“I would love to work on this project for you. I write 100 percent unique, Search Engine Optimized, error free articles. If you have any questions please contact me.”
Elaine hit the send button on the ad hoping someone would give her work. The week had been slow with no earnings and she was barely getting by. She had closed her laptop lid and started walking towards the door to go get breakfast when she heard a ding. That was strange, her laptop had never made such a sound before and it was even more strange since she had waited for it to go off before she closed the lid. She walked slowly towards the table and opened the lid. The backlight came on and a notification popped up.
“YOU HAVE MAIL!”, It read.
She clicked on ‘read’, adjusted her glasses and waited.
“I am Sir Duran Foston. I saw your ad and I am ready to give you work. I am a dying man, and I would love you to write my autobiography. I would pay you a dollar for every word should you accept. However, once you begin, you can no longer reject the work till it is finished”
It was a strange job that promised to pay almost all she had ever made since she started writing. It was so perfect she couldn’t believe it. She quickly clicked ‘continue’ at the bottom of the mail and the message vanishes as her computer shuts down on its own. Perhaps that mail prevented the computer from going off earlier before. She shrugged it off and started her walk back to the kitchen. There were so many questions to ask, who was Duran Foston, and how was she supposed to contact him since he didn’t leave any contact address.
She grabbed a bowl, poured some cereal into it and walked back to her room. She was going to Google who he was right away.
“Duran Foston” she typed into the search box and read out the content of the first search page.
“Duran Foston, World acclaimed Mind reader and Voodoo priest, lived in Chelsea London, disappeared 60 years ago. He was accused of child pornography, murder, human trafficking, kidnap and many more vices. He was wealthy with property all over the globe. Many of his victims were never found and his wife was killed in their Los Angeles home. All his houses have been empty ever since. Police are still… ”
“Elaine” Her mother called. “Elaine. You have got some sort of parcel here for you. It’s from a Mr Duran” she added.
Elaine froze. What exactly was happening? Is a wanted criminal coming out of hiding? Should she call the police? She left the laptop and went over to collect the box from her mother.
“Is everything alright?” her mother asked noticing the worried look on her face. Elaine nodded and collected the parcel, tearing it open as she walked back to her room. She wanted to be sure of what was happening before she told anyone else.
It was an old tape recorder with a tape inside. She wondered if it still worked. She pressed play. The old thick recorded voice began.
“By now you already know my name, and I am sure you must now wonder what I want. I recorded this message specifically for you as I want you to tell my story. To begin, I must first start with yours.
I was there on a fine afternoon when a peculiar child was born, performing tricks for the sick children in the hospital and making them happy. I heard a nurse say her mother was losing a lot of blood as I walked past so I stopped and moved close to the theatre to listen in. The Doctors were losing you and I wished there were something I could do. I stared in agony as a child without sin was pronounced dead. I never understood why the world’s so cruel. On that day, I said the words I never thought I could and summoned Gregontar himself for a deal. My life for the child’s”.
The old man in the tape recorder coughed. The hairs on Elaine’s skin stood, she was getting cold, but was curious as to how this ends. She kept listening as the old man continued.
“Gregontar gave me one condition, he would take all I had, but give back the child’s life. I agreed. A lesson I quickly learned, was that wealth is not really defined by all a man has materially. I lived to regret this little agreement as my dear wife was killed days after. My name was soiled, as I was accused of so many hideous things I could never dream of. I decided I would take my own life. I tried several times but failed. The last cord that held the deal stated that even if I did die, my soul would belong to him. It kind of makes you wonder why I would do all this for a child I know nothing of. A child I wasn’t even related to. Maybe later you would get to understand why. Of this moment, I would need my name back so I can finally go to sleep. This is why I need you to tell my story. If you would help me free my very own soul, then I want you to press record, as we begin my autobiography”.
The tape stopped. Elaine was terrified but something kept pushing her to press record. She really needed to know what happened to Duran Foster. She rewound the tape, listened to it again one more time. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and pressed record. At that moment the lights in the room slowly dimmed. The door slowly closed shut. A cold wind blew through the window, giving Elaine goosebumps. The silhouette of a man slowly formed from Elaine’s shadows unto the seat close to the table. The dark figure turned to face Elaine and spoke as he slowly stroked the cat that formed with him.
” I forgot to say, that young child, was you”
“Hello, my dear.”