A Deal With Stan

A Story by C.Turner

Just a story about Stan

A Deal With Stan

Once upon a time, in 1992, a certain man sat on a bench. This man, dressed in the attire once worn by the upper echelons of businessmen in the pre-Vietnam era would seem an oddity to most. However, as he seemed content to read a local newspaper, only occasionally looking up at the church clock tower for the time, most groups of passersby were content to leave him be. One group, unfortunately, were unable to leave him be and they would be subject to the wrath of Stan.

This group consisted of obnoxious teenagers. An especially verbose cadre, they were always on the look for some new observation to mock and find humor in. A tragic coincidence that, what they would choose to find humor in was the hat, resting on Stan’s head. An uncommon piece, he wore a Stetson Chatham Crown fedora that was kept in perfect condition. As it happens, Stan took great pride in his hat and had little tolerance for stupidity and lack of taste in others.

One of the teens approached him, arms crossed and smiling to himself, and commented, “Hey, nice hat buddy.”

He looked over at his comrade to ensure they were enjoying themselves as well. Stan, never looking up from his paper, gave a slight smirk and replied, “Thank you, it’s a classic.”

The annoying teen, without missing a beat said, between laughs, “Yeah, that was sarcasm!”

He burst out laughing and was immediately followed by his companions. As the laughter continued, Stan traced his thumb and forefinger across the brim of the hat, feeling the gentle fabric. He smiled darkly and stood up, folding the newspaper under his arm, and turned in the opposite direction. Then, chuckling to himself, he snapped his fingers. At the same time, had the poor, obnoxious teens not been loudly joking to themselves, then they would have heard the distinct sound of a chord snapping under the hood of their car. At the precise moment the teen driver turned the key, the church tower bell sounded. As the churchgoers exited the church, the scene of a car erupting into a fireball greeted them. All the churchgoers save one. One woman, middle aged elected to stay behind and engage in prayer.

Stan had a meeting with this woman, a deal to make with her. He walked in the chapel, admiring the décor and casually making his way up to the woman.

Stan put on his best smile and outstretched his hand, “Excuse me, ‘miss. I don’t mean to interrupt, however, I would like to extend an offer that I believe you will find to be quite relevant to your peculiar dreams.” Stan blinked then quickly regained his composure, “You are who I think you are? Your husband is quite ill, is he not?”

“Well, yes he is, but how do you know that?” she replied quizzically.

As Stan started to form a reply, he noticed her packing her things into a purse and he stopped himself, following her up the aisle. Then, pulling off his hat, he offered a quaint smile and opened the door.

“My apologies, ‘miss. Allow me to walk you home and I’ll explain myself…and my position, should you remain interested.”

She gave him a look over�"while he appeared harmless she couldn’t help but think that he seemed too confident. But, she dismissed the thought, as the prospect of his offer seemed too interesting.

“I suppose that would be alright,” she said as she crossed through the doorway.

As they stepped out of the church and began walking to her home on the outside of the small town, Stan replaced his hat and began to explain himself, “You see, I represent a certain enterprise that has a vested…” he paused briefly to clear his throat, “excuse me, a vested interest in the welfare of this city. My superiors have informed me that�"at the moment, at least�"I am to keep our industry under certain anonymity. They have, however, given me a very broad spectrum of freedom to offer support to the citizens of this community.” He gestured to the woman and continued, “For instance, your situation stood apart from the majority of the people here. And, having certain resources made available to me, I am in a position to make a very generous offer.”

The woman closed her eyes for a moment as they continued to walk, then looked over to Stan and commented, “That sounds very nice, but you haven’t even given me a name yet.”

He paused for a moment and offered a broad smile, “Of course, my name is Stan.”

“Just Stan?”

“Yes,” he replied, “just Stan.”

She stared at him for a moment, judging whether or not he was attempting a joke. Stan, however, gave no reaction to the pause and she continued with, “Well Stan, what exactly are you offering me?”

