Betraye's Book

Throughout history, feuds between two sides of war have been shown to display a metaphor for a dispute among two family members. This metaphor has led to the death and creation of a figure rarely known to man. Vivid memories tamper with my recollection of what my relationship was with this being and how she came to be. This is the story of the essence named Betraye.

The stories my grandma used to tell me as a kid were vaguely outlandish that they could make the most extravagant horror authors blink an eye. Her name was Martha and she was the only family member I could connect with on a creativity scale. My name is William, but my grandma called me Will for short. We both enjoyed the skill of imagination to come up with a scenario in a split second. I visited her only on the weekend as my parents would take time away from me. My childhood was filled with broken memories of absence of loved ones. The only time they made me feel welcome was if I made an honorable accomplishment such as receiving all A's on my report card or making the game winning touchdown. They put on a show for the community to seem as if they were mentors in my household and not the self centered oversight that they were. This led to me running away multiple times from my home trying to hide at grandma Martha's house. Quiet Sunday afternoons were the best time for story telling with her and her puppy Cas. We would take turns coming up with a narrative on the spot and whoever had the better story would be held the winner. After these competitions she would tell me it's time for bed and walk with me to my room. She had a bookshelf in the back of her living room that contained many tales unknown to most people. The last Sunday I ever visited was the night we read a short story without a title, only a painting on the cover. This painting seemed to make all of the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, but at the same time it made you feel comfortable. It was a figure that could be seen as a woman or as a charade of imagination. As my grandma began to read the lines within the book I started feeling uneasy and only thought about holding her hand for care. This chronicle was the most attention grabbing piece of storytelling that made me fall in love with this tale. It involved the betraying of a son and his mother who protected opposite sides of the Acadian Civil War. The mother cared about her son and only her son in the pitiful life she was given. She had him to love and no one was going to take that away from her except the son himself. Her son was a part of the rebellion that wanted change in the region they both called home. The enemy side that brainwashed the son into joining them had planned to attack the other side that involved his mother. He met his mother at his childhood home and acted as if he was returning to her side of the fight. With one sentimental hug the mother and son restored their relationship, only this was thought by the mother. The son took out a hidden dagger and pierced his mother's heart. She would slowly die in his arms and continuously whispered the words of vengeance on him and anyone who would betray the one they care for the most. She was said to be reborn into a soul of energy with only the intentions to make people feel her pain as if they were there in her dying moments.

As my grandmother shut the book, I felt a presence that filled the room with anguish and despair. I asked her if she felt any of this residence and she responded with nothing but a glimpse of darkness in her eyes. Immediately I felt as if my grandma was a different person in a sense, but she wasn't showing it. She told me to go to sleep and that she would wake me in the morning for whatever breakfast I would like. Without me getting a word into the conversation she shut the door with a force so resistant that our family Christmas picture fell off my bedroom wall. I knew right away that this story was either coming true or that I was just paranoid from hearing it at such a late time, but as a 13 year old boy of course you're going to go with the first option and assume the worst in the supernatural ways of thinking. My grandma usually went to sleep before me and turned every light off in the house as she closed her door. This night, I didn't even hear her shut her door and when I looked under my door I could see all the lights in the house still on. I saw my grandmother's feet in the kitchen standing still for a solid 8 minutes. I knew something was off and I needed to prepare for what was yet to come. I hid at an angle that if my door was to be opened that I could not be seen from the front point of view. This would give me time to react if she barged in without remorse. I finally started hearing noises again, this was the floor creaking with every step she took closer towards my bedroom. She stood at my door holding a large kitchen knife that I saw by the shadow casted on the floor. She gently knocked asking me if I wanted to hear another story. Her voice sounded as if she was trying to act. I said nothing. She asked and asked, insisting that I hear another story. After she started knocking aggressively, I gave in and told her "no" as calmly as I could. This made her angry, so angry to the point that she began screaming in a high pitched voice telling me to open the door. At my age my parents didn't believe in me having the ability of locking my bedroom door. I remembered this as she was banging constantly. She told me if I didn't open the door she would for me, this gave me two options, open the door and try to defend myself or allow her to open the door and merge into my room killing me without hesitation. Yet again I went with the first option and opened the door for Betraye. She walked in with her hands behind her back telling me she was holding a new story that she found in the very back of her bookshelf. She told me that everything was going to be just fine. She smiled at me and eagerly pulled out the knife from behind her back and tried to stab me straight into my heart. I realized at that moment that the story was all too true and that the only way she wanted to end my life was with a lunge to my heart. I quickly stopped the knife from piercing my skin and turned it onto my grandma, killing her slowly as she fell to the floor in my arms. Betraye left her mind and my grandmother regained her life back for the short period she had it. She had no idea what was going on and blamed me for her death. She died that night making it the last story I have ever listened to. She was the one I cared about most in the world and this was the reason she became possessed with the spirit of Betraye. I burned the pages of the book and kept the painting of Betraye to keep my memory fresh on the tale of a mother who loved her son too much.

I'm now 63 years old with a granddaughter named Amelia. I see my grandmother's personality so much in her. She begs me to read stories to her that I inherited from my grandmother. She visited me not long ago and this one special time I gave in and walked over to my own bookshelf. I looked for the perfect book for her to have her first taste of real writing. I could hear a slight humming inside the walls of my mind getting louder and louder the closer I became. The book with the painting of Betraye on the cover was the only sight I could focus on. Betraye's book took over my free will as I grabbed it without hesitation and kindly accepted my granddaughter's request. This night happened over a month ago. I still miss Amelia.

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