Samuel Crowther never imagined a life without his wife.
When devastating illness leaves Selene in a coma, the future they built together collapses overnight. His days become hospital visits and sleepless nights, clinging to the fragile hope that the woman he loves might somehow return to him.
Then an opportunity appears.
A single decision.
A chance to change everything.
When Samuel accepts, Selene comes back to him – alive, healthy, and free from the pain that once shaped their lives. Their marriage suddenly feels stronger than ever, as if fate itself has granted them a second chance.
But something isn’t right.
Small things begin to change.
Memories misremembered.
And the woman who has returned seems… perfect.
As the truth behind the miracle begins to surface, Samuel is forced to confront a terrifying reality: the life he has reclaimed may have come at a cost he never truly understood.
Because some decisions don’t just change the future.
They rewrite it.
Samuel Crowther never imagined a life without his wife.
When devastating illness leaves Selene in a coma, the future they built together collapses overnight. His days become hospital visits and sleepless nights, clinging to the fragile hope that the woman he loves might somehow return to him.
Then an opportunity appears.
A single decision.
A chance to change everything.
When Samuel accepts, Selene comes back to him – alive, healthy, and free from the pain that once shaped their lives. Their marriage suddenly feels stronger than ever, as if fate itself has granted them a second chance.
But something isn’t right.
Small things begin to change.
Memories misremembered.
And the woman who has returned seems… perfect.
As the truth behind the miracle begins to surface, Samuel is forced to confront a terrifying reality: the life he has reclaimed may have come at a cost he never truly understood.
Because some decisions don’t just change the future.
They rewrite it.
Samuel Crowther ran his steak knife through the perfectly marbled wagyu, the blade gliding almost frictionless. No matter how many times he came here, that first cut always gave him goosebumps.
He kissed his fingers. ‘Look at that. Geoff’s kiss.’ He made the same joke every time, each time as hilarious as the last.
His wife, Selene, rolled her eyes and carried on cutting her burger into four neat quarters, as she always did. It irritated him that when he’d bring her to his favourite restaurant – a steak place, no less. No, scratch that, the steak place of all steak places, the best, most tender, melt-in-the-mouth steak in the city, most probably the country – she’d waste it on nothing more than a glorified Big Mac.
At least her brother, Eugene, appreciated a good cut of beef. The three of them came to meet at The Gilded Ox at least a couple of times a year, usually more. Eugene was always good company on these nights.
Samuel closed his eyes as he savoured the buttery mouthful, juices coating every taste bud. In his most sincere opinion, he’d describe it as almost orgasmic.
He opened his eyes, cutting another slice. ‘So, Eugene, how’s the dating scene?’
Eugene made the unsure see-saw gesture with his hand. ‘Ah, so-so. I don’t really get involved.’
‘You not on Tinder or anything?’
Eugene coughed, nearly choking on a lump of sirloin. The question clearly caught him off guard. ‘No, not for me.’
‘Really? If I were single, I’d be all over that.’ His tone carried a bit too much zeal. Samuel’s wife’s eyes burned into the side of his head as she slow-chewed her burger. He turned and flashed her his best roguish grin.
‘What? I said if I was single.’
‘Hmm.’ Selene murmured.
Great. One little comment and she’ll be mardy all night. Just what I need.
Eugene broke the tension. ‘Selene, there’s a clairvoyant at the community centre tomorrow night. Fancy coming? Maybe we can get in touch with Mom and Dad?’
Pah, Samuel thought. But he knew better than to shit on Eugene’s idea, no matter how bad it was. Psychics were a bunch of crap, but he’d already had strike one. He’d better be on his best behaviour if he was going to have any chance of getting his leg over later.
‘I might do, Euge, yeah. Sounds good.’ She sipped at her overpriced daiquiri. ‘I’ve just got an appointment in the afternoon, then I’m good to go.’
‘What about you, Sam?’ Eugene said.
I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a rusty fork.
Carving up another piece of The Gilded Ox’s finest, Samuel said, ‘Nah, I’m alright, mate. Sounds more like a twin thing.’
That was his excuse to duck out of a lot of things with Selene and her brother: sounds like a twin thing. He liked Eugene – a lot – but it often felt like he was dating them both. From the start, though, Selene had always made it clear that twins were closer than most siblings and he had to get used to it if he wanted to date her. At first it was fine, just another layer to their conversations, but eventually it became a little suffocating. It had been better when Eugene had had a girlfriend. Back then, they were the awesome foursome. But once Gloria left him, it was back to three, and it strained the relationship, no matter how likeable Eugene was.
