[LJ Idol] Season 8, Week 8, "Dealings"
Challenge Name and Number: #08, A Traveling Travesty
Title: Dealings
Word Count: 1547
Warnings (if applicable): Mild horror
Summary: Everything could be obtained for the proper price, and Mr. M would never suffer for customers.
Author’s Notes: Fiction. Hints of magical realism and horror. Again, more of an “old-time” setting. I hope you enjoy!
Dealings
The house with the blue-painted siding was set about as far from the road as every other house on the street. A series of low, smart hedges bordered the driveway and front walk, and all of the fallen leaves had been swept from the steps. Mr. M took these steps one-at-a-time, pausing before the door to straighten his tie and switch his briefcase to his left hand.
He only had to ring the doorbell once before a middling woman in a green dress opened the door. Mr. M bowed his head respectfully and said, “I am just a humble salesman looking to make my way in life, would you be at all interested in any of the fine wares I have for sale?”
Well, after that it would just be rude to turn him away, the woman thought, so she held the door open and shook the man’s hand when he offered it. “What sort of wares, Mr…?”
“You may call me Mr. M.” A business card appeared in his hand, and he handed it over; it was a thick, cream-colored rectangle of cardstock with an embossed M in black, and printing at the bottom too small to read without her glasses. She’d left them in the sunroom with that novel she’d been reading, and it would be too rude to excuse herself to go and get them, so the woman merely smiled and gestured to the wingback chairs in the sitting room.
“I’m June Turner, and I would love to see what you have for sale.”
They each took a seat while Mr. M opened his briefcase on the coffee table between them. June tried to peer around the top, but it was open in such a way to hide whatever was inside.
“I have brochures here for furniture and vacuum cleaners, should you be interested in that,” he said, setting out a row of colorful pages onto the table. “Encyclopedias and books, I’ve got those too.” He pulled a thick book from the briefcase and set it next to the others. “Dishes, rings and pins with your initials engraved, sweets…do you have any children, ma’am? They’d enjoy some candy, perhaps some taffy or chocolate?”
“Oh, no,” the woman said, her smile dropping by a fraction. “My husband and I don’t have any children, not yet. And I really shouldn’t buy anything, we’re behind on our house payments as it is…”
“Perhaps this elixir, then.” Mr. M produced a dark-glass bottle and set it on top of the papers. “It’ll keep the drinker healthy, just a spoonful in the mornings and at night and you’ll never catch sick again-”
“No, thank you. Again, we just don’t have the money right now. Maybe if you came back later…” June sighed, and watched as Mr. M slowly began to pack his things back inside the briefcase. “What I really want you can’t sell me, anyway.”
He paused. “Oh? And what would that be? You’d be surprised what I can do, ma’am. I can sell you just about anything.”
“I just want good things for myself and my family. I’d never need to worry if nothing bad was ever going to happen to us. But no one can promise that,” June said.
“It just so happens, I can.” Mr. M reached into his briefcase and pulled out a small, pretty looking circle made of carved wood, with a thin leather strap at the top. “Hang this on your door and you’ll have exactly what you want.”
June laughed, but her eyes stayed riveted to the little charm. “That’s impossible, sir. And there’s probably a catch.”
“I’ll even give it to you for free.” Mr. M held out the trinket. “What do you have to lose?”
June took the charm, turning it around in her hands. “You’re such a generous man…at least let me buy some books from you. You said you have an encyclopedia?”
“I do, but it’s an order form,” he said. “You can order one from me-only $24.95-and it’ll be delivered to your house within two weeks.”
“That sounds acceptable.” June smiled at Mr. M as he slid an order contract across the table, and handed her a black fountain pen to fill it out. He was a very good salesman, she reflected, better than the ones peddling coffee or Fuller Brush sets. When he smiled, he didn’t show any of his teeth, but he dressed well, and he seemed like a kind man, although he didn’t have much of a business sense if he kept giving things away. She signed at the bottom line and stood.
“Just let me find my checkbook, I’ll get you some money.”
She exchanged a folded check for another handshake, and he bowed again before leaving, his briefcase tucked under one arm. She waved from the doorstep, thanking him again, and thought she saw a flash of teeth in his smile that time.
.
.
Mr. M walked up the sidewalk, looking at the large, well-kept houses on either side. It had been a good day for him; the men and women here were all too eager to make a deal with him, or accept one of his more curious remedies for whatever ailments they faced. The woman in the brick house had wanted to regain her youth. So he sold her a set of cosmetics that would indeed make her youthful, but that beauty would come from her young daughter. The man in the two-story house with the green siding had wanted fame and fortune-Mr. M had sold him a packet of seeds, seeds of Sloth and Envy and Gluttony, that once planted would transform him into someone unrecognizable, someone who would be too afraid or tired to make use of the wealth and stature he’d acquired. The last woman, the June Turner, would get her wish, and all of the bad things that would have happened to her would instead go to someone else. Perhaps someone else on that very street.
