The Lament of the Lonely

A Romance Scam Story

A Short Story by Tim McGuinness, Ph.D.

In the stillness of a moonlit night, a lonely woman stood at a desolate crossroads far from the lights of her small town.

The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine, as the clock struck midnight. She had heard the old tales whispered by her grandmother, stories of crossroads where the veil between worlds grew thin, where one could call upon unseen forces to grant a heart’s deepest desire. At forty-five, she had known little but solitude, her days filled with the ache of unfulfilled longing for a love that had never come. Her heart, heavy with years of silent yearning, drove her to this forsaken place, where two dirt roads met under the pale glow of a full moon, their edges blurred by the shadows of ancient oaks.

Her hands trembled as she knelt at the center of the crossroads, her knees pressing into the cold ground. She had brought a small bundle wrapped in a white handkerchief, a token of her hope containing a single rose petal from her garden, a lock of her auburn hair, and a silver locket her mother had given her before passing. With a stick, she traced a circle in the dirt around her, whispering words she had pieced together from forgotten tales, words meant to summon the love of her life. Her voice, soft and quivering, rose into the night as she spoke her plea to the unseen, her eyes brimming with tears. She asked for a companion to share her laughter and her sorrows, a man whose heart would beat in rhythm with her own, a love to banish the loneliness that clung to her like a shadow.

The wind stirred, rustling the leaves above, and a sudden chill gripped the air, far colder than the night warranted. Her breath caught as a figure emerged from the darkness, stepping into the moonlight at the edge of her circle. He was tall, dressed in a dark cloak that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly sheen, his eyes glinting red like embers in the night. A faint smile curled his lips, revealing a hint of sharpness beneath his charm. She knew at once this was no man but a demon, the kind the old tales warned of, yet her desperation held her firm. The demon spoke, his voice smooth as silk, promising to grant her wish for the love of her life, but at a price she would pay later, a price the demon would not name until the time came. Driven by her longing, she agreed, her voice barely a whisper as she sealed the pact, the air around her crackling with an unseen force and energy.

The next day, as she sat at her kitchen table nursing a cup of tea, her phone chimed with a new message. It was from a man who had found her profile on a social media site she had joined months ago but forgotten. His words were kind, poetic even, speaking of a longing for a connection that mirrored her own. Her heart raced as she replied, and over the following days, their messages blossomed into a wondrous relationship. He was everything she had dreamed of: attentive, witty, and deeply romantic, filling her lonely evenings with laughter and hope. There was just one catch: he was traveling on the other side of the world, working as a contractor in a distant country, unable to meet in person but promising to return to her soon.

Weeks passed, and her love for him deepened with every message, every late-night call filled with whispered promises of a future together. She felt alive in a way she never had before, her loneliness replaced by the warmth of his words. But then, one evening, his tone shifted. Something was wrong. He was in trouble. He needed help, he explained, his voice tinged with urgency over the phone. A project he was working on had run into trouble, and he needed money to pay for equipment to secure his contract. She hesitated, her savings modest but hard-earned, yet the thought of losing him was unbearable. She sent the money, her fingers trembling as she completed the transfer, believing it would bring him closer to her.

The requests continued, each more pressing than the last. He needed funds for a medical emergency, then for travel expenses to return home, each time promising repayment once he arrived. Her savings dwindled, her savings and bank account shrinking with each transfer, but her love for him blinded her to the growing unease in her gut. By the end of the month, she had sent almost everything she had, her financial security unraveling as quickly as her dreams had formed. Then, one day, the messages stopped. His number went silent, his profile vanished, and she was left with an empty heart and an empty wallet, the wondrous relationship revealed as a cruel illusion.

In her despair, she returned to the crossroads under the same pale moon, her voice raw with anguish as she called out to the demon. The air grew cold once more, and the figure in the dark cloak appeared, his red eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He laughed, a sound that echoed through the night, and revealed his true form: a towering shadow with horns curling from his head, his once-charming face now a mask of malice. She realized the demon had orchestrated the scam, using her longing to draw her into a trap, her deal for love twisted into a romance scam that stripped her of her savings and her hope.

The torment began for real that night. Her dreams were haunted by the demon’s laughter, his red eyes watching her from every shadow. She saw her lover’s face in every mirror, but heard the demon’s voice in every whisper of the wind, a constant reminder of her folly. Her once-quiet life became a nightmare, her loneliness now mingled with fear as the demon’s presence seeped into her every waking moment. She could not escape the deal she had made, the price of her soul weighing heavier with each passing day, as the crossroads became not a place of hope but a monument to her despair, marking the beginning of a torment that would not easily end.

