Tommy Johnson had never thought about how he would sign his soul over to the devil, he had just assumed it would be like signing a contract. Signed in ink, or in blood, or something equally as sinister- just as most white folk tales portrayed it as. During his travel to the crossroads he had felt no fear in signing over his everlasting soul, after all he didn't see much use for it after he was dead.

His family begged him not to, warned him that he would be signing over something he would later regret and there was no turning back once the deal was made. They spoke of the tortures of hell, the searing pain, and the haunting screams that he would be sentenced too.

But Tommy didn't believe in heaven, or in hell.

The crossroads that he planned to use was in the middle of no where, there was no chance that the deed would be observed by anyone. Tommy did not want to take the risk that someone, whether it be friend or foe, to interrupt the deal- it had to be completed.

So he waited as the sun set behind the thin lining of trees in the flat farmland on either side of himself, he waited as the minutes ticked slowly by, each move of the hand bringing him one step closer to the hour to strike his deal.

Finally, it was time.

In the center of the crossroads, Tommy used his hand to dig into the solid dirt, moist soil clinging to his skin as inch by inch he created the resting spot for his offering. Carefully he set down the sturdy wooden box, as if it were worth millions, and covered the top with dirt. For the first time since the start of his journey he felt the start of fear seeding inside him.

As he rose from his spot on the ground, his eyes flittered from one shadow to the next, searching for the devil with whom he would make the deal.

"What do we have here?" He heard from behind him, he spun around seeing nothing but darkness. "You want to make a deal?" The voice asked.

Tommy gulped, gathering his courage. "Yes, sir. I want to play this here guitar real good."

From out of the shadows stepped a short white man, clothed in a black suit. "And what do you have to offer for that gift?" His voice is oily, and everything instinct in Tommy is warning him to run away- but he stays.

"Well, I was gonna offer my soul." He offered, uncertainty clear in his voice. The demon chuckled.

"Your soul?" The man grinned. "Well, I usually don't make such minor contracts myself- it's beneath me you see- but I might make an exception for you."

Tommy was silent, not sure what to say, and worried that if he did say the wrong think the demon would leave and he would not get the gift to play the guitar.

"Alright, I accept." The demon decided.

Tommy grinned, a tiny slip that showed the tremendous relief he felt at his offering being accepted. "So where do I sign?" He asked, looking around for a pen and paper.

The demon laughed. "You don't sign anything."

The next few moments, were ones Tommy never wanted to remember again.

He woke up the next morning with the sun peaking over the trees, and a truck barreling down the road.