I tapped my gnarled red finger against the countertop, looking across at the other demon in the room.

Between us there was a small plate with a whole lot of green plant matter upon it.

It wasn’t marijuana. Any two-bit imp could grow marijuana in their apartment. No, this was the good stuff, the hard stuff…

Tobacco.

Not many places in hell could even grow tobacco. It was kind of hard to do so when the soil was mostly barren and the sun a perverted and sickly parody of its normal self.

“Where’s it from?” the demon asked.

I smirked. “Would you believe me if I said Virgina?”

He snorted. “Do they even grow tobacco in Virginia anymore?”

“They did when I was alive,” I said, flashing a smile. “Though that was back in the eighties, so who knows what the heck they’re doing there nowadays.”

“Which eighties?” the demon asked.

I chuckled. “The one where we snorted more blow than we knew what to do with and I died of a rather problematic STD.”

He whistled. “Rough way to go.”

“How about you?” I asked.

I looked around the shop.

It was empty. Though it was usually empty.

Not many demons appreciated the finer things from the mortal realm. It was the rare sort that came around to gawk at all the little baubles and trinkets that ended up here through happenstance and miracles.

He smirked. “I was a surfer and I got eaten by a shark.”

“A shark.” I whistled. “You must’ve had some pretty shit luck to actually get eaten by a shark. From what I’ve heard, only nine people a year actually die from shark attacks.”

“Wanna hear the real kicker?” he asked.

I grabbed some rolling paper, sprinkling some of the tobacco into it and feeding it into a machine that produced a half-assed cigarette. Maybe it wasn’t a Spirit but it would have to do.

He was looking to me for permission and I gave it with a small nod as I placed the drag between my lips.

I lit it and inhaled. One of the few perks about being in this industry was actually getting to enjoy those finer things that not many demons cared about.

Their loss, in my opinion.

“I bought a lottery ticket before I kicked the bucket,” he said, chuckling in a very dark manner. The chuckle was a funny peculiar kind of chuckle and not a funny ‘ha ha’ kind. “And well… guess whose girlfriend ended up a millionaire.”

“Holy shit,” I whispered. “That’s rough dude.”

“Eh, at least I got a beach named after me.” He shrugged. “Even got a nice plaque telling all the visitors about how cool I was.”

“And yet you ended up here,” I replied as I pointed my cigarette at him.

He nodded. “Apparently Saint Peter has it out for adulterers.”

“That prick?” I snorted. “Who needs heaven anyways. Doing perfectly fine down here, thank you very much.”

I couldn’t help but notice that lighting up a cigarette had gotten my client’s attention, his gaze locked to the glowing embers, his nose curling at the acrid smell. He practically salivated at the sight of it.

It was enough to make me smile. Though I had to look away, lest he see the dollar signs flashing in my eyes.

My client sighed. “Anyways, we're getting a little off topic here. That tobacco isn’t Virginian and we both know it.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Because Virginia is full of Baptists and I haven’t seen a single fucking Baptist down here,” he said.

I shrugged. “There are plenty of Baptists down here. Just like there are plenty of Jews, Arabs, Hindus…”

“All the atheists,” my client added.

I snorted. “They sure bet on the wrong horse, didn’t they?” I then sighed. “But you’re right. It’s from China.”

“China?” my client asked, nodding to himself. “Wasn’t aware that tobacco even grew over there.”

“I was surprised too but…” I chuckled. “But I know this imp who took a contract hiding bodies for some firm above ground and he was kind enough to share a couple ounces of his payment with me. It’s genuine tobacco, grown under real sunlight.”

“Chinese sunlight,” my client chided.

I snorted. “They have the same sun, dipshit.”

“I bet it reeks of communism,” he added.

I drew in another drag and blew it out directly into his face.

His nose curled and he flinched away from me.

“Tastes fine to me,” I said, batting my lashes at me. “So do you want some or what?”

He looked at it and sighed. “Alright what do you want for it?”

I smirked. “How about twelve bucks for a gram or three hundred if you want an entire ounce?”

A high price but one with plenty of room for us to barter.

However, the surfer dude must’ve been born from a more trustworthy time as he simply nodded and produced a billfold, popping a couple hundreds down on the counter.

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

I tried to hide my surprise by turning towards my scale and weighing out a full ounce of the tobacco. It took only a couple of moments before I had it in a large Ziplock bag.

“You’re not going to be disappointed,” I offered, flashing a predatory smile. “Trust me.”

I felt a little bad about ripping him off so badly. Not bad enough to fix the price, mind you, but bad enough that I made sure to toss a pack of rolling papers onto the table.

“On the house,” I offered.

He grinned. “Thanks dude, I was running low.”

