The jinn that my mother Maryam said whispers stories to me

One of the wonders of fate is that the book I stole from my older brother Farid's room is the one that decides how my life will be in the future. It was a medium-sized book, with old pages that ranged in color from dark brown to a color similar to wheat. On its cover, which was free of illustrations, it was written: "Stories of Horror and Fear," authored by Edgar Allan Poe, translated by Khalida Said. Of course, I did not know who Edgar Allan Poe was, nor who Khalida Said was... Later, I learned that she was the wife of the Syrian poet Adonis. What attracted me to the book was the strange title, for perhaps the words horror and fear stirred the spirit of adventure within me or ignited the hive of fears lurking in the corners of false reassurance. Without hesitation, I took the book, hid it among my clothes, and proceeded with slow steps like those of a skilled thief, to the riverbank. I took a position far from the waterers' shed, so that their braying donkeys and songs as they filled large jars with water would not disturb me. I did not care about what was said about the river concerning its inhabitants, who are jinn and spirits, and I read it openly under the legendary Lalloub tree near the shrine of Sheikh Youssef Abshara, and I read it behind my grandmother Harira's room.