This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. No matter how much we wish, they were real.

Copyright © 2019 Allison Achibane

All rights reserved.

Bashir laid in bed, book in his lap, lamplight buzzing and flickering ever so slightly in the distance beyond his window. It was just like any other night, home, alone, waiting for something and waiting for the world to shift and for him to no longer be afraid. Then maybe Bashir could leave, go outside the walls of his tiny apartment. But until that day, here he sat under the covers, a spot worn into his mattress from his stagnant movement.

He let out a sigh, letting his eyes drift from his book to glance around his room. Bookshelves along the walls, pages yellowing with age. Dust covering his dresser top, a few knick-knacks here and there. A short, balding man in a nice suit at the edge of his bed….wait.

His eyes flicked back, finding the object of his hopeful imagination still there. Looking him up and down, the hairs on the back of Bashir’s neck stood up. The man had pale skin, a little yellow under his eyes. And his pupils were red. Not bloodshot; red, like fire.

Even with the greasy suit and the black hair slicked back, Bashir knew who he was. He looked nothing like the creature he met back ten years ago, a boy of fifteen then, young and dumb. But there was no doubt it was him.

“Hello, Bashir,” he spoke with a greasy smile.

The blood drained from Bashir’s face, and he struggled to speak, “What are you doing here? I’m not dead.”

The sneer grew on the creature’s face, “No, I know.”

“So, what do you want?!”

“So hostile. Is that how you speak to an old friend?”

Bashir shifted in his bed, pushing himself further into a seated position, “No. But that’s how I treat the Shaitan who stole my soul! Now tell me what you want and get out!”

Iblis sneered, his yellow, jagged teeth reflecting at Bashir, “I need a favor.”

“Forget it,” Bashir ground out through gritted teeth.

“I’ll give you back your soul in return.”

Bashir hesitated; who trusted the Shaitan anyway? “What’s the favor?” Iblis’s smile widened, but he remained silent, “I can’t know until I agree to do it, can I?”

The Shaitan nodded his head vehemently. Bashir threw the sheet off his legs and jumped out of bed to pace before the strange man.

“So let me get this straight, I agree to this….favor and I get my soul back? No questions asked; no jail, no problems? I get to go to Heaven?”

Iblis shrugged, studying his cuticles, “Nothing is set in stone Bashir, but yes, I will return your soul to you if you complete the favor I ask of you.”

A mixture of fear and excitement filled Bashir’s veins. He could be free, free of his sentence, and free of this apartment. He only kept himself locked up so he could stay alive as long as he could. A self-made agoraphobe, Bashir had been avoiding death as much as possible. But if he did this favor, he could have a life again!

But, what if Iblis asked him something he couldn’t do? Like murder or hurt someone? He couldn’t bring himself to do that, no matter what the cost was. But, on the other hand, what could the Shaitan ask Bashir to do that was worse than death and damnation? Either way, he would never know until he agreed and changed his fate.

“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Just give me back my soul.”

“Really?” Iblis looked legitimately shocked, and it filled Bashir with doubt, “You are going to take on some task without knowing what it is? I thought you more cautious than that.”

Bashir shrugged, “What’s the worst that could happen? I fail, and you keep my soul? I might as well give it a shot; I have nothing to lose.”

“Unless it is a dangerous task in which you fail, you lose your life, and I gain your soul for good.”

Fear raged through Bashir, freezing him, his heart-stopping as the Shaitan stared him down, watching him. Then, Iblis burst into a roar of laughter, “I’m just kidding. You should see the look on your face!”

Everything went black, and gravity shifted around Bashir, spinning him and making him sick. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out nausea. Then it stopped, just as suddenly as it began.He carefully opened his eyes, finding himself on a strange street, standing in the middle of it. Bashir could tell he was in his neighborhood, but that was all he could tell for sure, given its size.

A few shops stood on one side of the street, the side Bashir was facing. Their lights were blaring on into the night, even though they all looked empty. There was a laundromat, clothes spinning inside white machines, a seedy-looking bar, and a small bookstore in the middle of those two. It was tiny, the kind that never really sold a book but still somehow managed to stay open. But it looked deserted.

Then a woman walked by the window. She ducked behind the register, a book in her hand, leaning over the counter placing her nose in the binding.

“See the lovely lady?” Bashir jumped, having been on the street alone a second ago, “All you have to do is give her this.”

A white envelope appeared in Iblis’s hand, holding it out to Bashir, carefully looking it over. A name was printed on the front in careful, neat handwriting.

“Aasiya?”

“Unfortunate name, I know. But it is hers nonetheless, and so is this letter. So could you be a dear and hand it over to her?”

Bashir studied Iblis, not touching the letter yet, “So…..all I have to do is give her, Aasiya, that?”

“Yes.”