Scraping up the last of the peppercorn sauce with his final chip, Samuel said, ‘I might go the Waggon, then, if you’re doing that.’
The Waggon was Samuel’s local, his pub of choice, the little bolt-hole he’d adopted for when he was after some much-needed social time. A little break from the old ball and chain as they say.
Selene exhaled through her nose, reminding him of a dragon puffing smoke. ‘We’ll only be an hour or so,’ she said. ‘No need to go out all night just because I’m out for an hour.’
‘I’m allowed to go to the pub,’ Samuel snapped.
The quarter of a burger was getting crushed in her hand. ‘I never said you weren’t. I’m just saying, I’m only going out for an hour. No need to go to the pub. It’s not like I’ll be out all night.’
Samuel huffed.
One rule for one, and one for the other.
He put his knife down – not quite a slam, but definitely harder than necessary. ‘Fine, I won’t go then. I’ll stay in and wait for you like a good little boy.’
‘GOD. I never said that, did I?’
‘Guys?’ Eugene – ever the peacemaker – cut in. ‘Can we—’
Selene pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘Eugene’s right, this is nonsense. We were having a nice dinner. Yes, Eugene, I’ll come with you to the psychic. And Samuel, my dear,’ through gritted teeth, ‘have fun at the pub.’
Samuel merely nodded. He wondered what he got out of this relationship sometimes. He only wanted to go to the pub; it wasn’t like he was asking for the world.
‘Well, I’m going to head off,’ Eugene said. Making his escape. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening. Let me know how much I owe when the bill comes.’
Selene stood and kissed her brother on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Euge. See you soon.’
Samuel shook his hand and pulled him in for a man-hug. ‘Take care, bud.’
Eugene left, steering clear of the domestic bubbling between them.
‘I didn’t mean—’ Selene began.
‘I know, babe.’ Samuel dismissed it with a smile. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m sorry. I just miss you when you’re gone.’
Selene smiled and put her hand on his. ‘Come on, let’s go home.’
Delete
Selene slid into the passenger seat of their black Range Rover Evoque, the one Samuel had leased a couple of months back. She liked this little Range – much preferred it to the ‘proper Range’ Samuel had wanted to throw £800 a month at. She’d talked him into a compromise, certain he’d grow to love it eventually, like he did with most of her suggestions.
She’d had a good night still, even with her husband’s shitty attitude. She always did when she saw her brother. Hopelessly, she wished she could spend more time with him, but the second she made plans without Samuel, he’d be out on the piss, seizing escape at the first opportunity. It was frustrating as hell, but Samuel does what Samuel does. Tonight wasn’t the time to dwell on that, though. Tonight she had something else in mind.
‘You look handsome today,’ she said, resting her hand on his thigh as he manoeuvred the Evoque through Birmingham’s city streets.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he gave her a quick glance before fixing his eyes back on the road. ‘Oh really? You don’t look too bad yourself.’
She hitched her dress a little higher, revealing the lace at the tops of her thighs, hoping to stir something in him.
Out of nowhere: ‘You fucking cunt! Get out the way, you doddering old prick!’ Samuel’s hand crashed down on the horn.
An old man in a Nissan Micra – had to be late seventies – had drifted into his lane.
‘MOOOVE!’ Samuel bellowed, almost popping her eardrum. She put her hand to the side of her face and squinted, feeling the pressure coming from beside her.
The heat between her thighs iced over in an instant. Her pulse jumped; she yanked her skirt back into place and sighed. She hated his road rage. Nothing screamed childish brat more than throwing a tantrum behind the wheel. The poor old guy had done barely anything wrong. Nothing to warrant that ridiculous outburst.
Samuel dropped his hand back onto her leg. ‘What were you saying, babe?’
‘Nothing,’ she said, cold. ‘Moment’s passed now.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh. Right. OK.’
The rest of the journey passed in silence. Selene thought only of a hot bubble bath, a hot chocolate, and the hot book waiting on her nightstand. She could lose herself in Esteban’s dark, romantic escapades and wash away tonight’s nonsense.
Delete
Samuel pulled up to their large three-bed detached house on the city’s outskirts, where prices had crept up higher than in the centre itself, the area Selene had wanted to live for years. He’d worked himself to the knuckle to get her the dream house, the dream wedding, the dream life she was now so accustomed to. And what did he get in return? Nothing. She might keep the place tidy and cook the odd meal, but that was about it.
Stop it. You’re spiralling Sam. Remember the box breathing.
Resentment had a way of creeping into his thoughts, into their relationship. He loved her with all his heart, but somehow things always came back to this inexorable loop of unrelenting bitterness.
