Third Sundown
There is a house, not far from the county road, but far from everywhere else.
An old, blind man sits, staring sightlessly over parched fields. His loyal hound lays at his feet, tongue lolling out, trying to stay under the radiating, sweltering heat of late August in Georgia.
Gently, the old man rocks in his chair. Occasionally, he will hum to himself, take a long sip of sweet iced tea, or pet his dog. But mostly, Johnny sits silently with his memories. And smiles.
Off in the distance, a dust cloud begins to whirl. Aggressively, it assaults the fence-line of Johnny’s farm, finally settling into the shape of a man. He is tall and lean, hard as hickory, dressed sharply in a bespoke red suit, and where he goes, only shadow follows.
He saunters up the path toward Johnny.
The hound perks up as the stranger approaches, ears alert and wary. Johnny pats his dog gently on the head and smiles. “Never you mind. It’s just Ol’ Scratch, come back a third time, I reckon,” the old, blind man grins. Satisfied, the dog settles back down on the porch, but his hunting eyes never leave the stranger.
The stranger approaches the porch railing, stopping just short of coming up the steps, and leers up at Johnny, “Boy.”
“Devil,” Johnny nods vaguely at the stranger. “Can smell the brimstone on yeh. Get you some tea? Sit a spell?”
Confused by this welcome, the Devil brushes off his jacket and replies, with a magnanimous gesture, “No, no. I’ve come back to play you, you see. You knew I would.”
“I don’t see, actually,” Johnny chuckles. "All the same, been forty long years and I ain’t heard from you. Figured you gave up, once and for good.”
“I don’t do anything for good,” the Devil snarls. “I want one last chance.”
Johnny quirks an eyebrow, "So, you bid your time, waited 'til I was too old to fiddle?"
A smile creeps across the Devil's face. "I'll get your soul however I can."
Johnny laughs a rich, deep guffaw, “I thought we had this settled, hoss? I’m the best that’s ever been!" The old man pauses, and, with a conspiratorial wink, reminds the Devil, “Got me a golden fiddle to prove it, too.”
The Devil squirms. “So prove it again,” he taunts.
Johnny sighs in lament. “I ain’t got nothin’ worth bettin’, Ol’ Son.”
The Devil flashes a toothy grin, “I’ll be the judge of that, boy.”
Johnny smirks and shakes his head. “I cain’t see. I don't hardly fiddle no more. My kids all growed up and left. My beautiful wife, the love of m' life, she done passed on some fifteen years ago.”
“I heard,” the Devil replies, softly and sincerely.
“So, you ain’t seen her then?”
“No . . . but I can get her back for you," the Devil whispers. "Would you like that, boy? To see her again?"
Johnny takes a long drink from his iced tea and considers the offer. He sighs. "She's in a better place, then." Johnny smiles to himself, with just a twinge of sadness.
The Devil fumes inwardly, "There must be something!" he hisses.
“No, Devil. I've lived m'life, and happily too. All that’s left now is me, m'dog . . . and memories. Got plenty of those,” Johnny grins. "One in particular, from 'bout fifty years ago."
The Devil glares at Johnny, his mind whirring and spinning. Could nothing tempt the old man? Could there really be a man in this world with no want and nothing left to live for?
“So sit you a spell, hoss. Won’t be long now, afore it’s my time. And then, it’s all yours.”
Slowly, the Devil nods.
He cocks an eyebrow. “I think I will take that tea then.” He clambers up the porch steps and resigns himself to a seat next to Johnny. “Mercy, sure is hot out here.”
The old man laughs as the Devil sits down. “Winning by default ain’t as sweet, is it?”
The Devil grimaces. “With you, boy, I’ll take your soul however I can get it.”
There is a house, not far from the county road, but far from everywhere else. And there, two old friends and former rivals (three if you count the dog), sit, talking of days gone by, when the Devil came down to Georgia.