“And she takes it, bam, our relationship is over, done with, I never see you again, I have my soul back?”

“Yes.”

Bashir wasn’t convinced; it was all too easy. “Why?”

“Why?!” Iblis balked in return.

“Why do you need me to do this? Can’t you go give it to Aasiya yourself?”

The Shaitan frowned, his patience waning, “If I could, don’t you think I would?”

“You are Iblis; there is no telling what you can or cannot do. Hence, my questioning of such a simple task.”

“Would you rather it be more difficult?!!”

Bashir snatched the letter, making his way towards the store, “Nope.”

A bell rang, sounding his arrival. The woman at the counter, Aasiya, looked him up and down and then put her eyes back to her book.“Homeless are not allowed to sleep in the stacks here. Go try Livre on fifth.”

“Huh?” He looked down at himself.

Bashir was still clad in his pajamas, which were some rough-looking plaid pants and a t-shirt that had gotten some bleach on it. All in all not that bad looking, but he also had no shoes on.

Looking back to the woman, he steadied himself and walked up to the counter, “Salam. Are you, Aasiya?”

She eyed him over the top of her book, “Yeeesss….”

“Oh, well, then this is for you.”

Bashir held out the letter, and she glanced at it, looking it over not too differently than he had. The difference was, the Shaitan held it then; Bashir’s caution was warranted. Aasiya’s as he held it out was offensive.

Just like the Shaitan, Bashir’s patience wore out, “Look, it belongs to you. Would you just take it?”

“.......no,” Aasiya said with ease.

“Excuse me?”

Crossing arms over her chest in defiance, Aasiya looked at Bashir like he was trash. “I am NOT taking that!”

Bashir couldn’t believe it; all she had to do was take the stupid, harmless letter, “Why not?”

Aasiya leaned in, halfway across the short counter, “Because I don’t accept things from Iblis.” His face was frozen in shock, while Aasiya showed amusement, “You shouldn’t either, you know.”

His hand fell, the letter still clutched in his fist, and then he started to shake—looking back up at the woman, this Aasiya, who was back in her book, ignoring him. He couldn’t believe it, all he needed to be free was for her to take the stupid thing, and she was so stubborn.

“Why?” Aasiya’s head shot up as if surprised Bashir was still there, “Why won’t you take it? Why won’t you help me? It won’t cost you anything? It won’t hurt you?”

She sighed, giving him a look of slight pity, “Look, I feel for you, I do. But you made your bed, and now you have to lie in it.”

“All you have to do is TAKE IT!”

“No, I won’t take it. Now get out!”

Bashir’s shaking returned, and he slowly started to realize it was hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred for Aasiya. She held no care for others, certainly not him, and now she was sitting there, mocking his misfortune.

She looked up, annoyed that he still stood where she left him, “You really should go. I’m not going to take that letter from you. You can go burn for all I care.”

“How? How can you be so...cold? You don’t even know me!”

“I know you,” she spat back at him.

“No...you don’t!”

Aasiya huffed, “Oh yes, I do. You made a deal with the Shaitan, and now you are trying to get your soul back by doing him a favor. What were you doing making deals if you weren’t ready to pay the cost? You should know better than to talk to Iblis!”

“Cause I didn’t know he was the Shaitan!!”

She was silent, watching him and waiting for him to continue his sad tale.

“I was fifteen. Dad ran out on us years ago, and my mom decided to support us by being the town’s ‘soothsayer’. All the kids either thought I was cursed or that I would curse them. I had no one….”

“So what? Did you ask Iblis to bring your Ba back? Make your mother a respectable business owner?” Aasiya mocked him.

“No, of course not!”

She didn’t believe him or care, a frown growing deeply on Aasiya’s face. “Then what was it? What was this magic wish you had that would make your life so much better?”

“A BIKE!!!!”

She froze, staring at him with wide eyes. Then she fell apart, laughing till she fell off the counter she leaned against.

“A bike?! You sold your soul for a BIKE?”

“Look...I didn’t know, okay?”

Aasiya rolled her eyes at Bashir. “You didn’t know what? That the bike would rust, and you would still be damned?”

“I didn’t know the Shaitan was so tricky. I didn’t know he was the Shaitan. He didn’t look like that,” Bashir pointed out the window, and Aasiya’s eyes followed to the creepy man who watched from the street, “He looked like me. A fifteen-year-old. It was my friend. My only friend. I didn’t know who he was or what he could do. I didn’t even ask for a bike in exchange for my soul!”

“What did you do then?”

Now, Aasiya seemed genuinely interested in Bashir’s tale. So he was honest. “We were sitting at the train tracks, drinking a monada, and talking. Like we always did. Never about anything important. He asked me if there was anything in the world I could have, what would it be? I thought about it and told him a Schwinn, as a joke!” He turned and yelled towards the window, “A joke! As soon as I said it, poof, he was gone, and a bike, a Schwinn was in his place.”

