorrow night in the time zone I'm in at the time," I said.

  "Awesome! See you soon!" He hung up.

  "See you soon?" I froze as the devil appeared in front of me. Or at least I assumed he was the devil, because he was the last person I talked to and he said he'd see me soon. He looked like a normal human man. An impeccably well-dressed human man, but a human man nonetheless. He was a tall, handsome, fair-skinned man with wavy black hair, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and a black bow tie with golden dollar signs on it. I didn't love the bow tie, but who was I to judge the man's taste in ties? Tie choice is a very personal thing.

  "Hey, friend!" He said, putting his hand out to shake. "I go by my official title 'The Devil' down below, but you can call me Lucifer or Lucy, just know that I prefer Lucifer."

  I shook his hand hesitantly. "Surprisingly, I can say it's nice to meet you, Lucifer. This is by far the most interesting social encounter I've ever had. I'd say it was worth making the bet, just for this. My name is Dave."

  "It's nice to meet you, Dave," he said with a wide grin. "So what's on the agenda for tonight?"

  "Honestly? I was just going to watch another movie, and then try to get a good night's rest," I said.

  Suddenly, an alarm went off on my phone. I turned it off and immediately walked to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet.

  "What was that?" Lucifer asked.

  "My alarm to take my heart medication. I have to take it at 7 pm every night. Otherwise, I could get a blood clot and die. I have a congenital heart defect," I said.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, man. Why don't you just stop taking it, though? If you died, then you'd win the bet," he said.

  "I already thought of that," I said. "I figure you could probably make the blood clot go away as soon as I start showing signs. That and I hear it's an incredibly unpleasant way to go."

  "You're right. I could disappear the blood clot," he said.

  "Couldn't you just heal my heart defect?" I said.

  "I could, but it would take a lot of juice and I'm not a charity worker," he responded.

  "Fair, I guess," I said. I took my medicine and then walked into the kitchen. "I need to start getting dinner ready. Just watch TV while you wait."

  "Fine by me," he said. He grabbed the remote and turned on another horror movie. It was called "Deal With the Devil." Super original, right? This one was also about a deal with the devil rather than a bet.

  I got stuff out of the fridge and pulled out a cutting board and a big knife. I put my hand down on the cutting board and slit my wrist. I tried to stifle a scream from the pain. It came out as a whimper. Blood spurted everywhere.

  The idea here was if I killed myself before 7 pm the next day, then Lucifer couldn't kill me at that time, allowing me to win the bet. Sure it would cost me my life, but I hadn't thought that far ahead at the time of the bet. Dying before he could kill me was the only way I could think to win, and losing meant giving up my soul.

  "What was that?" Lucifer asked, without looking around. "You sound like you just stubbed your toe."

  "No! Nothing like that. Just slitting my wrist," I said. I would have lied in this situation, but Lucifer had specifically stated I couldn't lie or the bet was forfeit.

  "Oh, is that all?" Lucifer said. "Wait, what? Dave, what are you thinking?" He got up off the couch and began to run over.

  My sight started to get blurry and dark. I could feel myself passing out. Eventually, my legs gave out from under me and I fell to the floor. The last thing I saw before everything went black was Lucifer rushing over to me, saying, "Dave! Dave, are you alright? Well, obviously not. You're bleeding out!" Then lights out.

  A detective walked into my one-room apartment. You could tell he was a detective because he wore a long trench coat and a fedora, like in some old noir film. Maybe he watched too many movies. He noted the keys in the bowl by the door and the damaged "Bless This Mess" sign hanging against the wall. The "This" and the two s's at the end of "Mess" had been scratched off, so it just read "Bless Me."

  It wasn't that bad, considering what it was. It was rather spacious. It was larger than any studio apartment I had seen before. The only thing that really qualified it as a studio apartment was the fact that everything was in one room. I didn't like that he was seeing it under these circumstances.

  The sight of blood in my kitchen caught his eye. He walked over to take a closer look. There were some peculiar things there that had stumped everyone who had come before him. There was a bloody knife on a cutting board next to a pool of dried blood on the cutting board and all over the floor.

  There was also a wine cork with an eye attached to the corkscrew. He held the corkscrew up to the light. None of these things were particularly strange on their own. It was my body that stumped everyone.

  He walked into the living room and looked at my body sitting on an old red couch. I was a young man in my early twenties. I had blonde hair, blue eyes, and a winning smile, if I say so myself.

  I was dead. That said, being dead wasn't too bad. I could float around and watch people enter my apartment. I could even look up their nostrils. I was able to watch TV until one of the investigators turned it off. That was disappointing.

  The strange part was that my body had both of its eyes and no cuts or stab wounds. The crime lab had already examined the blood on the knife, cutting board, and the floor, and the eyeball. They all matched the DNA of my body, but it had all its parts. The crime scene defied explanation. Well, this scene. They still weren't sure if a crime had even been committed. They couldn't figure out what killed me.

  I was a good man. Well, I was a man, that's for sure. I had what experts like to call "a miserable life." I worked a dead-end job until I got fired. I lived with my girlfriend in a studio apartment, going about a daily routine until one day she didn't want to be around anymore and she left. I had the same four friends that I drank with at the bar every Friday night until they got sober and left me alone.

  I used to be a professional poker player until I let the liquor take over and ruin my career. I played all the usual secret underground poker games until no one would lend me money anymore. I had racked up too much debt. They sent a few guys around to break my fingers and toes until even they eventually gave up and left me alone, too.

  But that was all before the bet, the wrist cutting, and everything else that came after that.