Post The Book

Y/N

Y/N's House
Friday,13th September 2024 (9PM)

Warm tea sits beside my bed as I wrap a blanket around my shoulders and reach for the bag which I'd slung off at the foot of my bed just moments ago. The darkness begins to fester outside of my window, with not even a wink of a star, nothing but solemn clouds.

For a moment I wonder if people are heading back home from the festival by now.

I wonder if Wendy went, like she said she would.

I wonder if she thought it would have been fun to have me there.

Maybe it wouldn't have been, and maybe I wouldn't have had fun at all. I've had a terrible headache all afternoon, after all.

I reach into my bag and pull out the book which had been waiting in it for me, still cold to the touch.

The sight of my wrapped up hand reminds me to inspect it, to turn it in my hands and see if there's anything I can do to clean up the - there's no blood.

Was I imagining it?

I could've sworn I accidentally...

No, none.

I find myself rubbing my eyes, am I really that tired? Already? Imagining things?

I open it again, the same words staring back at me.

There could be more, there could be less, I'm not sure.

I read over them again: 'Tired of work?'

'Is having the same routine difficult? The same events day in day out? Well have I got a solution for you!'

Wait a moment.

I blink. I rub my eyes. I read again.

The words are still as much faded as I remember, or... think I remember. Am I crazy to think something's changed? Or is it a trick of my imagination?

Does it matter?

I run a hand over the text, the paper smooth under my fingers, as if it were just.. regular printer paper. An interesting choice for a hardback.

A moment passes as I tap my fingers on the half-blank pages - I mean, I could keep the book, yes, but there's a chance I could.. bring it to the shack on Monday. Have someone take a look at it. It feels like everyone there knows so much more than me already, and the things in this town only get weirder - what else can I do?

Reluctantly, I close the mystery book and reach over to put it down, safely on my bedside table, and in turn grab my tea instead.

Despite having told myself to leave it alone for the night, I can't rip my eyes away - they seem to bore into every crack and detail of the leather cover. Watching the way the book looks, laying under my lamp. The way that the light bounces off and illuminates the slight dip where the design once was, only proving to me further that it must've been a triangular one.