Title: Jack-o'-Lantern
Character(s): Stingy Jack/the Devil (or some lesser Demon)
Further Referance(s): Halloween/Samhain, Jack-o'-Lanterns, The Key of Solomon, The Star of David, and Deals with the Devil.
Pantheon(s): Irish Folklore/Celtic Paganism/Jewish Kabbalahist/Christian
Rating: PG
Summery: An origin story for Stingy Jack.



It was the time of year when the world was starting to darken; his time of year. It was when he came out with more regularity ... or, at least, when he allowed people to see him with more regularity. He loved to see their reaction when they saw him, whether it was the first time, or their fifth. They always became frightened beyond all reason, as though they were staring into death itself, like he had escaped through the thinness of the veil that this night had afforded others their escape. And they believed that he would drag them back to Hell with him.

The truth was that while he had met the Devil, on more than one occasion, there was no chance that he would be taking anyone to his domain (either living, or dead). But sometimes he preferred that they had forgotten the truth about what had happened to him, and now only thought of him as something that had come to frighten them.

When he had still been alive, they had called him a miser, because he was thrifty; stingy, because he didn't throw money at every charity case who happened to beg for it (instead of getting a job themselves); silver-tongued, because (when he wanted) he could talk them into leaving him be, and thinking it was their idea. It became even worse once they realized how much he loved his ale ... that he was much more likely to try to get one of them to pay for his drink, and much less likely to pay for one of theirs. And for all of eternity (or, for as long as anyone remembered his story, which was long enough), he knew he would be known as "Stingy Jack."

It was in the alehouse that he had first met the Devil. Jack had been minding his own business, enjoying the ale (if that's what it could be called), when someone had begun speaking to him. At first, he didn't know who this stranger was (talking about wanting to experience Jack's famous, silver tongue), and he started to get annoyed at being unnecessarily interrupted. But it didn’t take him long to figure out who was chatting him up. He was surprised at just how calm he was, as if he were speaking to just another patron of the alehouse. If he had been asked how he would react to such an encounter, before it ever happened, he probably would have given you a puffed up account of his bravery (accounts that he, himself, would not have believed).

And as the Devil sad beside him, and chatted away, he became less and less impressed. Perhaps, all of the build up about him had been unjustly deserved, as people's imaginations tended to run away with them (when they had the time, and the opportunity to wander). Or maybe, this was only one of many devils, as apposed to the Devil.

It wasn't long before the two of them began discussing what it was that Jack would like more than anything else, and Jack had said that that would be to be left alone. With a twinkle in his eye, the devil said that he could arrange that, all they had to do was to drink a pint of ale to seal the deal. And the devil even used his own ... "money" ... to buy it. All he would ask for, would be Jack's soul (to be collected in one year’s time).

When no one else was looking, the devil transformed himself into the appropriately marked coin. For a moment, Jack sat dumfounded, staring at the coin as though it were going to burn the entire town to the ground, and take everyone with it. But it didn't take long before he recovered himself and began to think. Moving quickly, he grabbed the coin and dropped it into his money pouch, where he also kept his crucifix. He felt a faint tugging at his belt, and just barely heard a scream and a hiss.

Walking slowly, and at his leisure, Jack made his way outside. Finding a quiet spot, he pulled the pouch from his waist, and opened its mouth. Looking inside, he said that he would let the devil go, if instead of coming for him in one year, he would wait for ten. After a few, long moments of negotiation, the devil agreed to this.

Putting his hand into the pouch, and pulling out the coin, he threw it into the air. Before it traveled a few feet, the devil reappeared in front of him. And there was one more angry hiss as the devil disappeared.

Then, as the years passed, he thought little of his deal, unless it was a gratefulness for the quiet. No more vagabonds, or charity cases. No more tinkers, or gypsies. No more of those who were completely unwilling to strengthen their backs with an honest day's worth of labor. And his only regret was that it hadn't happened to him when he was a younger man, so that he might enjoy the solitude a bit longer.