Her life had become a waking nightmare after her fateful encounter at the crossroads on that moonlit night. The demon’s torment was unrelenting, his red eyes glinting from every shadow, his mocking laughter echoing in her dreams. She no longer saw the face of her lover, but saw his twisted form of the demon in the flicker of candlelight, heard the demon’s voice in the creak of her old wooden floors, a constant reminder of the deal she had made and the romance scam that had stripped her of her savings and her hope. Desperate to escape the haunting, she searched and searched for a savior, someone or something to free her from the demon’s grip. She sought out local healers, whispered prayers in the dim light of churches, and scoured ancient books for rituals to undo her pact, but none could be found. Each failure deepened her despair, her loneliness now a prison guarded by the demon’s malevolent presence, her every step shadowed by the weight of her mistake.

One stormy evening, as she sat hunched over her desk with a flickering lamp casting long shadows across the room, she stumbled upon a hidden truth that would change her path. In an obscure corner of the internet, she found whispers of a method to heal from the wounds of deception, a secret known as Survivor’s School. This knowledge spoke of understanding the nature of scams, recognizing the tactics of manipulation, and reclaiming one’s power through education and resilience. She devoured the information, her heart pounding with a glimmer of hope she had not felt since that night at the crossroads. She learned how the demon had exploited her longing for love, weaving a romance scam that preyed on her vulnerability, and how she could break free by confronting the truth of her experience and rebuilding her inner strength.

Armed with this newfound understanding, she prepared to banish the demon once and for all. She returned to the crossroads on a windswept night, the moon obscured by dark clouds, her resolve as firm as the ground beneath her feet. She carried no bundle this time, only the knowledge she had gained, a weapon forged in the fires of her suffering. Standing at the center of the crossroads, she called out to the demon, her voice steady despite the chill in the air. The demon appeared, his red eyes blazing with fury, his shadowy form towering over her, but she did not falter. She spoke of the lessons she had learned, naming the scam for what it was, rejecting the shame he had forced upon her, and declaring her worth beyond his deceit. She said it was not her fault and that she was a survivor. She said she was not alone and she was worthy. With each word, the demon’s form flickered, his power waning as she’s strength grew, until she said the final three words: Kinesis, Axios, Aletheia. And with that, he let out a final, anguished howl and vanished into the night, banished by the light of her newfound wisdom.

In the weeks that followed, she continued in what she thought of as her survivor’s school, a journey of learning and healing where she studied the ways of deception and the paths to recovery. She immersed herself in understanding how loneliness had made her vulnerable, how the demon had preyed on her longing, and how she could protect herself from future harm. She learned to recognize the curse of manipulation, the gradual traps of financial requests, and the importance of questioning promises that seemed too good to be true. Through this education, she rebuilt her sense of self, her confidence growing with each lesson, her heart slowly mending as she forged connections with others who had faced similar trials. She discovered that her story, though marked by pain, was also one of resilience, a testament to her ability to rise from the ashes of her despair.

In time, she once again found peace. The shadows no longer held the demon’s eyes, and the whispers of the wind carried only the rustle of leaves, not his mocking laughter. Her home, once a prison of loneliness and fear, became a sanctuary of quiet strength, filled with the warmth of her own company and the knowledge that she had survived. Her laughter returned, soft at first but growing with each day, as she tended her garden and watched the roses bloom under her care. The crossroads, once a place of desperation, faded into a distant memory, a chapter closed by her own hand. She had learned her lesson, not through torment, but through the wisdom of a survivor, and in that wisdom, she found the love she had always sought: the love of herself, a love that no demon could ever take away.

Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction, but often in fiction we can see the deeper truth.

The Legend Behind the Story

The legend of calling a demon at a crossroads is a piece of folklore rooted in various cultural traditions, particularly in European and African American Southern folklore, often associated with deals for supernatural power or talent. In the myth, a person seeking extraordinary abilities, wealth, happiness, or fame goes to a crossroads, typically a rural intersection of two roads, at midnight, often on a specific night like a full moon or Friday the 13th. They perform a ritual, which varies by tradition but might involve drawing symbols in the dirt, bringing offerings like a black cat bone or a photograph, or reciting incantations to summon a demon, sometimes identified as the Devil or a specific entity like Legba in Vodou traditions.

Once summoned, the demon appears, often in the guise of a man in a dark suit or with animalistic features like red eyes or cloven hooves. The individual then makes a pact, trading their soul or a future price for their desire, frequently musical talent, as in the legend of blues musician Robert Johnson, who allegedly gained his skill through such a deal at a Mississippi crossroads in the 1930s. The demon grants the request, but the bargain comes with a steep cost: the person’s soul is claimed after a set period, often 10 years, leading to an early death or eternal damnation. The crossroads symbolizes a liminal space, a place of transition where the veil between worlds is thin, making it ideal for supernatural encounters.

This legend reflects themes of temptation, the price of ambition, and the dangers of seeking shortcuts to success, blending Christian ideas of sin with older pagan beliefs about spirits at boundaries. While popularized in American folklore, similar stories exist globally, such as in West African traditions where crossroads are sacred to deities like Eshu, a trickster spirit who facilitates communication between humans and the divine. The legend endures as a cautionary tale about the consequences of bargaining with dark forces.

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