No one paid much attention to old Mr. Ellery.

He lived alone in a crooked Victorian house at the end of Pine Hollow Road, where the weeds grew tall and the porch sagged like a tired sigh. Kids said the place was haunted, but Ellery himself was no more threatening than a dust bunny. He kept himself to himself, took long walks at dusk, and drank red wine from a chipped goblet on the porch every evening at sunset. He wore linen year-round and still used a handkerchief. People assumed he’d once been something—a professor, maybe, or a violinist.

They didn’t know he’d once been in love.

And they certainly didn’t know he had a deal with Satan.

It had started on a night like any other, fifty years ago. Ellery had been young then—sharp suits, easy charm, a grin that could bend rules. His lover, Jules, had a laugh like a jazz trumpet and never believed in forever. Not the way Ellery did.

When Jules died—suddenly, cruelly, a car crash in the rain—Ellery broke.

He tried everything to numb the ache. Therapy, whiskey, bad poetry. Eventually, he wandered into the occult.

And one night, half-drunk and fully lost, he lit a dozen candles, drew a circle in salt, and said aloud:

“I would trade anything—anything—for one more night with him.”

The air got cold.

Then came the smell of tobacco and woodsmoke, and a voice behind him said, “That’s a very dangerous sort of grief, darling.”

Ellery turned.

The man standing there was dressed impeccably—pinstripe suit, blood-red tie, slicked black hair. He was beautiful the way fire is beautiful: mesmerizing, and likely to ruin you.

“You’re him,” Ellery whispered.

“Satan. Lucifer. The Morning Star. But you can call me Lou.”

Ellery didn’t laugh. “Can you do it?”

Lou smiled. “Of course I can. I’m very good at reunions. But nothing’s free, sweetheart.”

“Take whatever you want.”

“Careful. I might.”

The deal was this: Ellery would live a long life. A very long one. But once a year, on the night Jules died, the devil would grant him a visit. One night together. From sunset to sunrise.

One night to touch his face again. One night to dance barefoot in the kitchen. One night to lie tangled in sheets and whisper all the things he never got to say.

The catch?

Ellery would remember. He would wake up alone, year after year, aging slowly, hollowed by the sweetness of what could never last.

He accepted without hesitation.

Decades passed. Lovers came and went, none staying long. He wrote letters to Jules he never mailed. He learned how to bake. He gave up on television. He bought an old Victrola and played Billie Holiday until the records wore thin.

And every July 11th, Lou would appear at sunset with a rakish bow and a smirk, like an emcee introducing a dream.

Jules would be there—young, golden, unchanged.

For twelve hours, Ellery lived.

And then it would end.

But this year, something shifted.

Ellery stood on the porch, fragile now, a shawl over his shoulders, holding that old wine goblet in two hands. The sun dipped low.

And Lou appeared, as always. “Evening, handsome.”

But there was no Jules.

Ellery frowned. “Where is he?”

Lou hesitated, and for the first time in fifty years, looked almost apologetic.

“You’ve had more than your share, Ellery. The veil’s thinning. The rules are shifting. Even I have limits.”

Ellery’s voice cracked. “Don’t say that.”

Lou tilted his head. “There’s one thing left, if you want it.”

Ellery met his eyes. “What?”

“You can go to him.”

The wind picked up. The trees groaned.

“I mean really go. No return. No wine on the porch, no slow autumns, no sunrises. Just… the end.”

Ellery didn’t even hesitate.

“Take me.”

Lou looked almost sad. “You sure?”

“I’ve had my time. Let me have the rest of it with him.”

A pause.

Then Lou smiled, soft and slow. “You’re a romantic. Rare breed.”

He snapped his fingers.

The neighbors found the house quiet the next morning. The wine goblet still sat on the porch rail, half-full. No sign of struggle. No sign of Mr. Ellery.

Just the faint smell of woodsmoke. And a record spinning on the old Victrola inside.

“I’ll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places…”

Some say he died peacefully.

Others say he vanished.

But the few who truly knew him say that somewhere, somehow, Jules was waiting with a crooked smile and open arms.

And Ellery finally got his forever.

And, I mustn’t neglect the obligatory shameless self-promotion. New Yesterdays is available through the following links: Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon as well as your favorite bookshops. The Audiobook is available at Libro.fm.

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