Dinner with the Devil

They say that only the truly desperate would invite the Devil for dinner. Not because of the meal itself, but because the entire ritual is a gamble—a dangerous game where the stakes are your very soul. If you play it right, though, there’s a chance you can walk away with exactly what you desire. The trick is in the details.

First, you must prepare a meal yourself—homemade and crafted with care. The Devil despises laziness. This dish will be your offering, and it must be perfect. Set your table for two with your finest plates, silverware, and a single candle in the center. Most importantly, place a sharp knife next to your own plate. Across from you, an empty chair awaits him.

At exactly midnight, sit down. You’ll feel a chill pass through the room. Don’t eat yet. Instead, sit in silence, waiting. At exactly 12:05 AM, the Devil will arrive, but not in a form you expect. He will appear as someone familiar—someone who knows how to put you at ease. It could be a beloved relative, an old friend, or even someone you’ve admired. But don’t be fooled. Behind the warm smile and soft eyes lies the Devil himself.

When he sits, look him directly in the eye and say, “Dinner is served.” This is the moment when the real game begins.

The Devil will start eating, slowly, deliberately. You will eat as well, but your focus must be on him. His reaction to the meal is everything. If he enjoys it, your wish will be granted cleanly, without tricks. But if he doesn’t, your wish will twist into a nightmare. The catch? He won’t tell you whether he liked the meal or not. You’ll have to figure it out on your own.

And that’s where the mind games begin.

The Devil loves to toy with his dinner guests. Throughout the meal, he’ll strike up conversation, casually probing into your deepest insecurities, your regrets, your darkest secrets. He’ll smile warmly while reminding you of every failure you’ve ever endured, every opportunity you missed. His words will slither into your thoughts, making you question yourself at every turn. Was your wish really worth it? Is what you’re asking for even possible? He’ll make you doubt every decision, until you’re not sure if you even deserve what you’re wishing for anymore.

As the dinner progresses, he’ll compliment your cooking—but not directly. Instead, he’ll say something cryptic like, “This reminds me of a meal I had a very long time ago… a meal that ended quite poorly for my host.” He might praise the texture, only to wrinkle his nose a moment later, making you question if he really means it.

The entire time, he’ll be watching your reactions, enjoying the tension, the uncertainty. Every smile, every approving nod is a riddle. Did he enjoy it? Or is he just messing with you? The Devil loves to keep you on edge.

If you ask him outright whether he liked the meal, he’ll only grin and say, “Does it matter? I’m here for the company, after all.”

By the end of the meal, you’ll feel like you’re losing your grip, unsure of whether you succeeded or failed. But there’s one small window to pull yourself out of the deal if you’re sure the meal didn’t meet his expectations. If you’re convinced he hated it, take the knife you placed earlier and stab it into his hand before signing the contract. He won’t flinch, won’t bleed—but he will leave, and the deal will be off. You’ll survive, but he’ll leave with a smirk that says, “Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

If, however, you believe he enjoyed the meal, you may sign the contract. Your wish will be granted, exactly as you desire, without tricks or hidden consequences. But beware, he’ll remind you: “You’ve won this time, but I’ll see you again.”

Once the deal is done, the Devil will disappear, and your wish will come true. But you’ll never shake the feeling that he’s watching, waiting for the next time you’re desperate enough to invite him back to your table.