Beadeviled Traditional Cache

And now, the tale of The Devil and Co-Leader A, a geocaching version of The Devil and Daniel Webster.

As A stooped to gather up the beads again, she was startled to hear a staccato rapping on the sliding-glass door that led from her office area to the outside. A quickly flipped on the outdoor light to see what was at the door. Framed in light stood a man dressed in a fine Italian suit, polished loafers, and a knotted Pierre Cardin tie. Rings glittered on his fingers, which twirled a gilded walking stick. His pale face ended in a neatly trimmed black beard; his colorless lips were pressed into a thin smile. When he looked up at A, she saw that his eyes were deep pits that burned like black fire.

A backed away from the menacing figure at the door, but distancing herself was useless. In the blink of an eye, the man suddenly stood next to A, his smile stretching into a rictus.

"I believe you offered me a deal, Co-Leader A," the man purred, his voice both silky and stark. "It's one I've chosen to accept." With a snap of his bejeweled fingers, a parchment surrounded in a halo of flame appeared just inches from A's face. "There's no need for, eccchhhh, lawyers, my dear," the man continued as A quickly scanned the document. "I assure you, it's all perfectly legal and binding. In exchange for the ability to work with beads, you, Co-Leader A, have sold your soul to me, which I will collect at a time of my choosing."

With a flick of his index finger, the parchment vanished in a burst of ash, which fluttered down onto A's skin and seeped into her pores. A gasped as a stabbing, burning pain lanced through her; it was as if she were being branded all over her body. Then, just as swiftly, the pain stopped. Gasping, A looked up at her guest. He dipped his head briefly, then tapped his walking stick on the hardwood floor. "We'll meet again, A!" he uttered. Then, in a flash, he was gone.

A sat down heavily, rubbing her eyes with balled fists. Had she just hallucinated? Had she fallen asleep at her desk and dreamt it all? It wouldn't be the first time she'd nodded off on her laptop. Rising, she went back over to the sliding glass doors and squinted out into the twilight. There was no sign of anyone having been there; the snow outside held nothing but the imprints of bird feet near the thistle feeder A had set up outside her office. Sighing with relief, A finished gathering M's spilled puka beads and settled down to try to repair the necklace for the fourth time.

As she threaded the first shell, however, A couldn't help but notice a new dexterity. Her fingers were suddenly agile, and she flew through the pile of black beads, stringing them all and tying the clasp back on in less than one minute's time. A held the competed necklace in her hand, gazing at it both in wonder and in horror. Had she done what she thought she had done? Had she truly sold her soul to the Devil for the ability to work with beads? She turned towards the sliding-glass door, peering out into the darkness. Nonsense, she told herself. After four attempts, of course repairing the necklace would seem easier. Turning off her office light, A placed the repaired necklace at M's spot at the kitchen table, then headed to bed.

The next day started out like any other: get the kids up, fed, and off to school; get Co-Leader J up, fed, and off to work; go through email and the To-Do pile; then deal with administrative work until Team FMA member B emerged, ready to start his day. That morning, B was up and raring to go at about 9:30 AM. It was blizzarding again so, instead of heading out to geocache, A had planned on folding some laundry while B played with his toys. That plan lasted well through one basket of laundry but, when B put away his Lincoln Logs and pulled out his bin of beads and buttons, A suddenly found herself seated cross-legged on the floor, helping herself to one of the colorful nylon strings and effortlessly threading bead after bead, much to B's delight.

When Co-Leader J returned home for lunch, he discovered A seated at the kitchen table, her head resting on her folded arms, and her body shaking from the intensity of her weeping. B was seated next to her, stroking her hair in an effort to soothe her. He perked up upon seeing J standing in the doorway and, with a big grin, hopped down and went over to greet him. "Look at what Co-Leader A made for me today!" he exclaimed, gesturing towards the kitchen before scampering off to play.

J took in the scene before him. Every surface in the kitchen, down to the spoon rest and the top of the breadbox, was covered in lengths of strung-together pasta. Penne, elbows, ziti, manicotti: A had threaded them all into elaborate macaroni jewelry, with attention to the size and shape and even color of each individual piece of pasta. On the table beside her was a small cardboard shipping carton, its flaps bent back. J peeked inside and found that the box contained lampwork beads, wooden beads, crystal beads, beads carefully carved from seashells, clay beads glazed in all colors of the rainbow, even beads made from bone. Amidst the beads J found a folded note written on the finest vellum:

"A, what is this all about?" J asked, stupified by what he saw before him. Between sobs, A proceeded to tell J about her failure with M's necklace, her infuriated outcry, and the late-night visitor. J's face became grim as A described the parchment, the burning ash, her newfound dexterity, and her unstoppable drive to string together anything that vaguely resembled a bead.

J looked back at the note he still held. "So 'Luc.' is the...?"

"The one and only," A nodded in misery.

"And he sent you these?" J reached into the carton and pulled out a sealed bag filled with pink Swarovski crystal beads.

