What follows is in response to the 100 Word Challenge, authored by the devilish Velvet Verbosity. The word this week is "Imp".
Franz Hostetler lay in his bed, covered by the fine satin duvet, dying. His servants were all in attendance, ready to fulfill the slightest wish of the fine and generous man who employed them.
He tried, unsuccessfully, to send them away.
Franz lay back in frustration. The Imp had tricked him. He had wished for comfort, and the Imp, obligated to grant his every wish, had given him comfort that would not go away. He needed to sell the Imp's bottle before he died, or he would burn in Hell, while the Imp went free. He was trapped. Damned Imp.