Everything Has a Price

by

Elton Gahr

When Ryan got the invitation to the auction, he assumed it was a joke. Under the list of things for sale included the Midas touch, invisibility and what caught his attention, immortality. Of course, none of those things existed, but he was curious, so he freed up a few million dollars and went to find out what the scam was.

The large red and blue tent where the auction was held didn’t make him feel any better about it. And he almost left when they told him to park his two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollar car in a field where cows were grazing, but he was here and his car wasn’t the only one that looked out of place.

The tent had bleachers along one side that overlooked the small platform with the auctioneer. Standing at the front of those bleachers, Ryan saw an elderly man who appeared to know what was happening. Since half the reason he had come was for the adventure, he approached the old man.

“Evenin’” the man said as Ryan sat down and he smiled in a way that made him feel as if he were genuinely glad to see him and not simply being polite.

“This place seems unique,” Ryan said, trying to start up a conversation that might clue him in to what the game was without having to ask.

“One of the few things that is,” the old man said, and he leaned back against the wood plank.

Ryan decided that was enough for now and so he watched as the auctioneer, a tall thin man in a pinstripe suit. He had a smooth voice that should have sounded friendly, but it didn’t. And he had gotten a bit too into the carnival feel of this place, as it appeared he had glued two small goat's horns to his head. Having the auctioneer dress as the devil seemed a bit on the nose.

He couldn’t tell what they were selling when he looked up. It appeared to be an old set of dancing shoes which sold for several thousand dollars and he considered asking the old man why, but what was the point.

The next item was a harp, also odd, but at least it appeared to have excellent craftsmanship and possibly be made of gold, though he was reasonably certain that it wasn’t. Gold would be far too heavy and not all that useful. Still, it sold for almost two million dollars, which made him suspect it might at least have some gold. Odder though was that the old man that picked it up seemed to have a conversation with it as they walked out of the tent.

Next up the auctioneer announced a rare item, the Midis Touch. At that statement about half the people in the room laughed and the old man, seeming to see I didn’t get the joke said, “It’s sold here every year and every year some damn fool buys it. The guy three years ago died of starvation because everything he tried to eat turned into gold.”

“How do most people eat?” Ryan asked. He felt stupid for playing along, but if you were in the asylum, then you might as well enjoy it.

“With an infinite amount of gold, they pay someone to feed them,” the old man said, and Ryan considered bidding. Being able to turn anything into gold would almost certainly be profitable even if it was inconvenient, but he remembered the story of Midis and decided better of it.

As the price went up to almost three million dollars, the old man said, “Not going to bid?”

“I have enough money,” Ryan said. As he did, the winner of the touch had a wand waved over him. He then shook the hand of an attendant, smiling, and the man turned into solid gold. All around the tent there was a combination of laughter and muttering.

“That’s a pretty good trick,” Ryan said. He did not know how they had done it, but he liked the showmanship as they brought out a dolly and hauled the man away.

“Changing him back is harder and a lot less impressive,” the old man said, and he sounded tired.

“I suppose it would be,” Ryan said, and as a tiny woman seemed to fly up into the bleachers, it became harder for him to dismiss all of this as an elaborate joke. This was an impressive performance, and he hadn’t determined why there was a performance or why people were bidding so high unless most of them were in on it.

There was a spinning wheel and a couple of animals that didn’t seem all that impressive. Then things got weird. The lights in the tent seemed to go down, though the lighting all seemed natural, and the auctioneer grinned and said, “We are now entering the interesting part of our auction, at least to me. We will begin with a few bulk sales. We will start with the souls of five smalltime criminals.”

“I hate this part,” the old man said.

“What would someone want with someone’s soul?” Ryan asked, and as he spoke he looked around. It seemed as if the crowd had changed and some people were hard to dismiss as cosplayers. The Minotaur was huge and here was a woman a couple of rows over he could see all the way through.

“Power, food, some people find it fun to torture them and there is always a market for souls so they make reasonable barter,” the old man said.

“You ever buy any?” Ryan asked, and this time he was a bit more interested because he was having a harder time convincing himself this was all fake.

The old man laughed, but it wasn’t really all that happy and said, “Not here, but I’ve considered it.”

“The price seems a little low,” Ryan said, as the entire lot went for only about six hundred thousand dollars.

