Read Online The Nightmare Game by S. Suzanne Martin - Free Book Online Page A

incense to hit me in the face while an
old, skinny, overly-tanned bleach-blonde woman named “Madame LaRou”, my last
fortune-telling experience, to pounce on me, sporting exotic-looking shawls and
a voice that was spooky, not from psychic insight but from life-long use of too
much whiskey and too many cigarettes. Instead, while it did smell of incense,
it was a pleasant fragrance and the place was clean, nicely cluttered, but
still clean. A very level-headed looking youngish woman, a light-skinned
African-American with green eyes and dark golden-brown hair in long Rasta
braids came toward me. She looked as though she might have come from the Cayman
Islands, but when she spoke, it was with a light Jamaican accent.
    “Hello, ya wan’ ya fortune told. My name’s
Adelle,” she said, motioning to a small table with a fabric tablecloth and two
café chairs. “Please, have a seat. What form of divination would ya like
today?”
    I sat down. A tiny lamp illuminated the table and
a small, laminated rectangular piece of paper lay upon it. I picked up the
paper; on one side was printed the selection of teas that they offered and the
other side their list of fortune-telling methods and prices. “I don’t know,” I
said, my voice sounding as befuddled as I felt. “I don’t know, it’s been years
since I’ve had this done. Having my palm read seems a little long-range to me.
I might not be around long enough for that.”
    “Ya concerns are more immediate then?”
    “Yeah, my concerns are real immediate. What about
Tarot cards? I’m more familiar with those than anything else.” Having had a
roommate in college that read Tarot cards incessantly, I knew just enough about
them to be able to pick up whether she was completely bullshitting me or not.
    “Always a good choice,” she said in a tone that
sounded as if I had deep wisdom of which I was unaware. I felt a little played.
“Now, I take it ya don’ wan’ a year spread.”
    “No, nothing over three months,” I replied.
    “Now, do ya have any preference for a particular
deck?”
    “No, I’ll leave that decision up to you.”
    She got up, walked over to a shelf and picked up a
wooden box, bringing it to the table and sitting back down. Opening the box,
she pulled out a deck, unwrapped it from the silk scarf in which it was stored
and went through the cards, pulling one out. “Ah, here ya are, here’s the card
to describe ya. You’re the Queen of Rods.” She pulled it out, set it to one
side and began to shuffle the rest of the deck. She handed it to me, giving me
directions as to how to shuffle the cards, cut them and reassemble the deck. I
then handed it back to her.
    Deftly, she dealt the cards upon the table in a
spread with which I was unfamiliar. “I don’ go so much by what the books say
the cards are supposed ta mean,” she explained. “I’ve kinda got my own way of
seein’ them. An old witch woman told my mam when I was born that I got the
sight, so I interpret ‘em my own way. It jus’ works better for me. I find my
readin’s are better that way, more accurate. Now I’m doin’ ya readin’ for three
months inta the future, but I like ta do some past readin’ first. It helps me
make sense o’ things.”
    She hummed to herself, studying them. “Okay, now.
Let’s see what they have to say.” She turned over the first card. “This card
represents ya past, but not ya immediate past. Ya alone a lot, I see. Alone,
but not lonesome. This is nice, it is a comfortable card. And this one,” she turned
over the second card, “this one represents the more immediate past. Ah, I see
the loneliness settin’ in. Ya haven’t been happy for awhile now, have ya?”
    “No, I haven’t been,” I said, hating to admit it
to a stranger.
    She turned over the next card and said, “Ah,” in a
tone that implied a mild revelation. “It’s not ya own loneliness and
unhappiness to been dealin’ with at all.”
    “No,” I disagreed, a little