The Lunenburg Werewolf by Steve Vernon Page B

the more certain Randy felt that what his daddy was telling him was the Devil’s own truth.
    â€œHe told me,” Randy’s daddy said. “That Devil told me that he was going to bring a mine down on my head in order to steal my soul.”

    Fooling the Fooler
    The way Randy’s daddy told it to him, Randy could see it all playing out like a dream. He saw that old Devil showing his daddy how the mine was going to heave up like it did with his daddy before him, how all that gas creeping in the mine’s belly was going to rise up like the fluming gorge of a fat man overstuffed. Randy saw miners screaming and darkness coming down and the preacher standing over a row of empty coffins and Momma singing “Amazing Grace.”
    How sweet the sound.
    â€œBut I fooled the old fooler himself,” Randy’s daddy told him. “I struck a deal with him.”
    â€œHow did you do that?” Randy asked.
    â€œThe same as you’d deal with any man. I poked him in his vanity. I said an important man like the Devil ought not to work so hard for what could be bought easy. I told him he could have my soul outright if he’d strike me a bargain.”
    Randy stared at his daddy’s eyes—just as dark as a shadow falling on a coal-covered face—and he could see that his daddy was telling the truth.
    â€œSo what did you ask for?” Randy said, thinking of all the sell-your-soul stories that he had ever heard. “Did you ask him for money? Did you ask for women? Did you ask for drink?”
    â€œI asked him for none of those things,” Randy’s daddy said. “I asked him to help me dig.”
    Randy shook his head in disbelief. “Daddy,” he said. “That makes about as much sense as a bucket full of hole.”
    â€œDoes it?” Randy’s daddy said. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve poked a silver needle in my finger and I’ve signed his paper in blood smack dab at the bottom of the page. You can work alone tomorrow. From now on I’ll have all the help I need.”
    Randy could see that there was no arguing with the man. So come the morning, Randy headed down the tunnel by himself and filled his coal cart just as best as he could. When Randy pushed the coal cart up to the mouth of the tunnel, he was surprised and amazed to see his daddy leaning on three carts crammed chock-full of the thickest slabs of coal imaginable.
    By the end of the shift, Randy’s daddy had hauled out over thirteen tons of coal—something like three or four men’s work on a good day. Which made the company pretty happy.
    By the end of the month, the boss man had begun tipping his hat at Randy’s daddy instead of the other way around. And why not? Randy’s daddy had paid off what he’d owed to the company store and had even begun putting some in the bank. Mind you, he still kept some in a little a pot under the bed, because Randy’s daddy didn’t trust a banker any farther than he could throw one.
    And he still wouldn’t let Randy work with him. So one fine morning, Randy stole after his daddy, keeping to the shadows as he followed him down the hole. What Randy saw down there nearly burned away his eyes.
    There was the Devil himself, reaching and peeling slabs of coal just as easily as you might peel rain-soaked wallpaper. A half a dozen imps were loading the coal carts just as fast as they could.
    â€œHow deep have we got to go?” the old Devil asked.
    â€œDeeper than this,” Randy’s daddy told him.
    And then that Devil grumbled some, but Randy’s daddy wouldn’t let him stop. “Deeper,” he growled.
    And then Randy’s daddy looked straight towards the shadow Randy was hiding in as if he could see the boy—which he could. “I see you there,” Randy’s daddy said. “I wondered just how long it would take before you followed me down.”
    â€œSo I guess you weren’t