Summary: Long ago I sold my soul and doomed myself to an eternity in the Underworld. I did everything they wanted for centuries, but no more! I'll find a way out of my destiny or die trying! I leave you my story in the hope that someone else can succeed if I fail.

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My next master was a baker in the center of town. He was a large man in his late fifties with stark white hair and a neatly trimmed beard. I never once saw him smile, but fortunately for me, he was more concerned with business than torturing souls. Of course like most masters, he would rant and rave if we made a mistake, but left us alone if sales went well. Other souls would have moaned about his tough work schedule and spontaneous temper, but after living in the factory I was overjoyed to have him as a master.

The baker resided in a two story wooden townhouse like everyone else on that street. It was painted dark blue with a red tiled roof, and large front windows which looked outwards onto a dirt laneway. There was also a small narrow balcony on the second floor. It was always overflowing with colourful flowers that seemed to live forever.

The kitchen and shop were located on the ground floor. Every day we'd display various fresh cakes behind glass cases. Some were three layers high. Covered in cream, fruit, chocolate, or whatever was in fashion. All the townspeople loved to talk about fashion.



From eight in the morning the shop doors would open, and well dressed servants and souls would pour in. They'd haggle over the price of bread and desserts for their rich employers, and I'd watch the baker's other souls smile and serve them with confidence that I was envious of. Even after years in the bakery, I was still too nervous to engage in conversation with a single customer.

My mental state had improved after leaving the factory, but it would still be years before I could return to a fraction of my previous self. The best I could do was a nod to my master, or a small "hello" to my fellow souls, but they'd all long given up on getting to know me. They found me quiet, weird, and only acknowledged my existence if they absolutely had to.

I liked it that way. Friends were just a nuisance who'd betray me in the end.

"Cheesecake!" Called the baker one day as he furiously kneaded bread dough in the kitchen. Cheesecake was the ridiculous name he gave me, and I had no right to complain. "Get those damn rolls out of the oven already, and start cutting fruit. That pompous lord's servant is already here, and the last thing I need is that smug bastard telling half the town about how the tarts were late!"

With a nod I went to the wood fire oven, pulling the scorching tray of bread rolls out with my bare hand. I reached in and redistributed the burning coals with the other. Souls were useful in that place because we're unaffected by heat.

I carefully turned to lay the bread down on a bench, making sure not to drop a single roll, when there was an explosion from the second floor.

The building violently shook back and forth for one moment. Sending customers screaming and metal pans clanging to the floor. Cracks formed in the ceiling and small flakes of paint floated through the air.

I tripped and almost dropped the tray, but quickly regained my balance and gripped onto it with all my might.

"Not again!" Roared the baker and he furiously threw his flour covered hands into the air. "Are you trying to bloody ruin me, boy!" He fetched a straw broom from the corner and continuously shoved it against the ceiling with all his might. "Stupid! Bloody! Frickin' magic! I curse the day that I let you go to that damn school! I didn't spend my life slaving away here just to watch you ruin it all! Do you hear me!"





There was an angry yell in response from the second floor, but it was too muffled to understand.

The baker had one son who was a magical scholar. Although he was nowhere near the level of my old master Alistair. He was a young pudgy man in his mid twenties with short blonde curly hair, dark brown eyes, and a smug grin which appeared when he mastered a new spell.

Despite his haughty attitude, the young master failed to test into a more prestigious school, and spent years floating aimlessly through life. He adamantly refused to participate in his father's work, and instead slept through most of the day and spent his evenings studying spells. I would often walk past his room to see the young man in his pajamas. Bent over a desk and pulling on his hair in frustration because a certain incantation refused to work.

Of course I was curious about his actions, but unlike Alistair's library I never had the courage to stop and watch. I was far too obsessed with keeping myself out of trouble and being an obedient soul. I never wanted to relive the sort of abuse I suffered in the factory, so I did everything I was ordered without question and nothing more. I did an excellent job at it too, until my perfect record came to an end one sunny afternoon.

I was tidying the young master's room like I had a hundred times before. Clothes and books had been haphazardly thrown over the furniture and floor. Not to mention half eaten plates of food which were growing mould. We were always there to clean up after him every day, so the young man would carelessly pull things from the cupboards and toss them across the room when he was finished.

I sighed and picked up a handful of battered books and returned them to the shelf. Arranging them back into alphabetical order like the young master wished. I could tell from the covers that they were all fantasy epics and passionate love stories, like the young man preferred to live in a magical world than be the son of a mediocre baker.

