So. . . .yeah. I am a bit of a bibliophile, and collecting antique books has always been a bit of a hobby for me. I recently even got into the business of rebinding and restoring, which has been a great boon for me. Some of my more prized restorations have actually sold for quite a bit of money, most recently I was gifted an original copy of The Piazza Tales, by Herman Melville. I managed to rebind that while keeping the integrity of the pages intact, and sold it to a literary fanatic for several thousand dollars. But I am getting off topic.
It’s not uncommon for people to show up at my office concerning my book hobby. I am an associate professor of English Literature at a local college, I won’t use names to protect the identity of myself and my colleagues, but as many of you have probably guessed, my job and hobby tend to run in the same social circles. It’s not uncommon for other professors to drop something in my lap, even just for appraisal. Like I said, book collecting and restoration had become quite the boon for me, if I did it full time I likely would exceed my moderate salary.
The man came during my office hours. He smelled musty, as if he had been locked in an attic for several years and decided today was the day for fresh air. He wore a brown trench coat and a top hat, weird combination but when you work in the university system you are desensitized to how people are dressed. A student came to my office hours wearing a gorilla costume, and before you ask, that was in March, not October.
His Grin is what got me though. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, but it seemed so forced. When he sat down in the chair across from me, the musty smell of stale air intensified, and I began to feel light headed. He then spoke for the first time, a raspy voice that felt like it belonged to a much older man.
“So I hear you are in the business of collecting old books.” The man had said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.
“I’m sorry sir, but there is no smoking allowed in here.” I said, but frankly the smell of the burning cigarette was preferable to the must. He seemingly ignored me as he began to inhale.
“I have a book for you, I am sure you will find it an excellent addition to your collection.” The man said, disregarding my no smoking comment. I decided to pivot and focus on getting him out of the building as soon as possible.
“What kind of book is it?” I had asked. I was genuinely interested. It’s not everyday an eccentric man walks into your office with a potential book to purchase.
“Well, that depends I guess.” the man said with his grin returning. I felt my stomach lurch when I gazed upon his grin again.
“How much do you want for it?” I quickly replied, hoping to get him out of my sight as quickly as possible.
“Oh I wouldn’t feel comfortable selling it to you, consider it a gift, of good faith.” He replied. It was at this moment that I began to feel his grin shift from uncomfortable to something else. I do not want to use the word supernatural, as a rational human and educator, but I had never seen a human look at me the way that man did. It was. . . unnatural. Which left me at a crossroads. Do I turn this man away and not accept his gift, or do I take it to get him to leave quicker. I chose the latter.
He handed me a dusty leather bound book with thick pages. It had to be old, just feeling the weight of this thing you could tell it had presence, which new books just don’t have. I waited for him to leave, and for the musty smell to dissipate before I opened it.
Corpus Arcanum Alharmentium
The title sounded Latin to me, which the first two words are. Corpus means the body and Arcanum means secret, so the secret body of Alharmentium was the closest English translation I could come up with, since all searches for Alharmentium came back blank. I figured I would need to look up in the archives of the classics department to find out any more significant information, so I tucked it in my bag and decided to call it at day.
That first night, strange things began to happen to me. I am usually not a light sleeper, so it takes quite a bit to wake me up. The aggressive banging on my closet doors was definitely enough to get the job done. At first I thought I was still asleep, but I got up and kicked my bedpost and felt pain shoot up my foot, so I know it wasn’t just a dream. I turned on my lights to inspect the closet, but it was completely normal. I shook it off and went back to sleep.
The scream effected me a bit differently. I don’t know if any of you have ever been woken up to a scream, but the body immediately goes into a brief shock, followed by an intense fight or flight sequence. My body jolted awake, eyes began to dart across my room, which appeared to be darker than normal to me, that realization making my heartrate increase. That’s when I saw it, standing in the corner next to my closet. It appeared human, but its limbs were impossibly long, and it wore what looked like a bone mask on its face, I let out a noise, a yell to be precise, and its head suddenly jerked towards me, and with an unfathomable speed, it charged at me.
I woke up soaking wet after this happened. It was a dream, just a nightmare. Yet, the scratches on my chest told a different story. The scrapes which look like claw marks on my floor tell a different story. I stayed awake the next night, just to see if something were to happen. The next night, I got a hotel room.
I’ve never had sleep paralysis before, but in that hotel room it was hell. I awoke, at 1:07am to the room shifting before me, transforming. It melded and morphed into my bedroom, and I lay frozen, with only my eyes being able to move. That thing was back, and it whispered to me, in some garbled tongue of which I had never heard before. It was when I awoke back in my bedroom that I really began to freak out.
That happened two nights ago, and I am afraid to go to sleep. I sit in my office, typing this trying to stay awake. I don’t know if the book is to blame but I tried to get rid of it. I first threw it in the trash at work. It ended up on my desk a few hours later. It was then that I tried to throw it in the river. I found it on my desk completely dry, with the papers that were under it soaking wet. As my eyes begin to close, all I can picture is that man’s grin.