In the wildflower field on the edge of the sweet little town of Merritsville, lay a ripped, burnt-edged book. Somehow, it found its way there and was just far enough in the field that you wouldn’t be able to see it from the street.
The field had become my solace, my home away from my not-so-loving home. For months, I’ve come to this field with a blanket in one hand and a picnic basket in the other, in an attempt to drown out the craziness of my life.
Some days I’d just sit there, taking in the beauty of the petals from the flowers, the buzzing of the bees, the warmth from the sun. Others, I’d bring a book or listen to music, anything to keep me occupied for a couple of hours, delaying my return home.
The day I spotted The Book was like any other August day, well, almost like any other day, except it was my birthday. I happily trudged along the flowers as I carried a small cake in my hands. The scorching sun had already melted some of the frosting on the cake, and I couldn’t wait to dive into it. When I finally reached my usual spot, my eyes darted to a small circle of withered, burnt-looking flowers. The grass was singed completely underneath The Book, and I recoiled at the overwhelming smell of smoke. I glanced around to ensure there was no active fire or flames around me and blew out a sigh of relief when I didn’t see anything.
I bent down, nearly becoming eye level with The Book as I inspected it. The Book was leather-bound, with scratches and rips of the leather covering the entirety of the front cover. The Book had an odd smell; it reeked of mold as though it had been submerged in some water for a while, but the pages didn’t appear warped whatsoever. Despite being surrounded by burnt grass and flowers, only the edges of The Book were burnt. How did it not burn?
I had a million questions in my mind, wondering about The Book’s origins and how it found itself here. I also wondered what the pages inside contained, considering there was no title, no identifying information of an author, nothing. I attempted to flip the book to see if there was anything on the back cover, but it wouldn’t budge. At first, I thought some kids must’ve glued it down, but with how much force I was using to flip it, I would’ve just ripped it off the grass.
Why is this book so heavy? It’s no bigger than a normal chapter book, sure, it was a little bigger in size, but it was a book for damn sake, I shouldn’t be struggling this much. I sat back on the dead grass and simply stared at The Book for a while. I didn’t know what to make of its presence in this field and why it was impossible to move.
As a last attempt, I grabbed the book and tried to pull it off the ground. As I predicted, it wouldn’t budge. I rested my hand on it, and the world spun around me in an instant and went dim.
I blinked a few times and removed my hand, my vision restored in seconds. What the hell was that? I scrambled away from The Book and sighed when I caught a glimpse of my cake. The frosting was on the bottom of the container, melted off. I ate the cake anyway, scooping up whatever icing I could in each bite. I stayed for a little while after, and steered clear of The Book, not wanting to experience another lightheaded moment. Although I still felt out of it even as I walked home.
I winced as I opened the front door of my mother’s house. She was yelling at my younger brother, Timmy, for what seemed to be over something minuscule. Most of her screaming sessions were unwarranted, much like this one.
I walked into the kitchen, and her red face turned to me with a scowl. “Where in God’s name have you been? You smell like sweat.”
“It’s hot outside. I was just going for a walk.” I replied, not daring to tell her where my safe haven was.
She didn’t look like she believed me, but I didn’t care. The rest of the night was thankfully spent in silence, and like usual, Mom had forgotten my birthday or at least was choosing to ignore it. I expected that, so I wasn’t upset. Timmy walked into my room minutes before I went to bed and gave me a flower he picked outside and a kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Lorie.” He whispered in my ear as I wrapped him in a hug.
The next morning, I woke up wondering if any others had any luck in getting The Book off the ground. I was typically the only frequent flier to the field, but I hoped someone was able to rip The Book off the dead grass. I hated that it killed a patch of the flowers, even if it was just a small one. If I wasn’t careful, The Book could ruin the rest of the field. It’s beauty, it’s peacefulness. I was fine keeping the field to myself, but I just needed to somehow peel The Book away.
What I wasn’t fine with was how The Book damaged the field in the short time I had been gone. It was less than 24 hours since my last visit, and a slight gasp emitted from my lips upon discovering the wider circle of burnt dead grass. The air around The Book smelled foul, as if the pages inside were rotting, and some kind of ooze spilled onto the disintegrated grass. Anger coursed through me, and I tried to kick The Book, but that felt like kicking an immovable brick. I swore for a few seconds before plopping down on the ground, needing to relieve the weight of my body from my foot.
Luckily, the longer I sat, the more the smell dissipated, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of needing to touch The Book, despite feeling utterly disgusted by it. I suppose that feeling stemmed from the insatiable need to rid the field of The Book, but nonetheless I couldn’t help but reach forward and place my palm on the front cover.
