The man in the red sunglasses says he wants to make another deal. I haven't seen him since I was kid.

When I was nine and my sister Hailey was six, a newcomer came to our house.

I'm not sure when I first noticed his presence. It was a gradual thing, a creeping awareness. I'd spot him through doorways or lurking in dark corners. He was tall and slim, with chalk-white skin. It's hard to recall his face, his features never seemed quite the same as the last time I'd glimpsed them. What I do remember is the hangman's grin he always wore and the circular, reflective red sunglasses perpetually on his face.

Creepy, I know, but at the time I simply didn't have the mental energy to concern myself with his presence. I assumed he was one of my uncle's friends, although his well-tailored black suit begged to differ.

My sister and I grew up poor. Not Oliver Twist poor, we had a roof over our heads for the most part. Still, there was hardly ever food on the table, and the adults in our lives would sooner take a swipe at us than offer any kind of familial support.

There was our grandmother Clarice, whose house we lived in from a young age. She was old and mostly senile, with glazed-over eyes and rotting brown teeth. When she wasn't screeching at my sister and I over some imagined transgression, she was glued to the radio, a cigarette clutched in her spindly fingers, hoping that her latest lottery ticket would pay dividends.

There was our uncle Brett. Partial to imbibing mysterious substances through his nostrils, he spent most of his time sprawled out in front of the television, watching unfunny movies and laughing his ass off.

Then there was our dad, or as I generally called him, Rick. He was perhaps the worst of the trio. When I was three, my mother went out for smokes and left him a single father. He'd resented my sister and I ever since. He was usually drunk or passed out. I preferred him in the latter state.

It was up to me to look out for my younger sister, thieving what little food I could from the adults.

Then the man with the red sunglasses appeared.

I remember seeing him on the sofa one afternoon, sitting next to my uncle Brett. The two of them appeared to be in deep conversation.

A few days later, while I was walking past my grandmother's room, I saw him there, whispering something in the old woman's ear while she nodded her head in a daze. He spotted me watching through the doorway and gave me a smile.

Maybe a week later, I was digging through the cupboard, checking the expiration dates on old soup cans to see if I could find one less than a decade old. When I eventually gave up and closed the cupboard door, I found him standing on the other side of it, leaning down and giving me his signature toothy grin.

"I think it's time we had a chat, Danny," He said.

We took a seat at the kitchen table. To the best of my recollection, the conversation went something like this:

"Who are you?" I asked.

The question seemed to amuse him, but then again, everything did. "Well," He replied, "I've gone by many names. But you can call me Mr. Scratch."

"What do you want?"

"Want?" He beamed. "I only want to be of service. You see Danny, I'm in a very particular line of business. The business of granting wishes."

"Wishes?" I said, "You mean, like a genie?"

Even with my lackluster upbringing, I'd still seen the Disney classic Aladdin a couple of times.

"Sort of," he said. "But I don't grant three wishes. Just one."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Why should I believe you?"

His grin widened, so it looked like his face was being stretched by clothing pins. "See here boy."

He held out his right hand, and in his palm, a small burst of fire arose. I stared at in amazement, before he snapped his hand shut and it was gone.

"You believe me now?"

I nodded my head eagerly.

"Good. Here's the deal Danny. I've chosen your household to be my latest… project. That means every member of your family gets one wish. Now, there are rules to these wishes of course. I won't bore you with the full list, but there are two big ones:

"For one thing, you must wish for something that is technically possible, even if it stretches the limits of probability. No magic. Secondly, your wish must not contradict those made by any of your family members. Understand?"

"I think so," I replied.

"Then," He said, "What will it be?"

I thought it over. Of course, many possible requests flooded through my brain. Mostly I thought of my mother- having her back.

The thing was though, I didn't trust this man. Call it a child's intuition, but I sensed some sort of trap in the works. I knew that in stories, wishes often came with some hidden price or ironic twist.

Painful though it was, I decided I would be better off not taking the man's offer. I opened my mouth to refuse him, but suddenly, a new thought crossed my brain.

"I want to know what my family members wished for," I said.

For a moment, the man looked outright stunned. Then the smile on his face expanded, growing to a size that seemed almost inhuman. "Oh, you are a clever one, Danny! Cleverer than most. Very well then:"

"First, your uncle. He wished for a lifetimes supply of cocaine."

Cocaine? I had a vague understanding that that was the white stuff Uncle Brett liked to put in his nostrils.

"A lifetimes supply?" I said, cocking my head. "I thought the requests had to be possible. You said no magic."

Mr. Scratch made a tut-tut sound with his tongue. "I said technically possible. And I just so happen to know of an unlisted flight carrying some very illicit cargo, which will be passing right over your backyard this coming Thursday. A few ropes come loose, and all of the sudden, a ton and a half of white bricks come falling out of the sky."

I nodded. That made enough sense to me. "And my grandmother?"

His red glasses flickered. "You're a smart boy. What do you think she wished for?"

I mulled it over for a few moments. "She wants to win the lottery."

