How Can They Smile?
The Black Death came to Bristol first. It was a warm and wet summer, much too humid for the crops to grow. On a small farm outside the town, a man hoed up potatoes and turnips as his son stood looking on.
"They're all rotten," muttered the man darkly, "We'll have to get by on the grain stored up from last year unless that's gone mouldy now too. Come on boy, it's time we went back." The man kicked at the soggy soil ruefully before turning to head back to their hut.
The boy, Michaelis, gazed out across the misty fields up to the grey horizon before following his father to their so-called home. His mother was inside, standing by the fire, and stirring a pot of thin soup. She bounced a baby wrapped in rags up and down in her arms. Michaelis looked over to the corner of the room where his sister lay on a pile of straw and tattered blankets coughing weakly. She had been ill for the past few days and Michaelis wished she would get better so she could play with him and help with the chores.
"How's the girl," Michaelis's father asked his wife. He took a sip of the soup and made a face.
"I don't think it's the influenza. This morning I found some red marks around her neck."
Suddenly, the girl sat up in her bed and leaned over retching and coughing up dark blood onto the floor. Michaelis watched in horror and fascination as the ground turned crimson. His mother rushed over to the girl's side and then turned to him sharply.
"Michaelis, run up to town and get the apothecary." When he made no move, she yelled, "Quickly!"
He regained his composure and ran, as fast as his legs could carry him, into the town, pushing people out of the way as he did. When he got to the apothecary's shop he explained his sister's symptoms and pleaded with the man to do something about it.
"I'm sorry son, but there've been several cases like that here in town and I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it. I have yet to find a way to even ease their suffering. Your sister will most likely be dead within the week."
The boy was scared he would be scolded if he returned home with nothing. He did not know what it was like to lose a family member, but he was sure he would be lonely. "Please sir, isn't there anything that can be done?"
The man gave him a pitying look and turned away.
He was right though. By the end of the week, Michaelis's sister had passed and his mother and the baby had contracted the illness. His father soon followed and Michaelis was left to take care of them and scrape up what little food he could. He wished he could get sick too so he wouldn't have to worry anymore. He could lie down and forget about the world and die along with his family. Living was too hard, yet he found himself clinging to life.
Soon they were all gone. Michaelis found himself shedding bitter, selfish tears as he buried them behind the hut he had used to call home. He cried because he would have to take care of himself from now on and he didn't know what to do.
He soon found his resolve though. There was nothing left for him on that farm so he would remain there no longer. He remembered the stories his father used to tell him of the far off place called London. It was a big, bustling town, vibrant and full of life. He knew he would be happy there. It sounded like a place where anything could happen, a place where sickness and poverty could not be found. He could be free, find a job and make new friends, the possibilities were endless.
So, he set off. Michaelis traveled for days, weeks; he survived by begging in towns and doing menial labor in exchange for food. It was degrading to be so poor, he thought, but still clung onto the hope that things would be better in London.
It was nearing winter when he got there. London was loud and lively, just as he had expected, but it too was full of death. Wreaths, marking the abodes of the sick and dying, hung on just about every fifth door he passed. Starving children huddled together in cold alleyways and the middle class folk walked swiftly with their heads down and their noses and mouths covered with handkerchiefs.
Gone were the illusions of grandeur Michaelis had previously relied on. In their place was only disillusion as he realized that he would never be able to find the paradise he had dreamed of, at least not while humanity thrived. Michaelis passed by a troupe of jesters and minstrels who were performing magic tricks in the street. Dirty, barefooted children pointed at them and laughed. Michaelis inwardly scoffed. What was there to laugh about in a world such as this.
But he almost forgot his disappointment and anger when he came to a stop in front of the most beautiful building he had ever seen. It had soaring towers and painted windows and amazing statues; oh it was breathtaking! He had seen a cathedral before, in Bristol, but he had never had the time to just stare at it in awe. Michaelis timidly entered the heavenly place and stood listening to the strange chanting in Latin. He had no clue what the priests were saying, but it sounded like the voices of angels to him.
His entrancement was rudely broken, however, by someone yelling at the doorway.
"Indulgences! Git yer indulgences here! Just a small sum to pay and your sins will be forgiven! One copper coin for a week, one gold coin for a year!" yelled a man at the entrance of the church.
Michaelis swiftly walked towards him, "Will you please be quieter. I can't hear them praying."
"You got any money kid," said the man.
"Well…no."
"Then git outa the way. Yer slowing down business!" the man rudely shoved Michaelis's face with his knuckles and then turned to the next customer.
The cathedral did not look so beautiful anymore, thought Michaelis. It was just another place where poor people went to build up false hope and rich people went to buy forgiveness. It was just another dirty marketplace under its grand exterior. Michaelis's eyes stung with tears and he wiped them away ashamedly. Then he heard a voice.