I closed my eyes as a white-hot pounding headache settled in. I rubbed my forehead as the pain gradually simmered down before reopening my eyes. A green haze spread as far as my eyes could see; the trees in the nearby woods were even greener. I glanced down at a wildflower next to me, its usual white petals now looked slightly green. I narrowed my eyes and plucked one of the petals before it disintegrated in seconds. What is going on? Is The Book making me see this? I looked up once more and stifled a gasp as I saw an abnormally long creature standing at the edge of the woods. Its hand reached out, with its seven long fingers, and ever-so-slightly waved. I tore my hand away from The Book, and the haze and whatever that creature was disappeared. The usual green trees and blue sky came into focus, and I muttered under my breath, “What the hell.”
My breathing grew ragged as I tried to make sense of what I saw, before a sharp pain in my hand distracted me. A small black swirl appeared on my finger. I looked down at The Book, which also had the same swirl pattern carved into the old, cracked leather. These swirls weren’t there yesterday. Neither was the swirl on my finger. How did it get there? Why is it on me? I wiped my finger vigorously into the dirt, trying to see if the swirl would rub off, but to no avail. I breathed in and out a few times, in an attempt to control my ragged breathing.
I stood up and sprinted away from The Book, not liking how many questions I had for it and the fact that I didn’t know if I should try to seek out the answers. When I arrived home, my mother gasped at my appearance. “You’ve been gone for hours, and all you’ve been doing is suntanning?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. I walked over to a mirror and saw deep reddened skin. I touched my cheek and winced. “Oh.”
“You’re needed here, Lorie. Not burning your skin for hours on end outside. You’re lucky you didn’t work today. You would’ve been fired for your laziness.” She hissed before handing me a mop. “Now, get mopping. You’ve got a lot of chores to do.”
I thought I had only been gone for an hour at most, but the clock showed I had been gone for several. I grabbed a mop and began swiping the floors, removing this week’s grime. For a few minutes, I mopped before a dripping noise caused me to stop. I looked at the bucket and didn’t spot any water droplets, and glanced at the floor to see blood splattered on the newly cleaned floor. I cursed under my breath and looked at my hand, the swirl was bleeding steadily, so I dropped the mop and ran to the bathroom. I slammed the door and ran my hand under the water, staining the bowl as I tried to scrape off the swirl, which only made the bleeding worse.
I ended up bandaging my hand, not wanting to look at the swirl and be reminded of The Book anymore. I was thankful I had to work the next day; I needed to stay as far away from The Book as I could. The rush of people never stopped, something of which I was happy about in order to keep my mind off my hand, but the throbbing began shortly after my shift started and grew progressively worse as the day went on.
By the end of my shift, I could barely withstand the pain; the throbbing had now turned into a sharp pain. I had kept the Band-Aid on, despite being blood-soaked, in fear of seeing what was underneath it. But at this point, I began wondering if the swirl was becoming infected, so I pulled the Band-Aid off in my car. I felt lightheaded as I saw the swirl with pus seeping around the edges, blood still leaking from it.
I drove to an urgent care, hoping I could get some answers, but all I was told was that getting tattoos such as this one could lead to an infection. I didn’t know how to tell her it wasn’t a tattoo, so I agreed to keep the wound bandaged and not pick at it. I left unhappy now that I had to pay that bill, but I felt better for getting it checked out.
Later that night, I returned home and made a beeline for my room. Exhausted from the long day, I collapsed in my bed immediately, but sleep evaded me. The pain intensified throughout the night, and I tossed and turned until the clock hit 3 a.m. I had to go to The Book, I had to see if I could find a way to make my finger hurt less.
During the day, the wildflower field was peaceful, but at night? The field was spooky, eerie as I walked up to The Book, shivering. I wrapped my arms around me tight as I approached The Book. The patch of dead grass and flowers spread farther, and when I was only a few steps away, the swirls on The Book glowed along with the one on my finger. Without hesitation, I bent down and put my hand on The Book. My head throbbed before I saw that there wasn’t a green haze this time, but the nightfall appeared darker than the night sky. There were no stars, no light whatsoever.
I heard rustling in the faraway trees, before a squirrel, well, a skeleton of one, jumped from one tree to the next. I shivered once more at the slight breeze on the top of my head before realizing there hadn’t been a rush of air at all. I glanced up at the sky, the trees, even the branches and leaves stood still. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I looked straight forward. The lanky creature I had spotted earlier stared at me, its crooked teeth shining as it morphed to an oddly wide smile. With its seven long fingers, the creature grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside The Book.
Very well done