Short Stories

And Then

The room was peaceful. Never once would the young girl sleeping, nor her parent’s downstairs, have believed anything ominous could happen. Calmly reading late into the night, the girl had fallen asleep mesmerized by the content the book held. How could she have been so naïve, thinking her fascination was just childish fun? Little did she know that book contained what ought not to be seen.

This room was nearly pitch black. The only light was brought by the moon as it lazily drifted past her window. Silent, the room stayed except for the girl’s breathing getting harsher by the minute. Every now and then a word or spark of laughter drifted in the doorway, penetrating the suffocating silence. Other than that, the girl slept without so much as turning around.

Long black hair lay splayed across the pillow, surrounding the girl. Red lips stood out from ghostly white skin. A snow-white night gown fell softly on the girl’s sleeping form. She was once beautiful, but now her skin looked inhumanly white, her lips now the colour of blood. Yet she slept soundly without a care in the world.

Long ago, she was shown the library. Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves, over-flowing with books. As the girl grew older her idea of interesting grew too, from fairies and princesses to mystery and horror. What intrigued her immeasurably was the feeling she got when she visited this place—as though she were being watched. This always happened in three places: the back corner with the leather chair, the front entrance, and the area beyond the velvet rope. There was a constant dust lingering in the air, as though nobody had entered in forever. Then one day while roaming she laid eyes on it—the book. 

     Brown leather binds the book; gold lettering spells out words in a long-forgotten tongue. Beautiful, mysterious, and dreadfully eerie. She ignored the part of her brain screaming at her to put the book back, telling her she didn’t want to learn what that book contains. She decided to ignore it, and hurried upstairs, so as not to be caught.

     This girl—young, foolish girl—opened the book and read. She was engulfed in the pages, filled with what looked like stories in the same odd language as before. Eventually exhaustion took its hold and she fell asleep. Vines began growing out of the book. The stairs creaked and the girl’s mother poked her head in, only to see her daughter encapsulated by the foliage. A scream, unheard words and then… “I’m sorry.”