"What's the matter dearie?" It was an old woman with cracked teeth and tangled grey hair. "You look a bit lost. Do you need help finding something." The woman's eyes were black and Michaelis felt she could see into his soul.
"I'm trying to find a place where I can be rid of all this… this disgusting poverty and sickness. I want to be happy and free of worry. Unless you know where I can find such a place then please leave me alone."
The woman grinned quite eerily before pointing down a dark alleyway. "I don't know of any such place as of yet, but I do know that if you go down that alleyway and make a left there is an abandoned mortuary. If you go to the basement at midnight on Wednesday you may find something worth your while." Michaelis turned to look down the alley and when he turned back the woman was gone.
Michaelis was not about to trust some stranger, but what did he have to lose. And so, come Wednesday he went down the alley, turned left and found the abandoned shop. He loitered around until it was dark and the moon was high in the sky before going inside.
Dim candlelight came up from the basement and as he crept down the stairs, Michaelis could hear voices speaking in Latin. It was an altogether different sound from the chanting in the cathedral, it was darker, more sinister. He arrived at the bottom and was greeted by the sight of five men in long, hooded robes, standing on the points of a pentacle, chanting. Candles gleamed from different corners of the room. As they reached the climax of their chant, the men, as one, swiftly drew knives out of their robes and dragged them along their wrists. The blood trickled down the floor, converging in the center.
Black mist rose up from the ground, slowly taking the form of something nightmarish and bizarre with wings and horns. Michaelis looked on in fascination from his spot by the doorway. From the eerie smoke stepped a man, much to the surprise of all the men in the room. He had neither horns nor a tail, but looked deceptively handsome. His eyes, however, were a chilling color of red and when he glanced at the robed men they shuddered in fear.
"Foolish, greedy humans! How dare you attempt to summon me the great and powerful Aamon," thundered the demon, "You think we demons will contract ourselves to just any soul. Perhaps some of my lesser brethren would be willing to eat you miserable worms, but not I! I require a special type, a special flavor I might say."
"Th-then why did you come?" piped up man nervously.
"Ah, because there is one among you who is exactly what I've been searching for. A young soul deprived of its innocence prematurely and full of hatred and longing." He rounded on Michaelis, "You! What is it you desire? Make a contract with me and I will give you anything, in exchange for your soul of course."
Michaelis's knees shook, but he stepped forward with determination. "Anything?" he asked.
"Almost anything. I cannot grant you immortality, nor can I revoke the contract once it is made, but whatever else you desire it is yours. All you must do is sign this contract agreeing to give me your soul once you die and until then I will serve you however I can."Aamon flicked his hand and a quill and document appeared in it. A knife appeared in his other hand.
Michaelis thought: His soul in exchange for happiness. He knew he was not good enough to get into heaven; he had cried selfish tears when his family died. He was also too poor to get out of purgatory and he didn't think he could bear all those years of waiting in a place just as bad as earth. Michaelis knew there was no hope for him already, but if he could be happy while he lived, then it would be worth it.
"I-I agree to the terms of the contract, but…I cannot write," he said a bit ashamed.
The demon smirked, "No worries. Simply cut your arm with this knife and press the cut to the paper."
Michaelis took the knife. The other people in the room seemed to fade into the background. His hand shook a bit as he cut his wrist and then he swiftly pressed it to the paper. A burning sensation went through him and when he drew his hand away there was a mark somewhat similar to the pentacle on the ground stamped onto the paper in his blood. He looked at his wrist. An identical mark was burned into his skin around the cut.
Michaelis took a deep breath then looked Aamon right in the eye, "Demon, I wish to leave this place and go somewhere where there is no sickness and pain. Somewhere where I do not have to worry anymore."
The demon smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes, "Of course."
The room faded away and everything turned dark…
When Michaelis awoke he was lying on a huge bed with embroidered coverlets and the sun was shining down on him. He got up and ventured out of the room to find that he was in some sort of manor or castle. He found Aamon in the dining hall, preparing his breakfast and questioned him to find that it was indeed a castle in a secluded forest, completely cut off from the world. There were no humans with their petty grievances for miles.
Michaelis had never slept in a bed, let alone lived in a castle and he reveled in the luxury. There was so much to do, so many places to explore! He spent his days dining on fine food and running around the beautiful gardens. Aamon taught him how to read and so he read every book in the extensive library. So Aamon made new books appear from all corners of the earth. Michaelis read Homer and Plato, Le Morte de Arthur and Chanson de Roland. He was finally happy, so happy. And yet he wasn't, not really…
Soon Michaelis grew bored of books and of his garden. Aamon brought him new books and planted new and exotic species of flowers, but it was not enough. And not only was he bored, he was lonely too. Aamon was interesting to talk to and very well-informed, but he did not care about Michaelis, only about the quality of his soul. Michaelis began to long for the human company that had once repulsed him.
"Aamon, I wish to go into town. A nice, small one in the country will do. Take me to one."