Bashir paced, the letter still in his hand started to burn. And Aasiya just watched, silent.

“That doesn’t seem fair….”

“You’re damn right it’s not fair. I’ve spent my entire life afraid of death because of him and because of a stupid bike! I’ve missed out on so much! I missed my life!!!”

She shrugged, “You haven’t missed much.” Bashir’s neck cracked from slinging his head up so fast to look at Aasiya, “Everybody fears death. I don’t care what they tell you or who they are; they fear it. It may not be for the same reason, fear of the unknown, fear of being forgotten, or even fear of being alone or leaving someone alone. But they do. You, my friend, have let the fear of the Shaitan control your life.”

He couldn’t move or speak. His mouth hung open at Aasiya, waiting to catch flies. It felt as if the world was pulling inward on himself, sucking Bashir in only to spit him out. He had let his fear of Iblis control him. His whole life. And he only had himself to blame.

The burning sensation in his hand disappeared, the letter having slipped from Bashir’s fingers. He looked down and around for it on the floor, but it was gone. Then he found it in Aasiya’s hand.

“What? Why?”

The letter flipped around in her hand, back and forth like a fan, “You’ve suffered enough. I don’t mind taking this burden off your hands.” His heart skipped a beat, “Now go. Seriously, get out of here. We have a strict rule about homeless sleeping in the stacks!”

Bashir walked out, the bell ringing again in his ears. A breeze picked up, chilling his skin, causing him to wake up from his trance. He quickly searched around, looking for the slick man. But Iblis was nowhere to be found. The street was empty.

Bashir turned back around to look back at Aasiya. But the shop had gone completely dark. No movement that he could see was coming from inside. As if the place was closed hours ago.

As he walked home, the city streets oddly quiet, he listened to the beating of his heart as it found a rhythm with the padding of his feet. He was alive. And he was free.

Bashir knew this without a doubt. The weight on his shoulders that had been present since his teens was long gone. Iblis was missing too. That said, he had spent most of his life afraid of living. So it wasn’t as simple snapping Bashir’s fingers and entering a ‘normal’ life.

He was hoping that was the reason for his apprehension; the street lamps’ buzzed a little too loudly while the scents were not fresh as he remembered. Bashir came to a halt, blocks away from home, and took a deep breath to settle himself. It didn’t work, as the smell of sulfur filled his nostrils.

“No, no,” Bashir told himself, “that’s not sulfur. It’s a sewer treatment plant. That’s all.”

The rationale was there, and his heart slowed a little. But the fear still pressed into his spine. It pushed Bashir’s pace along, moving swifter than before. He would enjoy his freedom later; tonight, he would just get home where it was safe. This was what happened when you spent the majority of your life as an agoraphobe. Self-proclaimed or not, Bashir struggled to cope, even with the new life he’d been granted.

His skin felt tight and itchy while his breathing rushed and unfulfilling. Bashir’s heart was in his throat for the better half of the twenty minutes he booked it home. And the streets were still lifeless; the only one around for blocks was himself.

That is until a tall man appeared in the middle of Bashir’s path.

He swore the guy wasn’t there a moment ago. But then again, Bashir wasn’t of sane mind or focused. It felt as though his surroundings were crashing in around him, the buildings moving in steadily closer as if on water. They shifted on the stale breeze and wiggled on the paved ocean, drifting closer on the sea of Bashir’s emotions. Whether the man had been there a moment ago or not, Bashir was instantly calmed at sight; another human being on the streets was comforting. He might not like being outside his home, but Bashir also hated being alone.

It was a human reaction; when you’re scared, you drift towards other life in hopes of being saved. Bashir did the same, but as a whiff of sulfur flowed his way, there was fear renewed in his spine.

“Hello, Bashir,” the man croaked.

Bashir stepped back, starting to trip backward, as the man only got taller. “Who…who are you?”

“Does it matter?”

The man was now the same height as the lamp behind, putting his face in the light. It allowed Bashir to see the twisted sneer on his lips, sharp teeth sticking out and glowing. Bashir had to swallow something back down his throat to speak, and he wasn’t too sure it wasn’t his heart. “What do you….want?”

The man’s sneer dropped, and a strange look on his face took its place. “I heard…you can deliver things?”

“Wha…what?”

“The thing is…” the man continued, “my wife doesn’t know where my will is.”

Bashir’s heart was currently in his belly, dread spreading down to his fingers and back. “Who told you I would help you?”

The creature shook his head, “can you help me or not?”

The breath Bashir took helped…some. “I’m not sure what you think I can do?”

“Just show my wife where my will is.”