I turned to his desk and began to collect the dirty plates and cups that had piled up over the day. Stacking them neatly, one on top of the other.

Then I caught site of the textbook lying open beside them.

It was too large for me to pick up with one hand, and had the name of some magic school neatly stamped at the top of every page. I told myself not to read it. It would only lead to pointless daydreams and disappointment. But it was there right before me, and for one short moment I felt a glimmer of my old self.

I put down the plates and examined the open page. Gently running my fingers over the printed words as I muttered them out loud. The writing was simple enough for me to understand, and

I soon discovered that it was an incantation on how to make a flower appear from thin air. All it needed was a chant, a few twists of the wrist, and apparently any low level magic user could do it.

Without stopping to consider the consequences, I stretched out my right hand and quietly mumbled the words on the page while moving my wrist. A small part of me hoping that a flower would suddenly materialise like the picture, but of course nothing happened.

I tried it again. Then waited longer. Angrily glaring at my empty palm like my stare alone could make it work.

"What are you doing?'

I jumped in horror and fell back against the desk in shock.





Standing in the doorway was the young master. He was wearing a blue dressing gown while lethargically leaning against the doorframe. Arms crossed over his chest. I had no idea how much he saw.

I froze.

I'd been caught doing something that I wasn't supposed to.

My mind went blank.

"Wait. Don't tell me that you were actually," the young master's mouth broke into a smile. "Attempting to do magic?"

I was too afraid to say anything, but the look on my face must have been enough to give me away.

He let out a laugh so loud that it echoed throughout the house.

"A soul, doing magic!" He had to bend over to catch his breath. "That's the most hilarious thing I've seen in years! Did you actually think that it would work? That flowers would suddenly spring from your hands? Even the real losers in my class knew that a soul can't channel magic!" He had to pause to catch his breath. "I guess it's true what they say. Only a real dumbass would ever sell their soul."

I just stood there and watched. Wishing that I could disappear into thin air.

Once he finished laughing, the young master wiped the tears from his eyes and confidently strode across the room.

I averted my gaze to the floor and flinched out of habit. I was certain that he'd lash out and hit me, but I heard the magic textbook slam shut with a thud.

He sighed and examined my terrified face, most probably basking in my fear.

"Has anyone told you that there are two types of beings in this world," he said like I was a disobedient child who needed a lecture. "Real living people like me, and then dead ghosts like you. Those who are privileged like I am, have the freedom to go anywhere or do whatever they want. I can be a scholar, or a king, or master a thousand spells. My life is full of endless possibilities. Whereas you," his face broke into that smug grin. "Your turn to live is already over. Sinners like you are only allowed to exist in the Underworld so that you can serve living people like me. Otherwise you wouldn't even be here. If souls disobey their masters or do things they aren't supposed to, then they become useless in this place. Useless things may get thrown away or destroyed. Do you get what I'm saying, weirdo?"

He impatiently glared at me like he was waiting for an answer, but the thought of having to speak caused me to drown in anxiety and fear. I attempted to open my mouth, but it refused to move.

"Hey! I asked you a question!" He growled, but of course I didn't reply.

The young master slapped his hand across my face in frustration. It was so quick that I didn't see it coming, but he used too much force and his fingers easily passed through my head like I was made of smoke.

His eyes widen in surprise for one moment, like he'd never hit a soul before, but then his face screwed up in rage.

"Well!" He spat and angrily jabbed his finger at my chest because the conversation didn't go the way that he wanted. "You should know that no matter how special you think you are, or whatever you do! You'll never be anything more than a dumb soul slave, so it's pointless to even try being anything else!"

Next Chapter: Simple words which have a longer lasting influence than actions.

Thank you for reading this chapter. I'm not sure if this story is going well or not, but I've decided to just do my best and try to keep writing until the end. Writing is a fun hobby which takes up time when I'm bored, and it helps to relieve stress. I am really interested in your feedback, so feel free to leave a comment if you have time.

I often post all my latest updates and free promotions on my Facebook page. You can find it at https://www.facebook.com/mcqueen.author/ Sharing my posts is also a super awesome free way to support this story for free.

I recently also put chapters 1-26 together into a Kindle ebook file on Amazon. (just search for Memories of a Soul in the Underworld) ?The cheapest I could make it was 99 cents, but please feel free to give it a download if you enjoy Kindle books.