He straightened his tie again-it’d changed to blue, to match his now-blue eyes-and flattened his hair. It made his ears stick out, but it gave him a different enough appearance that anyone who questioned the validity of a traveling salesman would have an entirely different appearance to report than someone else who’d seen him. Not that they would-it was a special talent of his, to be both charismatic and completely forgettable. He’d cultivated an accent that was neither straight Midwest or Southern, or New York or Boston-something indistinguishable, with just enough of whatever geographical locality in his vowels and consonants that they made whoever was listening to him feel calm and comfortable.
It was one thing he had learned, that everyone wanted something, something dark and mysterious that lurked in the back of their minds. It only took a little coaxing to bring it out. Everything could be obtained for the proper price, and Mr. M would never suffer for customers.
The last house, the corner lot, was an impressive mansion of white stucco, and Mr. M headed towards it the same way he’d done all the rest, the picture of professionalism and humility.
In place of a doorbell there was a knocker with a stylized capital S, and he lifted it and knocked twice. He didn’t have to wait long before the door was opened by a man in a black blazer over a red dress shirt. “Can I help you?”
Undaunted, Mr. M launched into his speech. “I am just a humble salesman looking to make my way in life, would you be at all interested in any of the fine wares I have for sale?”
“Why not.” The door was opened wider, and Mr. M slipped inside. “I sell everything you can imagine-I’ve got jewelry and candy and I can take orders for appliances and furniture. If you want something in particular, you have only to ask.”
“Can you? Somehow I doubt that. I’ve seen your kind before.” He led the way into the adjacent sitting room, where a sizeable fire was blazing in the fireplace.
Mr. M straightened, trying to ignore the offense. “I promise you that I can deliver everything you ask for. Everything.”
“Hmm.” The man took a seat and crossed his legs, studying the salesman bluntly. “Can I have your word on that?”
Mr. M suddenly felt all too warm from that fire. There was something unusual about this current customer, and as he pulled at his collar he couldn’t quite place it. None of the others had ever been this hard to convince. “Of course. You have it.”
The man’s smile grew wider, revealing teeth that looked a bit too sharp. “I’ll take your power, then.”
The room was growing unbearably hot. The man seemed unaffected by it, and continued, “Or your soul, if you still have one yourself. I’d take the souls you’ve collected today. And from now on, you’ll be working for me.”
Mr. M stilled, the hand clutching his briefcase tightening around the handle.
“You said you could deliver everything. And you’re a man of your word, as am I.” He shrugged artfully, folding his hands over his knees, that wide grin never leaving his face. “Your first mistake was coming to my neighborhood. Your second mistake was knocking at my door. I don't take kindly to intruders in my territory."
Mr. M watched, his dread growing as the other man's eyes flashed red and he seemed to shift and change, becoming larger and more grotesque with every second. "I did say I knew your kind.”
Title: Dealings
Word Count: 1547
Warnings (if applicable): Mild horror
Summary: Everything could be obtained for the proper price, and Mr. M would never suffer for customers.
Author’s Notes: Fiction. Hints of magical realism and horror. Again, more of an “old-time” setting. I hope you enjoy!
Dealings
The house with the blue-painted siding was set about as far from the road as every other house on the street. A series of low, smart hedges bordered the driveway and front walk, and all of the fallen leaves had been swept from the steps. Mr. M took these steps one-at-a-time, pausing before the door to straighten his tie and switch his briefcase to his left hand.
He only had to ring the doorbell once before a middling woman in a green dress opened the door. Mr. M bowed his head respectfully and said, “I am just a humble salesman looking to make my way in life, would you be at all interested in any of the fine wares I have for sale?”
Well, after that it would just be rude to turn him away, the woman thought, so she held the door open and shook the man’s hand when he offered it. “What sort of wares, Mr…?”
“You may call me Mr. M.” A business card appeared in his hand, and he handed it over; it was a thick, cream-colored rectangle of cardstock with an embossed M in black, and printing at the bottom too small to read without her glasses. She’d left them in the sunroom with that novel she’d been reading, and it would be too rude to excuse herself to go and get them, so the woman merely smiled and gestured to the wingback chairs in the sitting room.
“I’m June Turner, and I would love to see what you have for sale.”
They each took a seat while Mr. M opened his briefcase on the coffee table between them. June tried to peer around the top, but it was open in such a way to hide whatever was inside.
“I have brochures here for furniture and vacuum cleaners, should you be interested in that,” he said, setting out a row of colorful pages onto the table. “Encyclopedias and books, I’ve got those too.” He pulled a thick book from the briefcase and set it next to the others. “Dishes, rings and pins with your initials engraved, sweets…do you have any children, ma’am? They’d enjoy some candy, perhaps some taffy or chocolate?”
“Oh, no,” the woman said, her smile dropping by a fraction. “My husband and I don’t have any children, not yet. And I really shouldn’t buy anything, we’re behind on our house payments as it is…”
“Perhaps this elixir, then.” Mr. M produced a dark-glass bottle and set it on top of the papers. “It’ll keep the drinker healthy, just a spoonful in the mornings and at night and you’ll never catch sick again-”
“No, thank you. Again, we just don’t have the money right now. Maybe if you came back later…” June sighed, and watched as Mr. M slowly began to pack his things back inside the briefcase. “What I really want you can’t sell me, anyway.”