“They shouldn’t have a price at all, but people sell souls for a lot less than that. Smalltime criminal means drug addict. Even the people here like their euphemisms,” the man said.

As they finished, a woman Ryan could only describe as a crone won the bidding and walked up. She was so bent over that if she hadn’t had a cane, she would likely have fallen over and white hair fell almost to the floor. She had yellow teeth and fingernails and took the five small vials from the man. She then pulled the cork from the first one and what Ryan could only describe as a ghost appeared from it like he might imagine a genie except that as it came out the woman inhaled him. She then stood up straighter and walked away.

There were a couple more batches of smalltime criminals and one of soldiers that went far almost twice as much then they moved on to individual souls. Names were never given out. Ryan only recognized a couple of names of powerful politicians.

“At least they got something of value for their souls,” Ryan said, and the numbers seemed to suggest people agreed as they were almost all ten and twenty times the value.

“They gave up an eternity for a few years that they probably didn’t even enjoy that much,” the old man said.

“I’m not saying it was a good deal,” Ryan said, but even while defending himself he felt dirty. He wasn’t certain why he cared about the old man’s opinion, but he did.

“There isn’t much here that is a good deal,” the old man said, and Ryan believed him. The souls could be, he supposed, if you were buying and not selling, but what had started out as a fun day was feeling a bit like a horror show.

“I should probably go,” Ryan said, admitting for the first time to himself that he was convinced this was real.

“I wouldn’t disagree, but you’re safer here than outside right now. At least from any of them. There are agreements to protect humans here. After all, they want your money as much as anyone else’s,” The old man said.

That calmed Ryan a little. He didn’t want to have his soul taken and stuffed into a bottle and he certainly didn’t want to be eaten but he also wasn’t certain it was safe, but as he was watching the man on the podium who might actually be the devil, seemed to catch his eye and said, “Next for a very special item, a onetime offer. The perfect gift for the man who has everything and never wants to give it up. I’m auctioning off immortality.”

“That’s not yours to sell,” the old man said.

“The rules are clear: if someone is willing to sell it I can buy it and if I can buy it I can sell it,” the auctioneer said, but the entire thing sounded almost scripted. It seemed clear to Ryan that the old man had known how he got it, but he also wanted to make sure everyone else knew. This was immortality taken from someone else, but if that person is willing to sell what was wrong with buying it.

“Who would sell immortality?” Ryan asked.

“That seems like the wrong question to me,” The old man said, but as he spoke the auctioneer began to cry out and mostly because he didn’t the bidding to end before his conversation ended Ryan waved the small number he had been given at five hundred thousand dollars.

“Then what is the right question?” Ryan asked.

“Look around this place. Everyone here is immortal,” the old man said.

Ryan realized at that point that there really weren’t any humans left, or at least no one who looked like a normal human. He wasn’t sure he could tell the difference. And there was only really one question that led to. Why would someone who had immortality buy it? But he was here, and he had the money, so waved his hand and bid one million.

“So they plan on selling it. You yourself said that immortality was rare,” Ryan said.

“Didn’t say that, said it wasn’t his to sell.”

“But you didn’t stop him,” Ryan said.

“No, I didn’t.”

As he bid again Ryan said, “You’re the one who sent me the invitation.”

“Of course,” he said.

“But you don’t want me to buy anything,” Ryan said.

“I just want to make certain you understand the choice you’re making,” the old man said.

As he spoke, the bidding began to slow and Ryan made a final bid, enough that there seemed no chance anyone else would bid against him.

“I can always sell it if I decided I don’t want it, and besides, it’s only money,” Ryan said.

“You’re right about that much at least. The money isn’t important.” The old man said.

“Then why wouldn’t I buy immortality?” Ryan asked, and as he spoke the gavel hit the bench and he felt a chill.

“Because you already immortality. You saw proof of that. That’s why the spirits are important to them, and even the one that was eaten didn’t die. The only difference is that now you’re stuck here. You’re one of the monsters.”

“So I’ll sell it to someone else,” Ryan said.

“How are you going to do that? He told you it was a onetime deal,” the old man said, and he stood, white wings extending from his back, and he flew away. Stopping near the top of the tent to look back at Ryan and then shaking his head slowly before he disappeared.