Four seconds in. Hold for four. Out for four. Pause for four.
He steadied his pulse and got out of the car. Selene was already through the front door. No doubt she’d spun round like Superman in a phone box and would already be in pyjamas, dressing gown, facemask, and big socks, with a cup of tea. That was her superpower: Loungegirl.
He used to love that about her, he’d found it endearing how quickly she transformed from hot, perfectly made-up wife into Loungegirl. But nowadays it was just a reminder of how little she gave a shit.
He stepped inside and poked his head into the living room. Empty. Was Loungegirl slipping? Usually, she’d be curled up – gown and all – in five seconds flat.
‘Babe?’ he called. No answer.
He started up the stairs. ‘Babe?’
‘Having a bath,’ she replied, followed by the sound of running water.
Delete
Selene unzipped her dress, let it slip to the floor, and kicked it into the corner. She studied herself in the full-length mirror, clad only in underwear. She still had it. Still young, still hot at thirty-one. Samuel was a lucky man – she knew he still lusted after her, even after thirteen years. If only he made more effort, she might be more reciprocal. These days he ruined the moment with a shitty comment, a burst of anger or just the same shitty attitude, always something.
It wouldn’t hurt if he were more attentive, either. He used to care. Even in the bedroom, he always made sure she got hers, even if it meant a little vibrating assistance. Nowadays he just hopped on, got his, and left her feeling like nothing more than an oversized tissue to throw his muck into.
She deserved better than that.
She unclasped her bra and tossed it onto the crumpled heap in the corner. The relief of scratching where the straps had dug in was immense – she rubbed against the doorframe like Baloo the Bear and glanced back at her reflection. Turning side-on, she checked her bum with a cheeky little leg-lift, then faced forward again and gave her breasts a quick lift and drop. After doing it twice, she was happy. Still hot. Still plenty perky. Selene Marie Crowther was still hot as hell and body-confident, all things considered.
After pouring lavender salts and bubble bath under the running tap, she lit candles as steam filled the room. She slipped off her thong, a leg at a time, and noticed discharge in the gusset. Right on time, ovulation. That explained why she’d been so quick to forgive Samuel’s outburst at dinner. She was always more forgiving at this point in her cycle. She wondered if other women were the same, making a mental note to ask the girls at bottomless brunch at the weekend.
Even so, Samuel wouldn’t be getting any tonight. Not after his behaviour. But the nagging urge was still there, pecking away like a hungry woodpecker.
Looks like it’s me and Esteban tonight.
She slid into the bath and opened her book. As she devoured the pages, the small fire inside her grew from a pilot light to a full-on blaze. Silly premise or not, the thought of a topless, muscular vampire taking control of his progeny had her juices flowing. She let her hand drift under the water, grazing her clit, teasing. As she read more, her fingers moved faster, more direct, more pressure. She set the book aside, sliding lower in the tub, a finger slipping inside as Esteban’s image burned in her mind. Her other hand cupped her breast, tweaking her nipple between thumb and forefinger. A small moan escaped her lips. She bit down, trying to keep quiet, her hips bucking in the water.
Until something unexpected brushed against her hand. She ignored it for a moment, her orgasm building. She carried on, but then she caught it again.
What the fuck is that?
Her fingers stilled. A lump. Just under her nipple. Quite large. How had she not noticed it before?
Her orgasm gone and the mood with it, one word filled her mind.
That dreaded C word.
A deal with the Devil. Hardly a new theme, yet one that never loses its appeal despite millions of interpretations in both literature and film. And while we all know that “vanity is the Devil’s favorite sin,” it is, more often than not, the desperate—those who see no other way out—who fall into such traps. They place their trust not only in fortune tellers, psychics, or seers, but are also willing to enter into a blood-sealed contract under far from clear conditions. This is precisely what Samuel Crowther, the protagonist of James Yates’s novel, does.
Yates writes with an excellent style and strong narrative momentum. The familiar premise of a sold soul creates a pleasant sense of immersion in something well-known. The reader naturally expects rising tension and suspense. We all understand perfectly well that the most interesting part should begin after Selena’s miraculous recovery. However, this is exactly where the novel’s main flaw lies: its structural imbalance. In turn, this imbalance generates the book’s other shortcomings—its questionable genre classification and lack of resolution (and I am not referring to the open ending).
It is difficult to classify this book as horror. It is more accurately described as a story with supernatural elements. After all, horror requires a certain atmosphere, a gradual buildup of fear and anxiety that ultimately erupts in a climactic moment. None of this is present here. The reason is that the drawn-out opening never transitions into the part where the action should truly unfold.