It wasn't until his allotted time was almost up that he began thinking of ways that he could get out of the deal completely. The crucifix had worked really well the last time, but there was no way that the devil would fall for that again.

The months passed, and Jack looked through every source that he could find. But there weren't that many written accounts of how to get out of an ill-begotten deal, and the people seemed less than willing to help him search (he vaguely wondered why. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he wouldn't tell them why he needed to know).

He traveled far and wide, far past where his reputation was known. He looked through every book he could scrounge, got information out of anyone who seemed as though they might know even the smallest scrap.

With just over six months to spare, he came across a woman who lived on the outskirts of her town. It was whispered that she was a witch, and had much in the way of secret and forbidden knowledge. There were those who feared her for what they thought she knew, because of a supposed relationship with the devil. It was a long-shot, he knew, she may have just been an observer of the old ways, but he made his way to her as quickly as he could.

She invited him in, when he arrived, and gave him a cup of (what he assumed was) herbal tea. And when they were both sitting comfortably, he began his story. He told her about the deal he had made, how the devil was set to come back and collect him in the matter of months, and how he had been on a search to find some way out of it. He told her that he didn't have much left in the way of hope, but he had to keep trying until he found something, or his time was up.

She sat in silence through his entire ale, taking in everything he said, and when he was finished, she continued to stare at him for a moment. After a few heartbeats had passed, and he became sure that she wasn't going to help him, she got up from her chair and walked into the next room.

At first, he was confused, unsure as to what he should do next, thinking that he had somehow offended her, or that maybe, she now feared him. He though that maybe he should just get his things and leave. But then, he heard her moving around, ruffling through papers and books. He heard her mumbling to herself, sure that she had just seen what she was looking for. Perhaps, she really had something for him, he thought, and so, he continued to wait rather impatiently. He wondered if the edge of the seat would be able to hold up to him sitting only on that fraction of it. If not, he certainly didn't want to have to pay for its replacement.

After what seemed like a small eternity, she came back into the room, and she was carrying an old, dusty book. Sitting back down in the chair that she had just vacated, resting the book on her knees, she began rifling through the pages.

"I know of nothing," she said, "which could actually get you out of the deal. But I do know of something that might help ... somewhat."

"Anything," he said, a note of desperation in his voice.

"Do you know what this book is?" she asked him, not looking up.

"No. I don't."

"It's called The Key of Solomon. You have heard of Solomon, haven't you?"

"Yes," he said, rather surprised that she had.

"Don't seem so shocked," she said, and this time, she did look up. "I assume that those half-wits in town told you that I was a witch."

He only nodded, a look of dumb-foundedness on his face.

"Pah!" she said. "I refuse the closed-mindedness of their church, and believe that there are more things to learn that just those words in their book, and they call me a witch. But who is it that they come to when they are ill? Or when a babe is turned the wrong way? They beat down my door, trying to get me to help them."

She continued to flip through the pages, a little more forcefully this time. She began to mumble to herself again, and even though he couldn't clearly hear the words, he thought that he could guess what she was talking to herself about.

"Ah!" she said, stopping on one of the pages, and pointing to what she found there. "This may help you."

She turned the book around, and handed it to him. Taking the book from her, he saw a picture of something he had never seen before: two circles (one inside, and only slightly smaller than the other), and several lines inside of them (which looked something like the Star of David).

"I don't understand," he said. "What will this do?"

"When the devil comes for you, get him to walk over, or under, this symbol, and he will be trapped."

"How will that help me? The symbol won't last forever, and then, he'll be free. And this thing won't stop anyone from coming to help him."

"It won't be necessary for you to keep him there forever. If what you've told me is correct, you should be able to talk him into letting you out of the deal. And it will be very difficult, if it's even possible, for him to get any help from anyone else."

He suddenly had the sinking feeling that all of his searching had been pointless. He was never going to be able to pull this off.