Aamon obliged, his amused smirk fixed in place. Michaelis soon found himself in a small country town. He watched as people bustled around, going about their daily business. The people were all rather poor. They were buying and selling, conversing with one another, and in general just trying to survive. Michaelis wondered why he had wanted to come back to a place where life was hard and death came easy. And then he saw her.
She was a young woman wearing dusty and ripped clothes. She was obviously very pregnant and was holding another baby while small, malnourished child of about four was toddling along at her side. But none of this made her stand. It was the fact that smiling, singing even, and walking along at a merry gate as she held her child's hand that stood out to Michaelis. How could someone so obviously destitute look so happy?
He ran after her, "Miss, can I please ask you a question?"
She turned to him with that sunny smile and he saw true joy in her eyes, "Yes of course, whatever may I help you with?"
"I just wanted to know why you look so happy," he said, his face burning a bit.
"What's not to be happy about. The sun is shining, the sky looks so beautiful, I have a little for supper, and another darling child on the way. God wants me to be thankful so I am. He has done so much for me already and will do still more when I come into his kingdom. If these are not good enough reasons to be happy then what are. I could not be any more fulfilled were all the riches planted at my feet."
Michaelis couldn't understand. How could someone be thankful for such simple things? "Well thank you for answering my question," he muttered and turned to walk away.
"God be with you, Sir!" she called after him.
He aimlessly wandered down the street and passed by some children playing with a cat. He recalled that once, when he was much younger, he and his sister had found a cat crouched down in their doorstep. They had had so much fun petting it and playing with it for a few days before his father told them to put it back outside. He had been cold and starving and yet he had been happy, truly happy, as he and his sister coddled their new pet. I had been a wonderful feeling, but he had written it off as ignorance long ago. Now he wasn't so sure.
"Aamon!" He called. The demon appeared before him. "Please tell why I'm am feeling all these awful things. All I wanted was to be happy! Why am I not? Will I always be so dissatisfied? What's happening to me?"
Aamon smirked. It seemed to be his default expression. "Oh yes, I knew there was something I had forgotten. I said I could give you anything, but immortality and a revocation did I not? But there was one other I failed to mention. It was written clearly on the contract, but then you could not read… Anyway, True Happiness is God's affair. I can never give it."
Michaelis was shocked, devastated. All this time he had been hoping, thinking he was content, was a lie. He had nothing now, but he could not bring himself to repent. "Then please, I beg of you. If I can never have happiness, at least take away these emotions, this pain. Do something!"
"Well, I suppose there is a way," said the demon, "You can become like me. I can take your soul and leave behind a soulless demon. You will never have to face judgment and you will no longer retain these human feelings. What do you say?"
"Yes please, at least then I can forget. Make me a demon as well."
Mist curled up around him, consuming his form. The contract mark on his wrist burned away as the darkness devoured his soul. There was nothing, nothing left of Michaelis, the disillusioned child who became a despondent young man. All that was left were two gleaming red eyes and a smile that held no joy.
Centuries passed. In London a group of occult members gathered in the darkness to practice their dark magic as two demons watched from the shadows.
"They're trying to summon you," said the younger, "Will you humor them? It could prove amusing."
"They're not worth my time," scoffed the elder, "You know what I like best and besides, I'm not hungry. You could go though."
"Maybe I would have before, but I have better taste now. Those souls could not satisfy me." The demon smirked.
But then, the younger demon sensed something. It was the small soul of a young child. It burned dimly, yet it fascinated him. There was a hint of vengeance coupled with its innate innocence. A scream cut through the night and the soul blazed with a newly lit fire. The lust for vengeance grew as it turned dark and hateful. It was fascinating, thought the demon. After all these years of growing bored and apathetic, the demon had finally found the perfect soul.
It brought back a sense of nostalgia as he remembered another child robbed of his innocence at an early age. Himself. The demon, Michaelis stepped out of the shadows to meet the child who had screamed at injustice. He could occupy his mind for a little while longer. As he said before, it could prove to be amusing.
A/N I always entertained the idea of Sebastian once being a human, but whether he was or not, he would have been born long before the Middle Ages as he once mentioned knowing an Egyptian mummy back when it was alive. Also he admitted himself to being the cause of the Black Death so that wouldn't really work. Either way, for the sake of dramatic effect I chose to place him in an era that I knew a bit about. Also, this doubled as an English writing assignment on Doctor Faustus so the demon contract had to be on paper. I admit to taking the idea of a human becoming a demon from the end of the Kuroshitsuji anime though I have never seen it. I stopped watching it as soon as Angela was shown to be the main antagonist (personally I believe that Sebastian makes the best main villain for the series). I absolutely adore the manga though and advise anyone who has not read it to read it (you can find it anywhere on the internet). This is my first fanfic for it, so please review.
P.S. I apologize for any historical inaccuracies.