Crossroads

I said not a word to my mother and father when I got home, immediately shutting myself in my room and throwing myself back on my bed. I stared up at the roof and let out a frustrated groan, absolutely furious with myself for fucking up so badly today. I'd had one fucking job; Learn one goddamn song.

"Brian?" I heard my father's voice speak as he opened the door a crack. "Everything alright?"
"Yeah." I lied. "I'm fine."
"How'd things go with the band today?"
"Great, they want me to come back next week." I lied, well, half of it was true.
"That's excellent!" he grinned. "I'm proud of you."
"Thanks."
"Well, I just wanted to come by and check on you, if you need me, I'll be in my studio."
"Alright." I nodded.

He closed the door, and I went back to my brooding. I could hear the muffled sound of Robert Johnson's "Crossroad Blues" playing from my father's studio, loud enough to echo throughout the house. My father was typically more Country-inclined, but had a great appreciation for Blues; which I also found fascinating.

"You can run, you can run, tell my friend Willie Brown, that I got the crossroad blues this mornin, Lord. Babe, I'm sinkin down..."

Crossroad... Crossroad... why was that word nagging at me so badly right now? I sat up, my legs hanging over the edge of my bed. What was so significant about that word? I glanced upward, seeing the black fedora I had bought on a whim whilst out in town with Jimmy one day, but never worn.

I crossed my room, grabbing it from atop my record player and putting it on. I picked up my acoustic guitar, playing along with the song; which came to me naturally, for all the hours my father had spent teaching it to me as a child. Then it clicked; An old tale he had once told me;

Robert Johnson wasn't always an incredible blues man. There was once a time where the idea of such was but a dream. He slaved away each day as a Farmer, working hard day in, day out, to make ends meet so he and his Wife; Virginia, could eat. One day, Robert and his Wife discovered that Virginia was Pregnant. The couple rejoiced, ecstatic at the idea of welcoming a child into their lives to raise and love.

But unfortunately, that would never become a reality, as Virginia sadly died in childbirth. Overcome by grief at the loss of his Wife and unborn child, Robert turned to playing the Guitar as a coping mechanism. And thus, his desire to become a famous blues man was re-ignited.

Lacking the adequate skills to make his dream a reality, Robert traveled to a Crossroads by Dockery Plantation one night at Midnight, taking his guitar with him. He knelt down in the dirt, burying a small box containing a Vile of Graveyard dirt, the Bone of a Black Cat, and an old Photograph of Himself, cut from he and his Wife's wedding portrait.



A few moments passed and a man appeared. At first glance, he seemed normal, aside from his rough appearance. As the man approached, however, Robert noticed that small pieces of skin had begun to rot away from his face, and his eyes looked bloodshot and slightly sunken in. His heartrate quickened as he realized, in horror, that he was face to face with the Devil himself.



"Why have you summoned me?" Lucifer demanded.
Robert took a deep breath, mustering his courage. "I wanna play the Guitar."
"You already do, by the looks of things." the Devil spoke.
"I want you to make me the greatest blues man who ever lived, I want the world to know my name." Robert elaborated.
"Give it to me."
"Will I get it back?" Robert asked; the guitar had been a gift from his Wife.
"Of course." the Devil smirked. "Trust me, I am a man of my word."

Reluctantly, Robert passed the guitar to Lucifer, and watched as he tuned it and played a few songs, before handing it back to him. Robert began to play, gasping in disbelief as his mind conjured up better tunes than he had ever dreamed of, and he found he could play them with complete ease.

"Now, now." Lucifer tutted. "There is a Price."
"What is it?"
"Your Soul will belong to me, for eternity." he cackled. "When you die, you will not go to Heaven, you will not see your Wife in the afterlife. When you die, you will be dragged down into Hell, and you will suffer tremendous pain, for all time."
"But not until I die, right?" Robert asked.
"Of course." Lucifer smirked.
"Then I will accept your conditions."
"Be careful what you wish for."

Lucifer smirked once more, and with a click of his fingers, he was gone.

I had come to learn that Robert had died of unknown causes, the only existing theories being of a violent nature. The story had struck a chord with me, terrifying my younger self enough not to sleep at all that night, plagued by nightmares of burning in Hell. As I grew, I came to convince myself that it was just a legend and that there was nothing to fear. Still, it fascinated me.

Maybe it wasn't a legend at all?

Notes

Like the little visuals I chucked in there? I literally edited that artwork of Robert Johnson at the crossroads to fit in with my mental vision for this chapter. And gosh, I had fun typing out my own interpretation of the legend.

I'm trying to move the backstory along as quick as possible, so these chapters will be a little short, but they'll get longer as I go. I just need to get this shit out of the way, and I wanna keep the updates as frequent as possible.

Until next time xx