To not let her know exactly how disappointed he really was, he took a copy of the picture that she found for him. He excused himself from her home, and slowly began to make his way back to his own home. It was not going to be too long before his time would be up, and he felt nothing but depressed (especially after feeling so completely disheartened by what he felt like he didn't find).

The main voice in his head was set against using the symbol, because he didn't think that it would do him any good. But there was that smaller, constant and contrasting voice that nagged at him, demanding that he at least try it. What if it was the one thing that could actually help him?

Slowly, slowly, he decided that he should at least give it a try. And once he made up his mind, he moved much more quickly, practically running all the way back home.

When he finally reached his three-room home, he took the charred remains of a log from his fireplace and drew the symbol (as close to exactly as it was shown) onto the floor. When he was done, he admired his work for a moment, making sure that he hadn't forgotten any lines, and that everything was where it should be. Satisfied that he had gotten it as close as possible, he took a ratty looking rug that he had in another part of the house, and placed it, as carefully as he could, over the top of the symbol.

Sitting down in one of the two chairs that the house contained, his mind began to wonder over the possibilities. The demon would be back for him, of that he was sure. But how everything would happen after that, he was not sure. The more he thought about it, the more restless he became; his legs seemed to move of their own accord, and he found it difficult to get himself in a position where sleep was even remotely possible.

But somewhere during the night, the exhaustion had finally taken its toll. Late, the next morning, he woke with a jerk, and realized what had happened, even though he had no memory of starting to drift off (he barely remembered sitting back down in the chair).

He quickly got to his feet, while looking all around and half expecting the devil to be standing somewhere inside the house. But there was nothing and no one else in the house with him. He wondered, vaguely, if the devil would come during the day, or if he would wait until the sun went down. He knew that he should remember more of the things that had learned along the way, but the sudden fear had driven it from his mind. Knowing that the fear would do him no good, he tried to calm himself.

Of course, their kind could strike at any time they liked, but as he looked around, he could see no evidence of anyone (or anything) else being inside his home. His mind now more at ease, he sat back down in his chair, and breathed a deep sigh of relief).

Days ... weeks ... passed, and there was still no sign of the devil coming to collect his soul. And the more time that passed, the calmer that he got; and the calmer that he got, the more easily he slipped back into his old ways; and the more he slipped into his old ways, the more he was able to talk himself into believing that he had only imagined the whole thing. And when he began frequenting the ale house again, he was able to talk himself into thinking that, one night, he had drunk to much hard ale, and had hallucinated the whole thing. He started congratulating himself on having such an well-nourished imagination. Perhaps, he would write it all down one day, and get people to pay him for it. The thought brought a smile to his lips, twisted and greedy.

After several hours, he left for home, stumbling slightly. It was a cool night, but he didn’t feel it; the ale was still warming him.

He stopped underneath an apple tree, leaning against it for a moment. He hadn't had enough to make him dizzy, and certainly not enough to make him throw up. So, when he heard the voice behind him, it ruined all of the work he had done, convincing himself that he had dreamed their last meeting (and certainly ruined the trap he had created back at his house).

"So," the male voice said from behind him, "are you ready for me? It's time for you to go."

He turned slowly, looking at the devil in the face. Again, he was struck by just how unassuming, and not frightening the face really was. The small voice in his mind reminded him of the book that he had thought about writing, and if he had been able, he would've laughed riley at himself for even considering it.

"Yes," he said, after finding his voice again. "I am. I just have one request before I go."

The devil looked at him, seeming to ponder giving him anything, but after a moment, he seemed to decide that there was no harm in it (Jack would be his soon enough).

"Alright," the devil said, "what is it that you wish?"

"I want one of the apples from this tree," he said, looking at the branches above his head.

The devil reached up, grabbing an apple from one of the lower hanging branches, and handing it to Jack.

"No," Jack said, "I want that one." And he pointed toward the top of the tree, to an apple on the highest branch.

"It can't possibly make a difference. They are all the same."