Hopefully, the freebie would help soften the blow of the purchase and turn him into a repeat customer. Though considering the amount of nicotine in that bag, the tobacco alone probably would’ve got the job done.

With the purchase finished, he saluted and headed for the door. His departure was marked by the little bell jingling above the entrance.

“Dumb ass,” I whispered, looking at the bills.

They were from a mixture of places, two from Pride and one from Gluttony. Not ideal but they were still money.

I brushed a cloth across the countertop and dusted away the last little bits of cheap tobacco that lingered behind, knocking them onto the floor. My attention then went back to the book I had been reading.

It was from Stephen King. Apparently, he had actually managed to make it big, after I died. Honestly, it was kind of surreal seeing a guy who had once been my age turn into an old man.

It was a strangely bitter sensation, knowing that this freak had survived my lifestyle while I hadn’t. And to be honest, that was kind of taking away from the book.

Thankfully, the bell above my door chimed for a second time, snuffing out that fury.

I forced a smile and looked up. “Welcome to Jacob’s Junk, where we specialize in the nostalgia of your mortal coil.”

“You got that jingle memorized?” my next patron asked.

My next patron was an imp who had ‘ring of lust’ written all over her. Or well, she didn’t actually have those words written on her. Though she had plenty of other words written on her and very little clothing to cover up said words.

I forced myself to look her in the eye.

“I heard jingles are catchy,” I said.

She snorted. “Maybe back in the eighties.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. “Well, I got some news for you.”

Though I could tell that she really didn’t care all that much about hearing it.

“Is there something that you’re looking for?” I asked.

She glanced away from me and started to walk around my shop. Not that there was really much of a shop to see. Between all the turf wars and decimations, space was kind of at a premium in Hell. Which meant that my store was about the size of a generous broom closet.

But hey, I could take pride in the fact that I owned this broom closet.

She, on the other hand, did not seem very impressed by it.

Her attention went to a cuckoo clock which she rapped her knuckles against. The impact made the little bird pop out directly in her face. Something which she didn’t seem amused by; not one bit.

“Can I help you find something?” I asked again.

She looked at me. “Do you have an adult section?”

I blinked, staring at her vacantly and wondering what she could possibly mean by that. Then it clicked as I remembered where she was from.

“I have a few items like that from Earth,” I said. “Anything you’re looking for in particular?”

“I’m looking for a dildo,” she said. “A nice average human dildo; six or seven inches long and with no bells or whistles.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Uh, okay?”

“I don’t think you understand,” she said. “Hell is so full of exotic fucking dicks. Ones with barbs and knots and flares and…” She shook her head. “I just want a basic bitch human dong to fuck myself with. Do you get me?”

“I get you,” I said, allowing myself a thin smile. “I might have a couple left in stock.”

I pushed away from my counter and slipped into the back of my shop. I laid out my store as if it were an antique store back on the surface, meaning that anything indecent had to stay in the back.

This was a nervous tick that I probably didn’t have to worry about in a realm of fornicators, murderers, and those who ate a burger on Sundays. But it would seem that nervous ticks were difficult to overcome.

There was a small collection of boxes with daring sounding names and pictures of unnaturally coloured cocks on them.

I grabbed them and returned to the counter, laying them out for my customer to see.

She squinted and appraised them closely, sending a puff of breath into her cheek.

“Forgot how small a human dong is,” she murmured.

I shrugged. “Six inches doesn’t seem all that bad.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She glanced away from them and at me. “Got anything else?”

I shook my head. “Sorry but it isn’t like many people are bringing their sex toy collections with them to the afterlife.”

“Got any contacts who might be able to nab me something better,” she asked. There was a desperation to her voice. “Or maybe get me a mold of a celebrity’s junk?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Was this seriously happening? Was this a for real conversation that we were having about this?

“Might be worth checking out those IMP guys on TV,” I suggested. “My contacts are usually in narcotics or rare books. Don’t have many people coming here looking for dicks.”

“Rare books,” she whispered. “Who gives a shit about books?”

“The pretentious assholes who cared about having lots of books in the living worlds,” I said, sighing. “Look, are you going to buy one of these dicks or can I take them to the back?”

The imp huffed and tapped her finger against the one in the middle.

“How much for this one?” she asked.

It was the only one that had a proud ‘made in America’ sticker on the front. Though I had little reference on whether the US had a good reputation when it came to making high quality dildos.

I hummed. “What do you have in exchange?”

The imp grinned and batted her lashes. “I could give you the night of your life.”

“I’m gay,” I retorted.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Of course, you are.”

With gingerly care she reached into her cleavage and produced a little gemstone. It looked vaguely like a ruby though coursed with an energy that was deeply unsettling. I could feel the raw anguish wafting off of it.

“Where did you get that from?” I asked.