"Don't open them!" A shrieked, jumping up and staying J's hand as it went for the multi-tool he wore clipped to his belt. "I spent my morning doing this... I really don't want to string another bead in my life, but if you so much as snip that bag open I'll have to start beading again!" The look of panic and weariness on A's face shook J to the core.

"Most people would just swear when they're frustrated by something, you know," J noted. "Maybe if you'd learned to swear, you wouldn't have gotten yourself into this mess." He smiled at her, trying to jest, but A's red-rimmed eyes just stared at him blankly.

J sighed and sat down beside A. "Well, I'm not about to allow your soul to go that easily," he said, taking A's hand in his. "Give me a few hours and I'll find a way out of this, believe me!" Unclipping his cell phone from his belt, J speed-dialed his supervisor, informing him that a family emergency had come up and he would not be back that afternoon. Then, armed with several Mountain Dews and a bowl of ramen, J went to his home office and began combing the Internet for any reference to deals with the devil.

By dinnertime — a lackluster mac and cheese made by Team FMA member N in an attempt to not let all the pasta go to waste — J had not yet emerged from his office, and A's hope dwindled down to next to nothing. She ate her meal, which had thankfully been rendered shapeless by overcooking and too much cheese, but it was mostly a mechanical reaction than out of any hunger. Just as N was about to clear the table, J's footsteps could be heard pounding up the stairs, The door leading to the basement burst open, and J flashed a smile. "I found the answer!" he triumphantly proclaimed.

That night, at about the same time that A had shouted her impetuous statement the previous evening, J used a gold Cross pen to trace a circle in the snow beside the sliding-glass door leading to A's office. In the indentation left by the Cross pen, J carefully sprinkled gasoline from the can he kept for the snowblower. Stepping carefully over the circle, he went inside A's office and ran the vellum card through the shredder; then, gathering the shreds, he carefully placed them in the groove of the circle. He looked up at A, nodded, and then backed away as A lit the circle with a fireplace match.

Lucifer instantly appeared in the circle, a blazing expression of fury on his face. "What is the meaning of this, A?" he snarled. "Why do you summon me so?"

Gathering her courage, A faced the Devil down. "I have decided that I no longer wish for the curse of the ability to do beadwork," she stated.

Her adversary's eyes boggled and, then, of all things, he began to laugh uproariously. "Surely you understand that this was a non-breachable contract? No, A, I regrettably inform you that there is no way to release you from this." He leered at her, his fathomless eyes burning into what would soon be his soul to possess.

A stood her ground. "I beg to differ," she retorted. "I invoke the Redemptive Decree!"

This only resulted in her night-time guest doubling over in more laughter, his walking stick tapping the snowy ground in mirth. "You jest. Of course you jest. Do you even know what the Redemptive Decree is?"

"Yes, she does." J spoke for the first time.

The Devil spun around to face Team FMA's other co-leader. "Then you know that it has not been invoked successfully since the days of Carolus Magnus. You are willing to risk her soul and my ire on a loophole more than 1,000 years old?"

A folded her arms across her chest. "I invoke the Redemptive Decree," she repeated.

Lucifer goggled at her. "Very well," he finally said. "It's your soul, after all. At least for now. Far be it for anyone to say I am a bad sport when it comes to matters of chance, and this is a matter of chance, believe you me, A." He pulled himself erect and rested both ring-bedecked hands on the golden knob of his walking stick. "By invoking the Redemptive Decree, you seek release from our legally binding contract. In order for this to occur and for your soul to remain yours, you must petition and obtain the signatures of no less than 50 individuals not related to you who feel you are worth saving from my infernal domain. Once the 50th signature is obtained, our contract shall be null and void, and you will be redeemed, your soul free and yours. But if you fail to obtain the signatures of 50 fellow humans before the sun sets on the date 11-11-11, then your soul and your life will belong to me. Period. Do you understand these guidelines?"

Both A and J nodded. "Good. Then I will be on my way." The Devil turned to Co-Leader J and sneered. "If I were you, I'd plan a nice farewell party for November 10th!" Then, with a flash of blinding light, he was gone.

J blinked, noticing suddenly that all the snow in their yard had apparently evaporated during this encounter. He came over to A and took her hand. "You did a great job. Now let's make sure we meet that deadline!" One hour later, a large, empty peanut-butter jar stood on the kitchen table, filled with the beads A had received earlier that day. A had already covered the jar in camouflage duct tape. She slipped a small log book and a pencil inside the jar, then sealed it. "I'll place this tomorrow, then send the coordinates in to Geocaching.com for publication," she told J, who was busily loading the dishwasher.

"Don't worry, A," J told his fellow co-leader reassuringly. "I'm sure we can convince 50 of our fellow geocachers out there to find this cache and sign the log book before that November deadline. Just wait and see."

Will you help Co-Leader A meet the requirements of the Redemptive Decree by finding this cache and signing its log? Please bring your own pen or pencil, just to make sure you can help her out!

Congratulations to Hello Lola on her FTF and for being the first to help Co-Leader A avoid this fate!