"But if these are to be my final moments on earth," Jack said, putting one hand in his pocket, and fingering his knife, "shouldn't I be able to have the apple that I desire?"

Again, the devil seemed to be considering the request, and again, he consented to grant it. Dropping the apple that he had first picked, the devil began climbing the tree, making his way towards the very top.

But while he was climbing, Jack wasn't idle. Knowing, from his last experience, that the cross would hinder the devil, Jack quickly began carving the symbol into the trunk of the tree with the knife that he had been carrying in his pocket. Moving as quickly as he could, he managed to make four rough facsimiles of it, one on each side, before the devil began making his way back down.

Just as the last one was finished, Jack heard a horrible scream coming from above him. Looking up, he saw the devil in the lowest branch, hissing and spitting in Jack's direction. It was in this moment that he saw the devil's true form, and knew why so many people feared those from the underworld.

Regaining his wits as fast as he could, Jack started to bargain with him, talking as sweetly (and as slickly) as he could. He told the devil that he would let him go, if he agreed to never take his soul. When the devil continued to hiss and spit at him, Jack reminded him that there was no way for him to get down, no way for any of his own people to get up the tree to help him, and once a human saw him trapped there, they would know him for what he was.

He continued to try to talk, continued to try to be smooth, continued to try to get the devil to leave him. After a few minutes, he was sure that this wasn’t going to work, and he started to repeat himself.

"So," the devil said, calming down only just enough to be able to formulate a coherent sentence, "you don't want me to ever accept your soul?"

"Yes," Jack said.

"Very well. That is exactly what you will get. Now," he said, looking down at the tree's trunk, "take those down."

Feeling rather satisfied with himself, Jack began cutting into the tree even more, so as to turn the crosses into just a few lines among many. With a howl and a screech, the devil moved quicker than the eye could see.

That was the last time that he had seen the devil, in his living years. He grew old, living as he always had, and after many years, finally died. Going to the gates of Heaven, he had expected to allowed inside that beautiful country, but the gates remained closed to him. He tried to demand entrance, demand that someone open them for him. Much time passed; how much, he wouldn't have been able to tell you. But finally, he saw someone coming to the gate, a creature (that he could only assume was an angel) wearing robes, and which was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen before.

Stopping just on the other side of the gates, but making absolutely no indication that the gate would be opened, the angel told him that he would not be allowed admittance into Heaven. His life of greed and lies and cheats had barred him from being allowed inside. He begged the angel to let him inside, but no amount of arguing, or sweet-talking, could have helped him. The angel simply turned, and began walking back from the way that it had come. Reaching through the gate, towards it, he asked it where he would go, if not there. It only half-turned when it told him that there was only one other place for him.

Suddenly, everything around him changed, and the gate was no longer pearly. Instead, it was ragged and stony, a stink filling the air around him. He took several steps back, frightened and unsure of what was happening. As he looked around, he slowly began to realize where he was, and when the very same devil that he had once made a deal with, walked towards him, he knew exactly where he was.

The devil smiled and greeted him, chuckling softly it himself. But when the devil came to rest at the gate, he made no move to open it. Part of him was quite relieved that it wasn't being opened, as just being here, outside of it, frightened and disgusted him.

Then, the devil began to speak, and it reminded him of the deal that they had made. It asked him if he remembered the details of it. He said that he did, that the devil had agreed not to take his soul. The devil laughed loudly at this, and stated that to this he would hold: because he had agreed never to take Jack's soul, he would not gain entrance to Hell. When Jack asked where it was that he was expected to go, the devil said that it was of no concern of his; a deal had been made, and to that the devil would hold. And he laughed as he said that if Heaven wouldn't have him, then, Jack would have to roam the earth until the end of days.

That is how it happened: how he had been forced to roam the earth as a ghost, unaccepted in neither Heaven, nor Hell, his turnip light in one hand to light his way. And now, he took what pleasure he could of frightening the people that he encountered, because really ... what else did he have?