This tale was repeated one way or another through the nights we gathered around horror Granny, in a way it was the staple of her craft, like a familiar trope some author resorts to in all their books.
I remember the first time I heard this one, I was around seven, and it was the most impressive thing I ever heard.
As usual, it was around 10:00 P.M., the street lamp near Granny’s house spurted and fluttered like a fading ghost. Shedding light and taking it away every few seconds, covering Granny’s face in the eeriest of shadows.
It was late September, about the time we started school, yet no one cared as much for waking early as much as listening to Granny’s creepy tales.
We gathered around her with shining eyes and expectant faces, ready to absorb and grasp every word that came from her mouth. Spinning her tales to all those rapt faces must have been a passion well appreciated, for never missed a day until her death.
A guy selling ice cream from a small bicycle-driven cart passed us with the cheerful yet ominous music announcing his delicious trade.
Another called in a sing-song voice for his dried puffed bread. As a young child, I used to believe this one was the devil, he sure looked the part. He wore the local attire of Jallabya and a hood over his head completely covering his face. He had strange gloves with streaks of red and black. But most of all, his voice sent chills down my spine as he called for his merchandise.
In the distance, a dog howled as an answer to the dried puffed bread guy. Just the perfect compliment for the new tale.
Then Granny started. “In the time of the October war, everybody had a son, a brother, a father, a friend, and a husband at the line of fire. Everybody searched for any bit of knowledge from the battlefield. Everyone hung to the flimsiest of tales from any source.”
“The story is about such a man. His name was Mas’oud.” Mas’oud means lucky and fortunate.
I will slip off the lines of Granny to keep the tale short as I did the last times.
Mas’oud was lucky indeed, he had a hearing difficulty that allowed him to skip the army draft. His only brother and only surviving relative was not as lucky. Mas’oud’s brother, Nageh, was drafted back in 1967, and six years later, he still served.
Nageh, which means successful, used to visit every few months. But it was around the end of October, three weeks from the beginning of the last war, and seven months since Nageh cam visiting.
Mas’oud feared the worst had happened. But as the tale goes, since the men in Khaki uniforms didn’t pay him a visit, he had to assume his brother was still alive.
Mas’oud worked as a clerk in a big government-owned store. We were still a communistic country by the time of the October war, if not in name, then still in habits and regulations.
He was not special in any way, even his job was as low as they got in that store. But being that everyone thought of him as completely deaf, he heard some things.
As he hung around the staff resting area, Mrs. M and Miss A, talked excitedly about the fortune-teller in the nearby cemetery. To this day, Egyptians have the habit of living beside the dead, in the cemeteries. I guess it is a Pharaonic thing.
In another discussion, Mrs. M told Mr. H, that she found all about her brother who was reported missing in action, and just last month, he returned home as the fortune-teller told her he would.
Tale after tale, after tale, Mas’oud started to formulate a plan. He saved every penny he could from his puny salary over the next two months, and during this time, he frequented most of the nearby cemeteries in search of the so-called Fortune teller.
Eventually, he noticed a certain plot with large intimidating fences, was frequented by several people. Rich cars and rich-looking folk entered and didn’t come out until late after sundown.
Mas’oud knew he would look odd around those people, so he decided to visit late at night after most of the rich folk left.
It was around the same time we gathered each night around Granny for her nightly tale that Mas’oud made his appearance at the fortune teller’s doorstep.
A man wearing a black Jallabya asked him about his name, his mother’s name, and a whole five Egyptian pounds donation. Poor Mas’oud’s salary was only three and a half pounds a month, and all he managed to save was one and a half-pound. For this tale happened long ago, and an Egyptian pound was almost equal to two and a half dollars, but a dollar then could buy a lot of stuff, and so did the pound.
The man in the black Jallabya asked him to wait at the gate and delved inside.
After waiting for almost an hour, Mas’oud was admitted to meet the fortune teller.
“Look son, as you don’t have the correct sum for a reading, I will ask you for something else in return.” The fortune-teller smiled kindly to Mas’oud.
“Anything. I a ready to give an arm and a leg to learn anything about the fate of my brother.” Mas’oud jumped at the opportunity.
“What I ask in return is a single day of your life.” The fortune-teller kept his kind smile.
“I don’t understand.”
“Then you can leave.”
“Wait! I accept.” Mas’oud cried.
“Then let’s get on with the reading.”
According to Granny’s tale, the fortune-teller gave him good enough news that Mas’oud left happy and content.
A month passed, then a year. Nageh came home, and he found a family that accepted to marry both of their daughters to the two brothers.
In another month, the wedding date was set to be after two more months. Mas’oud was more than just happy, he felt that he lived in a fairy tale. Everything was as good as it could get.
Then on the eve of the wedding day, the fortune teller crossed his path as he walked back home from work.
“I came to claim my day.” The fortune-teller was not smiling, not even a twitch touched his lips.
“And which day would it be?”
“Your wedding day and night.” The fortune-teller said in a neutral tone. “I will be you as you hide away in my house.”
“And how would you do that? We don’t look alike, not even remotely.”
“Like this.” The fortune-teller passes his hand over his face, and immediately his features changed to those of Mas’oud.
Mas’oud jumped back in horror. His fairy tale changed tracks in an instant and turned into something sinister.
“Can’t it be another day?”
“No, it has to be this day. I need an hire.”
Mas’oud’s fear turned to fury. “Then I will give you the rest of your damned five pounds and leave me be.”
“The deal was done that night months ago. Who do you think guided your brother to slip under raining bullets and come to you in one piece?”
“Only Allah and his grace saved him.”
“Wrong, I did. And I want my payment.”
“I will never give such a humiliating payment. Over my dead body.” Mas’oud pushed the man and ran to call for his brother.
Just as he rounded the corner, two men in black Jallabya waited to intercept him. He evaded them by crossing the road and entering the nearest side street.
But as he ran he could head many feet racing after him. He veered and entered the garden of a small villa, to hide in the bushes.
He panted and heaved as he tried to think of a way to avoid those men. Then they entered the small garden. They talked in a strange tongue that didn’t sound like any human tongue Mas’oud recognized.
They stood right by the bush he hid under, and all he could see were their feet. They were goat hooves. He put his hand on his mouth lest he let out a scream. They were not even human, not remotely.
Mas’oud waited until they finally left, crawled out, and ran the rest of the way to his house.
Once inside, he told everything to his brother, who nodded and said, “They are Djinn or demons then, and the best way is to read on them from the holy Quran.”
“I doubt they will stay to be read upon.”
“Then read it on water and throw it on them. Mix some Musk in the water as well.”
The tale goes that the two brothers spent the next hours doing just that, and then they stood waiting.
Around midnight, Nageh woke up Mas’oud and told him that he heard strange noises around their door.
Immediately the two brothers hauled the water bucket mixed with Musk and opened the door.
Granny’s tale goes that the two brothers succeeded, but not before the fortune teller scratched Mas’oud.
She insists, that this is why he never goes to the mosque to this day because he also has goat hooves instead of feet, and taking off his shoes would let everybody see how he was affected.
So, this was the tale, I hope you liked it.
Did you enjoy this story? Then check these as well The Intern and Nightly Horror Tale 2.
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