I type this due to little more than necessity. Someone needs to know. Don’t sleep, don’t search, don’t read. If you read even this it may be too late. I need to write it down anyway.
It all began on a normal day. I’m an avid reader, fantasy mostly. Whether it be classics authors like Tolkien or modern hits like Brandon Sanderson, I can’t get enough. This led to a more… specific interest. Antique books. I first discovered this passion through the internet, of course. A few videos showing off valuable first print runs and unique books with vast storied histories, and I was hooked. During one of these runs, I came across a particular tome.
The cover was simple leather, and didn’t even have a title on the front. When I opened it, the first page simply read “The Sleepless Few”. I’m not sure what this was, to be honest. When I googled the title, nothing came up. I felt an odd… calling towards this book. Something wanted me to have it. In retrospect, maybe someONE wanted me to. I do not know. It matters not. I would share the exact wording, but… I can’t. I’m taking enough of a risk just talking about it. Even after all that’s happened, I still have some humanity left. I won’t drag someone else into hell with me. I just hope someone, ANYONE, can be warned. Regardless, I bought the book. At the time I figured this must be some rare gem and the bookstore just didn’t realize what they had. Or it would be some unpublished manuscript. Either way, something interesting right?
I went home and examined the novel more closely. Although the title page featured an author credit, the name was smudged and faded beyond legibility. To my luck, the rest of the book could be read. The early chapters were about what I expected. A formulaic but not exactly bad novel. I can scarcely remember the plot after all that’s happened. But I’ll share what I can.
The main character was a man named Mark. In the beginning, it was a simple slice of life story with a bit of a tense undertone. I assumed this was a horror book simply building suspense. After those however was when everything fell apart. I flipped a page after Mark had just gone to bed while hearing strange noises. Basic creepy book stuff. But on the next page was…
“Jonathan.”
That was all. Jonathan is my name. My initial reaction was an appropriate “what the hell” before I collected myself. Surely this was just a joke. A random name thrown in hoping someone with it freaked out. I flipped the next page, laughing.
“Why do you mock me so?”
My laughter stopped. This was… odd. An antique book going for a 4th wall break? Now THAT was unusual. I kept going. I had to! Who in the right mind could leave it off after that? I was desperate to see where this was going.
That’s not what I typed
“ha ha ha. That is how you speak to me, is it not? Curious. I do not like being spoken to.”
All of a sudden, an alarm going off. My oven, with dinner inside. I was snapped back to reality and decided to leave the book for tomorrow. I had a day off after all. Plenty of time to finish. The evening was uneventful. I won’t bore you with details of dinner. The next morning is wen our story continues.
I woke up, nd ywned. But no sound cme out. Tis wsn’t too unusul, so I didn’t tink muc of it. Until I looked down. Te book ws in my lp. I left it on the desk. How ws it ere?! Even worse. It ws open.
Stop reading…!
“Have you noticed yet?”
I gsped, yet sid noting. Wen te book flipped it’s own pge, I sid noting. Wen te book formed new words on its own, I sid noting. Wen the gutteral screm entered my throt, I sid noting.
“For he had no mouth left to scream.”