Read Online Twisted Fate (Tales of Horror) by Jonas Saul - Free Book Online
Authors: Jonas Saul
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been saying can’t be right. We’ll take Jacob to where he thinks he was born and show him evidence to the contrary.”
Grumpy and moody, I was angry this day had taken so long to come. I don’t wait for people to die like my cousin the Grim Reaper. We take people—think souls—early. It’s justified. It’s right. The problem for me is that I’m the only one powerful enough to know our purpose. My husband, John, has no idea who he is, and won’t for another hour. He actually thinks he’s my husband and Jacob actually sees himself as my son.
If the world only knew how crazy I am, how much fun I have reveling in their misery, they wouldn’t hunt me with pitchforks as they did hundreds of years ago—they’d send an army to decapitate me.
I sat in the front seat of our Nissan and stared at the passing trees, my arms crossed. The colors were a vibrant green this time of year. Normally that would inspire me, cause me to snap a picture or two of the July sun, if only to add another prop to my stage dressing. But I didn’t, because this play was coming to an end and there would be no encore.
“I’m just tired of always hearing about his mother,” I stated, fully encompassing my role in this incarnation. “How she washed clothes with her hands and how she made bread at home in an outside bread oven. His mother this and his mother that . Never memories of his first eight years with us.” I raised my hands in frustration. “I know he remembers getting a PlayStation at Christmas and lots of other things since he was born, but I’m talking about what he says happened that isn’t true. I mean, come on, we haven’t let him watch that much television.”
John put his hand on my leg to calm me. He knew all too well that I could really get fired up about this stuff. I am Jacob’s mother. I wash clothes in a machine. I buy bread at a large grocery store and we live in a city, not a village. We have electricity and only use candles for a romantic dinner. At least that’s how it all appears.
At first, I wondered if Jacob knew who he really was and what his mission had become for this incarnation. There were times when I was sure of it, but then I realized that he wasn’t as old as I am, and only ones older than five-hundred years can do what I do with all the knowledge that goes with it. I’m eight-thousand-two-hundred years old this June and as I said earlier, ready to retire. My husband is a pawn, my son, my successor.
I realized a few years ago when Jacob began remembering a past life, that it was only a phase he was going through. But it didn’t stop. Jacob continued talking about his past like he’d actually lived it. When he said he was born in the village of Novar, my husband and I decided to drive there to show him Novar so we could put his delusions to rest and I could complete my task for this incarnation.
“Everything will be fine,” John said, attempting to reassure me, but failing. I appreciated his efforts, but I had a nagging feeling that something was amiss. On this, the day of atoning, John still didn’t indicate that he knew who he was. I worried that he wouldn’t come around. If he didn’t come around, I would have to kill him, too, and that could become a problem.
My son had given details about a previous life that he couldn’t have gleaned from watching TV. Barney a few years ago, then Blues Clues, and now PlayStation. There was no way he could know about churning butter, poverty and a one-building school house. It didn’t stop there, though.
Jacob had said just last week that if we drove to Novar, he would direct us to where he used to live. He would even show us the tree where he carved his name and the year he was born, 1931. He said that if we went this week he had a surprise for us, one that I would be happy to learn. The mystery was enough for my husband and I to say we’d go. I should’ve known then that Jacob was well aware of my
Grumpy and moody, I was angry this day had taken so long to come. I don’t wait for people to die like my cousin the Grim Reaper. We take people—think souls—early. It’s justified. It’s right. The problem for me is that I’m the only one powerful enough to know our purpose. My husband, John, has no idea who he is, and won’t for another hour. He actually thinks he’s my husband and Jacob actually sees himself as my son.
If the world only knew how crazy I am, how much fun I have reveling in their misery, they wouldn’t hunt me with pitchforks as they did hundreds of years ago—they’d send an army to decapitate me.
I sat in the front seat of our Nissan and stared at the passing trees, my arms crossed. The colors were a vibrant green this time of year. Normally that would inspire me, cause me to snap a picture or two of the July sun, if only to add another prop to my stage dressing. But I didn’t, because this play was coming to an end and there would be no encore.
“I’m just tired of always hearing about his mother,” I stated, fully encompassing my role in this incarnation. “How she washed clothes with her hands and how she made bread at home in an outside bread oven. His mother this and his mother that . Never memories of his first eight years with us.” I raised my hands in frustration. “I know he remembers getting a PlayStation at Christmas and lots of other things since he was born, but I’m talking about what he says happened that isn’t true. I mean, come on, we haven’t let him watch that much television.”
John put his hand on my leg to calm me. He knew all too well that I could really get fired up about this stuff. I am Jacob’s mother. I wash clothes in a machine. I buy bread at a large grocery store and we live in a city, not a village. We have electricity and only use candles for a romantic dinner. At least that’s how it all appears.
At first, I wondered if Jacob knew who he really was and what his mission had become for this incarnation. There were times when I was sure of it, but then I realized that he wasn’t as old as I am, and only ones older than five-hundred years can do what I do with all the knowledge that goes with it. I’m eight-thousand-two-hundred years old this June and as I said earlier, ready to retire. My husband is a pawn, my son, my successor.
I realized a few years ago when Jacob began remembering a past life, that it was only a phase he was going through. But it didn’t stop. Jacob continued talking about his past like he’d actually lived it. When he said he was born in the village of Novar, my husband and I decided to drive there to show him Novar so we could put his delusions to rest and I could complete my task for this incarnation.
“Everything will be fine,” John said, attempting to reassure me, but failing. I appreciated his efforts, but I had a nagging feeling that something was amiss. On this, the day of atoning, John still didn’t indicate that he knew who he was. I worried that he wouldn’t come around. If he didn’t come around, I would have to kill him, too, and that could become a problem.
My son had given details about a previous life that he couldn’t have gleaned from watching TV. Barney a few years ago, then Blues Clues, and now PlayStation. There was no way he could know about churning butter, poverty and a one-building school house. It didn’t stop there, though.
Jacob had said just last week that if we drove to Novar, he would direct us to where he used to live. He would even show us the tree where he carved his name and the year he was born, 1931. He said that if we went this week he had a surprise for us, one that I would be happy to learn. The mystery was enough for my husband and I to say we’d go. I should’ve known then that Jacob was well aware of my
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