He paused. “Oh? And what would that be? You’d be surprised what I can do, ma’am. I can sell you just about anything.”
“I just want good things for myself and my family. I’d never need to worry if nothing bad was ever going to happen to us. But no one can promise that,” June said.
“It just so happens, I can.” Mr. M reached into his briefcase and pulled out a small, pretty looking circle made of carved wood, with a thin leather strap at the top. “Hang this on your door and you’ll have exactly what you want.”
June laughed, but her eyes stayed riveted to the little charm. “That’s impossible, sir. And there’s probably a catch.”
“I’ll even give it to you for free.” Mr. M held out the trinket. “What do you have to lose?”
June took the charm, turning it around in her hands. “You’re such a generous man…at least let me buy some books from you. You said you have an encyclopedia?”
“I do, but it’s an order form,” he said. “You can order one from me-only $24.95-and it’ll be delivered to your house within two weeks.”
“That sounds acceptable.” June smiled at Mr. M as he slid an order contract across the table, and handed her a black fountain pen to fill it out. He was a very good salesman, she reflected, better than the ones peddling coffee or Fuller Brush sets. When he smiled, he didn’t show any of his teeth, but he dressed well, and he seemed like a kind man, although he didn’t have much of a business sense if he kept giving things away. She signed at the bottom line and stood.
“Just let me find my checkbook, I’ll get you some money.”
She exchanged a folded check for another handshake, and he bowed again before leaving, his briefcase tucked under one arm. She waved from the doorstep, thanking him again, and thought she saw a flash of teeth in his smile that time.
.
.
Mr. M walked up the sidewalk, looking at the large, well-kept houses on either side. It had been a good day for him; the men and women here were all too eager to make a deal with him, or accept one of his more curious remedies for whatever ailments they faced. The woman in the brick house had wanted to regain her youth. So he sold her a set of cosmetics that would indeed make her youthful, but that beauty would come from her young daughter. The man in the two-story house with the green siding had wanted fame and fortune-Mr. M had sold him a packet of seeds, seeds of Sloth and Envy and Gluttony, that once planted would transform him into someone unrecognizable, someone who would be too afraid or tired to make use of the wealth and stature he’d acquired. The last woman, the June Turner, would get her wish, and all of the bad things that would have happened to her would instead go to someone else. Perhaps someone else on that very street.
He straightened his tie again-it’d changed to blue, to match his now-blue eyes-and flattened his hair. It made his ears stick out, but it gave him a different enough appearance that anyone who questioned the validity of a traveling salesman would have an entirely different appearance to report than someone else who’d seen him. Not that they would-it was a special talent of his, to be both charismatic and completely forgettable. He’d cultivated an accent that was neither straight Midwest or Southern, or New York or Boston-something indistinguishable, with just enough of whatever geographical locality in his vowels and consonants that they made whoever was listening to him feel calm and comfortable.
It was one thing he had learned, that everyone wanted something, something dark and mysterious that lurked in the back of their minds. It only took a little coaxing to bring it out. Everything could be obtained for the proper price, and Mr. M would never suffer for customers.
The last house, the corner lot, was an impressive mansion of white stucco, and Mr. M headed towards it the same way he’d done all the rest, the picture of professionalism and humility.
In place of a doorbell there was a knocker with a stylized capital S, and he lifted it and knocked twice. He didn’t have to wait long before the door was opened by a man in a black blazer over a red dress shirt. “Can I help you?”
Undaunted, Mr. M launched into his speech. “I am just a humble salesman looking to make my way in life, would you be at all interested in any of the fine wares I have for sale?”
“Why not.” The door was opened wider, and Mr. M slipped inside. “I sell everything you can imagine-I’ve got jewelry and candy and I can take orders for appliances and furniture. If you want something in particular, you have only to ask.”
“Can you? Somehow I doubt that. I’ve seen your kind before.” He led the way into the adjacent sitting room, where a sizeable fire was blazing in the fireplace.
Mr. M straightened, trying to ignore the offense. “I promise you that I can deliver everything you ask for. Everything.”
“Hmm.” The man took a seat and crossed his legs, studying the salesman bluntly. “Can I have your word on that?”
Mr. M suddenly felt all too warm from that fire. There was something unusual about this current customer, and as he pulled at his collar he couldn’t quite place it. None of the others had ever been this hard to convince. “Of course. You have it.”
The man’s smile grew wider, revealing teeth that looked a bit too sharp. “I’ll take your power, then.”
The room was growing unbearably hot. The man seemed unaffected by it, and continued, “Or your soul, if you still have one yourself. I’d take the souls you’ve collected today. And from now on, you’ll be working for me.”
Mr. M stilled, the hand clutching his briefcase tightening around the handle.
“You said you could deliver everything. And you’re a man of your word, as am I.” He shrugged artfully, folding his hands over his knees, that wide grin never leaving his face. “Your first mistake was coming to my neighborhood. Your second mistake was knocking at my door. I don't take kindly to intruders in my territory."
Mr. M watched, his dread growing as the other man's eyes flashed red and he seemed to shift and change, becoming larger and more grotesque with every second. "I did say I knew your kind.”