Tabitha Fay & The Olds

By M. Demetrice

TABITHA FAY: In the blossoming town of Pollok Town, stands a magnificent mansion built by the ghost of seven innocent souls hung by the Whiteman’s Noose. Inside this mansion, lives a girl believed to be the reincarnation of the great healer, Tabitha Fay, daughter to the woman who used her great Power to raise the dead, acquire love, and seek revenge for her own personal gain.

THE OLDS: Young Linden enjoys taking care of Zelkova, his Mistress. He enjoys tracing the lines of her wrinkles with his callused fingers and memorizing every age spot on her delicate body, however, soon, Zelkova will be one hundred and twenty years old and must enter the spiritual realm called After Old. Will Linden be able to drain Zelkova’s energy and release her into the place where all old ones go after spending half their life in the capable hands of their Youngs? How will Linden react once his mistress is gone, and he is given a Young with unconditional loyalty of his own to demand?

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. Demetrice
• Release date: Jun 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310464584

M. Demetrice

Indie Writer, M. Demetrice resides in Lufkin, TX and is the author of Multi-Genre Short Stories by a Woman Whose Husband Holds Her Purse. Her many works includes Sadie, The Olds, and Carrot Cain. For fun, she tutors the inspiring young in math and reading. She has a degree in Human Services from Angelina College and has incorporated resourceful information into her moving short story, Poetry’s AIDS. To learn more about M. Demetrice and read her published works, please visit her website at http://marlenahixson.wix.com/mdemetrice

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Tabitha Fay

&

The Olds

______________________1

M. D e m e t r i c e

Copyright © 2019 M. Demetrice

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Disclaimer: Some material in this book is for mature audiences only and contain strong content.

Tabitha Fay

The Olds

1

M. D e m e t r I c e

Dedicated

to

You

Tabitha Fay

M. D e m e t r i c e

My Great-grandfather use to say that the telling of history changes by the lips of the teller and is filled with words that lies between the absolute truth and complete fabrication.

I wonder where the history of my truth lie?

If my grandfather were alive he would say, that my history is intertwined with my doppelganger. I frown at the thought because everyone say I look like the woman who’s been dead for over fifty years. The resemblance is so uncanny that I avoid my reflection at all cost.

I don’t think any of my body belongs to me. In slumber, a man made of mist caresses my body, evoking feelings and sensations I’m too young to experience, but as soon as my head hit my pillow, I look forward to. Awake, my face belongs to a dead woman that could heal with just a touch, and those abilities are now mine to will.

Time to get up and make this day yours. It is my grandfather’s voice I hear. Oh, how I miss him! I could stay in bed all day and just let this day fade away but I know it will be impossible for today is my seventeenth birthday, and the entire town has been invited to share in the festivities.

Frankly, they will be coming to celebrate a dead woman’s birth.

No, they are here to celebrate you! My grandfather say. I’m grateful to be able to pull up past conversations I had with Great-grand. I could always go to him when the heaviness of being the so-called reincarnation of a woman the town held in high favor, weighs me down. Many times he said: You must accept that although you are Myrtle Bea Fowler, daughter to Anders and Monica Fowler, Tabitha Fay Durham chose you to share in the healing power. That should never dampen your spirits, but instead, lift you up for you were personally chosen.

Great-grand has been dead for almost ten years, however, his voice still radiates through me and I thank God for that.

Grandchild, there will come a time when you must stare up at your own reflection and accept who you are. That was the last thing my grandfather ever said to me.

Somehow he knew this day would come.

***

With trepidation, I stand before my bedroom’s wall mounted antique mirror, and call out the name of the woman I am the splitting image of. My reflection doesn’t respond, it simply reflects the image that holds me to this moment.

I lean in closer and glance into my hazel-green eyes that hold flecks of gold, seeing only a stranger. Who are you? I shake my head not sure if I was asking myself this question or the image of Tabitha. Could I have possibly been this Tabitha Fay?

Although my given name is Myrtle Bea Fowler, since the day I was born, the name of Tabitha Fay Durham has followed me. I am the girl who the elder community seek out. Everywhere I go, their wrinkled, brown spotted hands reach out and reverently touch mine – to them I am the reincarnation of their great healer, Tabitha Fay. Some said Tabitha could heal with just a touch, others said she could also bring death.

With a belief such as that, I truly needed to know who Tabitha was.

As I grew, I looked more and more like the daughter of the woman who had a house built on the hill overlooking town. My features were so striking that women grew jealous and envious of my beauty while the men admired it from afar. I was aware of the effect I had on everyone around me. Simply stepping into a room, stilled it. I was this young, beautiful being that matched the setting sun as it touched the horizon, sending its light caressing the Earth below in heavenly orange. Standing beside me, I emitted warmth that radiated nothing but joyous feelings. Everyone wanted to be near me and this caused me to stay closer to home.

Don’t you fret, Great-granddaughter, my grandmother said last year on my sixteenth birthday. She had tried to console me after I was denied the one thing I wanted to do on my birthday – hang out with friends at the neighborhood ice-cream shop, instead, what I got was a small crowd that entered the place and headed straight to the back where I sat. My sundae melted to thin soup as I politely and with respect, touched each ailing soul on the area of their