A Blink of the Screen

damage with the thing, study and exams swept me up and threw me out into a job on the local paper, where I learned to write properly or, at least, journalistically
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    I’ve re-read the story and my fingers have itched to strip it down, give it some pacing, scramble those clichés, and, in short, rewrite it from the bottom up. But that would be silly, so I’m going to grit my teeth instead
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    Go ahead, read
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    I can’t hear you! Lalalalalalala!
    Crucible opened his front door and stood rooted to the doormat.
    Imagine the interior of a storm cloud. Sprinkle liberally with ash and garnish with sulphur to taste. You now have a rough idea as to what Crucible’s front hall resembled.
    The smoke was coming from under the study door. Dimly remembering a film he had once seen, Crucible clapped a handkerchief to his nose and staggered to the kitchen. One bucket of water later, he returned. The door would not budge. The phone was in the study, so as to be handy in an emergency. Putting down the pail, Crucible applied his shoulder to the door, which remained closed. He retreated to the opposite wall of the hall, his eyes streaming. Gritting his teeth, he charged.
    The door opened of its own accord. Crucible described a graceful arc across the room, ending in the fireplace, then everything went black, literally and figuratively, and he knew no more.
    A herd of elephants were doing the square dance, in clogs, on Crucible’s head. He could see a hazy figure kneeling over him.
    ‘Here, drink this.’
    Ah, health-giving joy-juice! Ah, invigorating stagger-soup! Those elephants, having changed into slippers, were now dancing a sedate waltz: the whisky was having the desired effect. Crucible opened his eyes again and regarded the visitor.
    ‘Who the devil are you?’
    ‘That’s right!’
    Crucible’s head hit the grate with a hollow ‘clang!’
    The Devil picked him up and sat him in an armchair. Crucible opened one eye.
    The Devil was wearing a sober black suit, with a red carnation in the buttonhole. His thin waxed moustachios, combined with the minute beard, gave him a dignified air. A cloak and collapsible top hat were on the table.
    Crucible had known it would happen. After ten years of prising cash from the unsuspecting businessman, one was bound to be caught by Nemesis. He rose to his feet, brushing the soot from his clothes.
    ‘Shall we be going?’ he asked mournfully.
    ‘Going? Where to?’
    ‘The Other Place, I suppose.’
    ‘The Other Pl—? Oh, you mean home! Good Heav—oops! pardon me – Hell! no! No one’s come Down There for nearly two thousand years. Can’t think why. No, I have come to you because I need some help Down There; the Hell business is just not paying – no more lost souls. Only chap that’s come Down There for the last two thousand years was a raving nit called Dante; went away with quite the wrong impression. You ought to have heard what he said about me!’
    ‘I did read something about it somewhere.’
    ‘Indeed? Bad publicity for me, that. That’s where you come in.’
    ‘Oh?’ Crucible pricked up his ears.
    ‘Yes, I want you to advertise Hell. Clumsy! You’ve spilt your drink all over the carpet.’
    ‘W-why me?’ croaked Crucible.
    ‘You are the owner of the Square Deal Advertising Company, are you not? We want you to make the public conscious, Hell-wise. Not for eternal damnation, of course. Just day trips, etcetera, Grand Tour of Hell, and all that.’
    ‘And if I refuse?’
    ‘What would you say to ten thousand pounds?’
    ‘Goodbye.’
    ‘Twenty thousand?’
    ‘Hmm. Aren’t I supposed to give you some tasks; sand-ropes and all that?’
    The Devil looked angry.
    ‘Forty thousand and that’s my last offer. Besides,’ the Devil pressed the tips of his fingers together and smiled at the ceiling, ‘there are some rather incriminating facts about the Payne-Smith Products case, which we could make public?’
    ‘Now you’re speaking my language. Forty thousand pounds and hush about the P and S case?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Done.’
    ‘I’m so glad you see it my way,’ said the Devil. Crucible seated himself behind his mahogany desk and took out a pad. He indicated a polished silver box.
    ‘Cigarette?’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Crucible took a cigarette himself and felt for his lighter. Suddenly, a thought struck him.
    ‘How do I know you are Old Nick?’
    The Devil shuddered. ‘Please! Nicholas Lucifer to you. Well, I know about the P and S case, don’t