From the blurb alone, we already know that Selena returns to life as a result of Sam’s decision. As a rule, a blurb presents the inciting incident and is meant to draw the reader in. In this case, however, the inciting setup occupies roughly 75–80 percent of the text. The author describes in detail Sam and Selena’s relationship before and after the diagnosis, the onset of the illness, Luna’s show, Eugene and his doubts, as well as various memories—in other words, everything that serves to prepare for the actual development of events. After all of this, the main action should finally begin, but it never does. Nor is there a clearly defined climax. And when you add to this the already inherent lack of intrigue, since the narrative unfolds in a straightforward and linear manner, the result is a weak plot. Such an uneven composition inevitably leads to a sense of disappointment.
The structural imbalance also manifests itself in a sense of incompleteness.
By the logic of the genre, Sam should begin to face consequences after striking a deal with a stranger. Yet no consequences follow. On the contrary, he is not only satisfied with his life—he is entirely happy and notices no changes at all. The only one who senses the disruption is Eugene, whose twin bond with Selena—once an essential part of their relationship—disappears after her miraculous recovery. He is left trying to understand what has gone wrong. There is a growing impression that the novel lacks not so much a moral framework as a basic sense of balance. The one who set everything in motion ends up being the clear beneficiary.
It is a well-known idea that in a deal with the Devil, only the Devil truly wins. More broadly, interfering with the natural order of things is inherently dangerous, as the consequences are impossible to predict. Stephen King explored a similar premise in his novel Pet Sematary, where the “returned” are portrayed in a deeply unsettling and disturbing way. Yates, however, takes on a theme that has been revisited many times before. It is difficult to bring something genuinely new to a story whose foundations were already laid by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. That is precisely why the novel needed greater depth and tension—both of which are severely lacking here.
The book has clear potential, but in my view, the author misjudges its scale. The idea either needed to be developed further into a fuller novel that genuinely explores the consequences of Sam’s decision—as the title itself suggests—or it should have been more tightly structured and shaped into a short story.
In a longer version, the missing middle section would have carried the real weight of the narrative: Sam gradually realizing that Selena has changed—that she has become too perfect, and that her care begins to feel increasingly suffocating. The same applies to the strange encounter at the séance: why does the mysterious stranger approach Sam there, and why does Luna, with her ability to sense spirits, fail to detect such a powerful presence during her own show? These are the kinds of details and narrative expansions that could have enriched the text significantly. Instead, the novel feels underdeveloped. Expanding it would have given it greater depth and texture; but in its current form, it feels more like a story that has been cut off too early. At the same time, the ending—brilliant in my view—would have worked perfectly in a short story format.
As I have already noted, the book has clear potential. I particularly appreciated Yates’s prose: the novel is easy to read and flows naturally. Considerable attention is given to atmosphere and surroundings, as well as to the characters’ emotional states. Their lives are carefully sketched—their habits, friendships, routines, and memories. The dialogue feels natural, the plot moves forward steadily, and there are very few noticeable lulls. At the same time, small gaps keep appearing throughout the narrative—gaps that invite not only filling in, but also further development into a more carefully structured and detailed novel. For example, Sam’s situation at work and his wife’s reaction to it feel like a thread that demands continuation. It could have offered another opportunity to reveal Selena’s inhuman nature, and thus to convince Sam that his life is not as stable or harmless as he believes.
I also have one editorial remark. In Part Three, Chapter Two, during the hospital scene at Selena’s bedside, it is clearly stated that both Eugene and Sam are present in the room (page 106):
“The nurse made a note on the chart at the foot of the bed. Another stepped closer, adjusting the monitor without looking at Samuel or Eugene.”
Yet on page 107:
“I need to call Eugene,” he said. “What exactly does this mean, Doc?”
Why would he need to call Eugene if Eugene is already in the hospital?
The central idea of this book—as with virtually any story involving a pact with the Devil—is that the man in black never offers anything without expecting payment in return. His gifts are always poisoned. Or, if they are just, then the Devil must be reimagined in a less traditional form, as in Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita. Here, however, we are dealing with a far more conventional image: acrid sulfurous smoke, a black-cloaked figure, and blood sealing an unbreakable contract. Sam makes a decision that seems right to him—to save his wife from death. Yes, the consequences of his choice are tragic, but not for him. So what is the moral of the story? Perhaps it is simply this: do not sacrifice others for your own decisions—or, to put it more poetically, never bet the Devil not only your own head, but someone else’s as well.