Payment Is Not Negotiable – A Creepypasta Tale From 2020TOO

…“The dirty souls should start paying me for the advice I give, instead of asking for hand outs when life gets too FUCKING hard! I should be the one reaping the rewards, not those who can’t handle their own affairs!” he sits venomously before draining the remaining whisky from its bottle. “And now I have no booze left,” he slurs as he turns to the unusual little man who sits at the other end of the table. “I don’t suppose you have some in that remarkable bag of yours?”

The little man smiles broadly and taps his nose playfully. “As I said before, for a price, I can have anything your heart desires.”

“Well,” he says with a with a smack of his lips and a slap of the table. “You tell me the price, and I’ll pay it, but if the whisky needs to sour, and bloody worth every drop!”

“At this stage of the game, I doubt the taste will really matter to you.”

He slaps the table again, this time with more gusto, and a curl of his lips. “Taste ALWAYS matters, and anyone who doesn’t think so, can’t be trusted! So, I ask the question, can I trust you little fella?”

The little man stares at him with furrowed brow, then he smiles broadly once more, steps down off his seat, picks up his bag and tips his hat forward. “I’m sorry for wasting your time and bid you good day.”

“W-What? B-But you’ve sold me on this magic bag of yours, and all the wonderful things it can do, and now, when I finally take you up on your offer, you refuse to sell it to me! Why! Is it because you can’t back up your lies?”

The little man smiles softly, and looks over the man’s shoulder, then back into his eyes. “You can’t afford what I am selling, because you have already sold your soul to another.”

A chill cascade over the man, filled quickly by a cold sweat. “W-What t-the h-hell are y-you talking a-about?” he stammers nervously.

The little man giggles momentarily, before a smirk rides across his lips. “Hell is indeed what we are talking about,” he jokes.

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