Capgras syndrome -- Fiction; Psychological fiction; Short stories
"I have devised a test. Should you pass it, I will offer you all my most
prostrate apologies and hope for your forgiveness. If you fail, his
shall be proof of the subterfuge. I am then bent on altering my will to
exclude all of you from it and bestow my entire estate on my good
companion here." - And she pointed at a mortified me.
They all turned in their chairs and studied the intruder at length. The
son's lips moved furiously but he remained inaudible. The husband merely
shrugged and reverted to face his tormentor. Only the third guest
protested by extending a pinkish tongue in my direction, careful to
remain unobserved by her hostess.
"I will ask each one of you three questions." - Proceeded my new
benefactor, unperturbed - "You can take as much time as you need to
respond to them. Once you have given your answers, there is no going
back, no second chance. So, think carefully. Your entire pecuniary
future depends on it. These are the terms that I am setting. You are
free to leave the room now, if you wish. Of course, by doing so, you
will have forfeited your share of my riches." - She sneered
unpleasantly. No one made a move.
"I take it then that we are all agreed." - Isabel proceeded and turned
toward her husband:
"John, or whoever you are," - He recoiled as if struck with a fist -
"what was the color of the curtains in the small hotel where we have
consummated our love for the first time?"
"Must I go through this in public, in front of my son and this complete
stranger?" - He bellowed, his monstrous frame towering over her. But she
remained undaunted and unmoved and finally, he settled back in his
creaking chair and resignedly mumbled:
"The room had no curtains. You complained all morning because the
sunlight shone straight on your face and wouldn't let you fall asleep."
His visage was transformed by the memory, radiant and gentle now, as he
re-lived the moment.
"True. You have clearly done your homework." - She confirmed reluctantly
and addressed her son:
"Edward, what did you see in a book that made you cry so violently and
inconsolably when you just a toddler?"
"It was an art book. There was a color reproduction of a painting of a
group of patricians standing on an elevated porch, glancing over the
railing at a scene below them. I can't recall any other detail, but the
whole atmosphere was tenebrous and sinister. I was so frightened that I
burst into wails. For some reason, you were not there, you were gone!" -
And he pouted as he must have done back then when he had felt abandoned
and betrayed by his mother.
"Althea, what was I wearing the first time we met, when Edward
introduced you to me?"
Althea, the mouse, looked up in surprise:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account