"Ding-ding-ding! Clever Danny."

"And my sister?" I asked.

"I haven't asked little Hailey for her wish yet," The man replied. "I'm saving her for last."

Interesting, I thought. I gave another nod.

"That only leaves one more," The man continued. "Dear old dad. And oh, I think you'll be very interested to know what your father wished for."

I felt a chill run up my spine. I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. "What?" I forced myself to ask.

"Well," The man said. "I should preface by saying he was not fully lucid when he made the request. I met him at his favorite bar, and he was already several drinks deep, although not as many as he would be following the wish. I should think he probably doesn't even remember what it was. You see, we started talking about his kids."

The feeling in my stomach grew heavier. "And?"

"And…" The man said. "He feels that things would be so much better if he didn't have you two little scamps to worry about. He said you two are 'tying him down' keeping him from living the life that he wants."

Even with the terrible way my dad had always treated me, it was still painful to hear. "So what did he wish for…" I croaked; my voice suddenly hoarse.

The man smiled, the widest smile yet. "He wished that the two of you would die in some kind of accident."

I swallowed hard. The room felt like it was spinning. "No…" I breathed.

"Yes!" The man grinned. "Daddy dearest wants you and your sister gone. Well, now that your wish has been granted, it's time I move on. I'll be paying your sister a visit sometime soon. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your last days alive Danny."

And with that, he rose, and stalked away from the table. I was paralyzed, unable to reckon with the information I'd just received. I felt myself starting to hyperventilate and had to forcefully slow my breathing. It isn't over, I told myself. There's still time to save myself and Hailey. I just need to come up with a plan.

It took me several sleepless nights, but come up with a plan I did.

First, I went to my sister. I didn't tell her everything, just what she needed to know. "In a few days a man is going to come to you, and ask you to make a wish," I told her. "Now, I need you to do exactly as I say. It won't make sense right now, but you have to, promise?"

She looked up at me with big brown eyes. "I promise."

I told her what she needed to say. After that, it was just a matter of waiting for the coming Thursday.

My sister and I stood at the edge of a busy road. Cars whizzed by at lightning-fast speeds, the rushing air currents whipping at our clothes.

"I'm scared," Hailey whimpered.

"So am I," I said. It was true. My heart was pounding in my chest. What if the wish doesn't work? What if the man was lying?

I forced myself to steal my nerves. "Alright Hailey, we need to close our eyes now. It has to be an accident."

She did as I said. I shut my eyes. Then we stepped out into the road.

I didn't hear the car coming, didn't feel it as it collided with us. Everything was over in a flash, and the world went black.

When I awoke, it was to the sound of beeping, and the smell of chemicals. I was in a hospital room. A doctor entered, and when he saw that I was awake, he explained what had happened.

When the car collided with us, our hearts both stopped. We were dead, technically. However, by sheer luck, an ambulance had just so happened to be driving by at that exact moment. The EMT's got to us in time and were able to resuscitate us. Amazingly, we both had very few injuries and were expected to make full recoveries.

So, I thought. Hailey's wish worked.

Not long later, my father came into the room. He was blubbering, tears pouring down his face. "I'm so sorry!" He cried. "This is all my fault!"

I recalled what Mr. Scratch had said, that my father was so drunk that he probably didn't even remember making the wish. However, some vestigial memory seemed to remain because I could hear the guilt as he spoke.

He bawled his eyes out, promising he would be a better father, that we'd be a real family, that he'd take care of us.

There was genuine remorse in his voice.

It made me almost feel sorry for what I did next.

"Dad, I need you to do something for me," I whispered, so quiet that he had to lean in to hear me.

"Yes Danny, anything!"

"This might be hard to understand," I said. "But a few days ago, a man in red sunglasses came to me…"

His eyes widened. Maybe he remembers after all, I thought.

"He said he'd give me a wish," I continued. "There's something… buried in our backyard. It will change all our lives. But I need you and Uncle Brett to dig it up for me. It has to be today."

My father's eyes lit up, and I saw that remorse had been replaced by greed for whatever could be buried in the yard. "Of course, son! I'll get him right now."

He raced out of the hospital room. I looked out the window to my left. Outside stood the man in the red sunglasses, grinning the biggest grin of all.

And so, my dad and my uncle Brett grabbed two shovels and began digging in our backyard.

They were so preoccupied, so captivated by what they might find, that they didn't even notice the ton and a half of white bricks falling out of the sky over their heads.

Their deaths were labelled a freak accident. When my grandmother found out, it was too much for her. Her heart stopped, the winning lottery ticket still clutched in her hand.

My sister and I inherited three and a half million dollars, split evenly between the two of us.

And that's how the story ended. At least, I thought so. The problem is, it turns out I'm just as bad with money as the rest of my family. Not only did I blow through the cash, I actually managed to get myself into debt as well.

As I was sitting drunk in my house a few weeks ago, waiting for the repo men to arrive, I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, I found the man in the red sunglasses standing on the other side.

He says he wants to offer me a job.