I found the book a few weeks ago, when I was sorting through my mom’s attic. She had passed away a few days prior, and I’d only just gathered up the strength to sort through her house and start preparing for resale. As much as it pained me, I already had a home of my own, and I couldn’t afford both, so…onto the market it would go.
My mother was a very neat, clean person, and aside from a few cobwebs in high crevices and a thin layer of dust on the surfaces, everything was spick and span, just as she’d always liked it. However, the one thing she’d never been able to keep tidy was the attic; everything that didn’t have a specific place was dumped there, and, since you had to climb a ladder to get up there, she hadn’t been able to sort through the piles and piles of garbage up there for a few years before her death, and refused point-blank to allow anyone else to help her. Until, of course, now.
I decided to start there, for obvious reasons. It was boring at first, with a little bit of fond memories and nostalgia sprinkled in at times, but mainly worthless junk that only God knows why it wasn’t just disposed of in the first place. I went through a lot of garbage bags in those first few days.
But then, after almost a week of sifting slowly through the piles, I came across a thick, dusty leather-bound book, with a completely blank cover except for the carved symbol on the front.
Runes. The word sprang to mind immediately, even though I wasn’t completely sure what it meant. I traced the symbol, confused; a circle with two diagonal lines sticking out, like a disproportionate stick figure with no arms.
I unclipped the clasp, and opened the book with interest. Delicately printed words in a miniscule font lay motionlessly on the page, barely legible due to their size.
“Fatum Liber.” I read, squinting and scrutinizing the page, “The book of destiny. Huh.”
I set the book aside, vowing to read it without getting side-tracked, and almost forgot about it until I got home later that night and realised it was still in my backpack.
I began to read it again in bed by lamplight, and the symbol once again struck me as odd. I vaguely recognised it from somewhere…but where?
To be honest, it wasn’t as mystifying as I had imagined-at least, not a first. It seemed to be some sort of biography of a normal person, but it never mentioned a name. that is, until I delved further into the chapters.
With a sickening jolt, it suddenly all made sense. The runes; the uneasy feeling permeating my body as I handled the book; everything. It was a journal. About me.
Everything the book described, had happened to me at some point. It never mentioned names or places, because the author wanted to be as anonymous as possible, but also, obviously wanted me to see their work. After all, why else would it be planted in my mother’s attic? She couldn’t have written it, I knew it. there was only a very fine layer of dust on the cover, and as she hadn’t been able to enter the attic in years, there was no way. But then…how? Who?
I started shivering violently despite the drastic heat outside, and I wanted to put the book away for fear I would be sick, but something compelled me to keep on, magnetising my eyes to the page. I swallowed and continued.
What scared me the most was that I had almost reached the age I was now; the writer was talking about my mother on her deathbed as the cancer finally consumed her once and for all. But the thing was, the book was incredibly short after that point. I severely hoped it just meant they would write more in a new book as they had finished the first, but some uncomfortable prickling sensation told me otherwise. The way the cover looked slightly too big for the book, as if dozens of pages had been ripped out. Maybe because they weren’t necessary.
My eyes skimmed, barely taking in half the words. I had to get to the end. I had to finish the book.
The final chapter. There it was. Living a lie, it was called. What the hell?
And there he was, innocent as a lamb, unaware of the unfortunate fate in which he would soon meet. But that’s what happens to those who get too greedy and try to devour their destiny before God has had a chance to dish it out. Death will come a-knocking and take them away, banging on their window until they open up or he smashes through it-you can’t hide from destiny-and that will be the end of that.
So remember, if ever you have a chance to take glimpse at your future before it’s ready to see you, be warned. You just might not like what you see.
And that was…it. The end. I began to sweat as my stomach sank, and the curtains twitched tauntingly. Wait-had I imagined that? Or…no.
There was a gentle knocking on the window, and it’s only getting louder now. ‘Death will come a-knocking.’ I just hope I can post this before he gets to me.
Never, and I mean never, read a strange book titled Fatum Liber.