She shrugged. “From someone who doesn’t check their pockets at the end of the night.”

I nodded and held out my hand. It was a strange payment but I knew it had value.

She dropped the gemstone into my palm and I clutched it tightly. It felt electric, tingling at my digits and filling me with a deep sense of foreboding.

The imp grabbed her dildo and made her way towards the exit. She didn’t even ask me to slide it into some discreet packaging.

Hell could be a wonderfully strange place at times.

I gave the gem another look before opening a drawer and dropping it inside. This drawer was filled with assorted jewelry that all had magical properties and would one day need to be properly sorted and priced.

But that could wait until after I was done with my book.

I opened my novel, once again, and returned to the page that I had been reading. Though, the second I had resumed, the bell chimed and another figure entered.

I looked up and my gaze narrowed. “You.”

The demon was dressed in a finely tailored black suit that clung to his gangly and thin form. His head was like that of some kind of octopus with little tentacles licking out at the air.

Everyone knew of this gentleman in our neighbourhood. He had apparently called himself an author back in the living world, one of the precursors of horror or some shit.

“Me,” the figure said.

His squid eyes blinked as he surveyed the shop. Though he eventually settled upon looking at my counter. That’s when I realized that I had forgotten to ferry all of my sex toys into the back.

I cleared my throat and blushed, making sure to do that before he could comment.

“Can I help you find anything?” I asked upon my return, failing to keep the coolness out of my voice.

The squid man continued to look at me. His gaze was eerie and had a supernatural quality that I was not prepared for in the slightest. Which was strange considering the nature of this realm.

Finally, the squid man stirred. “I was wondering if you had any bibles in stock?”

“Bibles?” I asked, snorting. “Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that?”

“It’s never too late to try and get closer to god,” the squid man said. He sounded amused though had no mouth to smile. “Especially since he made the grave mistake of sending me here.”

God didn’t make mistakes but I refrained from saying so. It would be rude to alienate a client like that. Especially a client who was wealthy.

“Well, I’m sure that I have a few,” I said, pushing away from the counter and making my way towards one of many bookshelves. “Books are my speciality.”

“And what a collection you have,” the beast said.

I continued to wonder how his voice was projecting. Though thinking about it too hard gave me a migraine. Instead, I shook my head and went about the task at hand.

Like any proper book collector, I split my volumes into genres and then alphabetized them. Which meant that my search was relatively easy due to the skimpy collection that fell under the topic of religion.

“Any denomination you had in mind?” I asked.

The beast shook his head. I could feel him peering over my shoulder, those slimy tentacles so close to my flesh.

“I have a Latin bible, straight from an unfortunate Catholic,” I offered.

The beast tensed and suddenly the air was filled with a piercing wail. I cried out and clapped my hands over my ears. Though it did little to block out the sound. It was intense, nearly driving me to the brink of insanity. I wished to use the term non-Euclidian to describe this shriek but realized that wasn’t really an appropriate descriptor for sound.

Finally, it subsided and I drew my hands away, seeing that red blood lingered upon my hands. There was a legitimate fear within me, forming an oppressive knot within my gullet. It was the kind of fear that was borne from knowing that one’s eternal damnation was about to be woefully cut short.

“Not Catholic,” I said, flashing a nervous smile. “Got it.”

“Thank you,” the demon murmured.

I continued to search. “I have a couple non-denomination scripture books, a Mormon text, a King James bible…”

The demon perked up.

“King James sounds good?” I asked.

“The King James bible will do fantastically,” the squid man said.

I sighed in relief and got up, making my way back to the counter. I placed the book upon it and looked at him.

“Not many people down here are looking for holy books,” I quipped.

The demon looked at me. “It brings me comfort and a hope of redemption.”

“Redemption?” I asked, snorting. “That’s a bit of an aspiration you got there.”

“Aspiration and hope are the only things I have left,” the demon said. “Well, that and my incredible amounts of wealth. Speaking of…”

He produced a small pouch made of flesh and plopped it down upon the counter. With great care, he loosened the sinew strings and showed off a vast quantity of golden coins. They were marked with all sorts of strange designs that looked downright ancient, giving me a vibe that they were older than hell itself.

“Will this suffice?” the demon asked.

I grinned and looked at him. “I think they’ll do nicely.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the demon said before turning to leave. “And thank you for the text. Rare to find a true blooded Anglo-Saxon working down here.”

I didn’t reply, lest my lack of English blood work against me and my chances of survival.

Thankfully, no rapture fell upon my shoulders as the squid man simply stepped out of my shop, once more leaving me in peace.

I quaked for a few minutes, riding through the high brought on by adrenaline.

Though as it subsidised, I chuckled darkly under my breath. “What a strange fucking day.”

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