Stan grinned at this comment and cooly returned with, “I can offer you almost anything, my dear. But, what you want the most, I think, is to see your husband receive the treatment he needs.”

She stopped in front of her house and looked at Stan.

“You could get him better treatments?”

Stan nodded silently.

“But they cost so much!”

He merely waved dismissively then motioned towards the door. The woman walked up and unlocked the door, letting Stan and herself inside.

She eyed Stan suspiciously and asked the question, “And you don’t want anything in return?”

Stan laughed and replied with, “Actually, in return for your husband’s health, I want your soul.”

She gave a small laugh and managed to stammer out, “Don’t be smart. A soul’s not something you can trade.”

Stan removed his hat with one hand and held it behind his hand, “Then what do you have to lose?” Stan extended his hand and smiled at her, “So I’ll see to it that he becomes well again and I’ll return later. And I can assure you that you’ll have many happy years to come.”

She paused for a brief moment, then grasped his hand and beamed.

“Mr. Stan, you’re and angel; a true godsend.”

Stan smiled quaintly, replaced his hat, and gave a slight nod, “You flatter me. Unfortunately, I cannot stay; I have certain business to attend to.”

“Well when can we expect to hear from the hospital?” she asked quickly.

Stan turned to walk out the door. Without looking back, he crossed the doorway and replied with, “Right now.”

As he shut the door behind him, Stan closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. Then, as he exhaled, his surroundings began shifting rapidly. The entire world seemed to spin, and then slow as Stan opened his eyes and the movement stopped. The once small, picturesque street had become a crowded, metropolitan neighborhood. Putting a foot behind him, Stan turned on his heel and now faced a large, wooden door. Putting on a polite smile, Stan knocked three times on the door the put his hands together behind his back. Hearing a lock disengage, Stan turned his head slightly down, and then found a small girl standing in the doorway.

He removed his hat and started to speak, “Excuse me, ‘miss…”

“Grandma, there’s someone here!” the girl yelled inside, interrupting Stan. He sighed and replaced his hat, waiting for “grandma” to appear. Moments later, an elderly woman walked to the door and smiled warmly at the little girl.

“Go inside and play with grandpa, darling.”

At this, the little girl ran back inside and the old woman looked up at Stan, not recognizing him.

“Hello again, madam, you look well.”

She looked puzzled, “Have we met before?”

“Yes,” he replied, “we made a deal, you and I, and now I’m here to collect your debt.”

Stan’s smile faded and he wore a cold look. The woman’s eyes lit up with recognition, and though her mouth opened to form a response, she was unable to break the silence.

“The terms were simple;” Stan continued, “let’s not make this difficult. Please, take my hand.”

She looked at his now outstretched hand and, tears forming in her eyes, replied with, “I’m sorry, but I can’t pay you a lot, we don’t have much money. And I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“We,” Stan emphasized, “are not going anywhere.” He motioned to his hand and stretched it out once more, “Now please, your hand.”

The woman looked down at his hand and slowly, reluctantly brought hers to it. Her hand slowly moved and then, finally, made contact with Stan’s. The moment her finger first touched his palm, the woman collapsed in the doorway. Her head, which had smacked the doorframe with a loud “thud”, proceeded to fall towards Stan’s feet. He took a quick step to the side to avoid her head, which simply hit the pavement and rested there. Her body, lifeless and curled up in the doorway, was unnoticed by Stan. Rather, he was transfixed by a gold coin that now sat in his hand. Rolling it between his thumb and pointer finger, he held the coin up to the light, admiring its shine. Stan, turning on his heel once more, heard the voice of the little girl. As he continued towards the street, he could hear a high-pitched scream. As the screaming turned into sobs, Stan began to laugh wickedly. He turned towards the city and looked up at the tall buildings ahead of him, smiling. Stan continued on his path to the city, eager to continue his work.