“I suppose I’ll be able to walk up, a stranger she’s never heard of or met before, and say, ‘hey, nice to meet you, your husband sent me’?”

The hulking monster bent down and got in Bashir’s face with a frown. “No. She wouldn’t want to hear from anyone claiming to know me.”

Twerking up a brow, Bashir got brave since the thing didn’t want him dead, it would seem. “Then, why would she need to know where your will is?”

“Look,” he growled, “if she doesn’t have it then she’ll have to fight my family for our kids. That’s the last thing she needs or deserves. So just…okay?”

Giving the man a nod, Bashir got him out of his face. Then, looming over him, Bashir tried once again to get some information for himself. “I’ll help you if you tell me who sent you.”

The creature growled and began to shrink slowly. “I’ll tell you after it’s done. Now listen closely, Bashir.”

He made his way to the address, clad in his pajamas and not questioning once why he could see the Shaitan. Bashir had seen the devil as a kid and again as an adult. Hiding inside, he’d hidden from a talent he was vaguely unaware of. Now, it was impossible to ignore, and he felt no fear.

After all, he’d bested the devil tonight.

Bashir stood at the widow’s door, the widow not letting him past that, and he was beyond understanding. He watched her face change from the news, going from angry to confused and then afraid. It wasn’t until she left to find the hidden documents that the widow showed Bashir anything but contempt. Her tear-stained face came first, grabbing Bashir in a fierce hug that made his agoraphobic skin crawl.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

He didn’t know what the papers contained, the demon didn’t say, and Bashir thought it best not to ask. Whatever it said, the widow treated it as a lifeline, clutching it tightly.

Bashir stepped back and left the sobbing woman for the curb, walking a short distance when a man stood between him and home. “Thank you, Bashir.”

This man was a stranger, so Bashir shook his head. The man only sighed and disappeared in a blink. Home. Bashir needed to get home and stay there. He was free of Iblis’ threats but far from ready to rejoin the world.

Still far from the safety of his small and dingy apartment, he was stopped again. A familiar woman stepped up to his side as if to join him in a stroll. “Good work, Bashir.”

He froze and paced back, putting a reasonable space between them, “Aasiya?! What are you doing here??”

“I came to congratulate you!”

Bashir shook his head and walked around her, needing to get home more than ever. “Thanks. But if you hadn’t taken the letter….”

“Not that. I’m congratulating you on helping a lost soul. And so quickly, I’m impressed!” Aasiya smirked back at Bashir, and his heart jumped to his throat.

Walking backward, he hoped to leave all this behind. “It was…just something I could do…how do you know about that?!”

She wrapped her arms across her chest and grinned. Bashir took in her outfit, wide pants, and a thin tunic; she stood out in her blood red and pure white clothes. Aasiya twisted a short curl around her ear and sighed deeply at him. “Who do you think sent Maati to you?”

“YOU?!” Bashir screamed. Then he spun on his heel, ready to get far away and never see her or another Jinni again!

Aasiya kept up, moving as if floating at his side. “All it took was delivering a message, and you helped Maati. What’s so wrong with that?”

“He was a Shaitan! A Demon!”

“And so were you once. All it took was receiving a message. I thought you wanted to go to Heaven?”

Bashir stopped at that and glared at Aasiya, “of course I do!”

“Well, helping others is a great way to get there.”

He side-stepped her; Aasiya had gotten in front of him when he stopped, and now he went around. “I did my part and got my soul back.”

“You act like that’s a free pass. Even Maati isn’t guaranteed entrance. That’s not up to us.”

Basir spun and faced Aasiya, hopefully for the last time. “Then what was all this for?!”

She shrugged, “you gave Maati a chance. Same thing I did for you. We’re just the messengers, Bashir. You’re a messenger, and we’re doing all the good we can.” Aasiya stepped past Bashir, turning in a direction that would take him away from home, and held out her hand to him. “We have a lot of work to do still. You in, or out?”

Bashir was tired. He’d been up all night, dealing with Iblis and Aasiya, then Maati and his problems. Tonight was the longest Bashir had been outside in over a decade, which affected him the most. More than tired, he wasn’t used to this, to being outside his apartment walls. Soul returned or not; it made his skin itch with tension.

He was still in his pajamas while the rest of the city slept soundly. The sun crept up the sky, spreading light slowly onto Aasiya’s face. Her hand didn’t waver, holding it out to him as if she knew his answer already. The soft smile on her face was full of anticipation, though. It was all up to Bashir, the first time he was given a choice in a long time.

It wasn’t like he owed her anything; Aasiya had taken that letter from him of her own free will. He still found himself doing the same, taking Aasiya’s hand as his choice. Without an end date or more job details, Bashir trusted Aasiya just as she had trusted him.

Bashir became a Messenger.