Lucifer's Lottery

And what he puts in its place on the stand is your head.

“You are now the first male head to become a permanent fixture at Manse Lucifer,” Howard says.

“Howard!” you scream. “I’m begging you, man! Don’t do this to me!”

“Ah, but really, you’ve done it to yourself, haven’t you?” And then Howard turns to make his exit.

“Don’t leave me here! This isn’t fair! You tricked me! I don’t deserve to be the Devil’s toilet paper for eternity, do I? My sins weren’t that bad!”

“Sin is relative, Mr. Hudson,” pipes Howard’s voice a final time. “And with those words I’m afraid I must take my leave and enjoy the privileges I’ve duly inherited.” Howard sighs dreamily, and smiles with his jewels for teeth. “At last, I’ll finally be able to write The Lurker at the Threshold! And thank you, Mr. Hudson, very much. I could never have won the Senary without you . . .”

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Howard leaves the commode-chamber and closes the head-paneled door behind him.

All the heads that form the walls, floor, and ceiling begin to laugh.

And all you can do now is sit there in dread, wondering how often the master of this house moves his bowels . . .