The book itself is not red. It's cover is a faded black with gold symbols embossed at the edges and in the middle.
The symbol on the right is of a man being being consumed by a creature of some kind. A dragon? A griffin? Or is it a depiction of Jonah and the Whale? The symbol on the left is of a woman's hand reaching up from a murky pool. Is it reaching up to grab something? Or is it trying to escape? The symbol on the bottom right is of an open mouth. There are no teeth in that mouth. For all the world it resembles an empty chasm, a cave. Only the lips give any indication of what it is. The Freudianly inclined have a field day looking at it. The symbol on the bottom left is of teeth. Sharp, vicious teeth. A viper's dentures. In the middle is a face. A grinning satyr's face.
All around, the book is bound with leather that conceals it's pages. No one can open the book, lift the leather, and see those pages because of the iron bar with the keyhole that surrounds the entire book.
No one alive has read the book. It sits on a stand like an unread concerto. No one knows why it is called 'The Red Book". It sits on it's stand in the corner of the shop. Waiting, waiting...
I pick it up. Now I am in an old castle. I hold the book in both hands; old, wizened hands connected to arthritic arms in monk-like robes. I smile a toothless smile. Suddenly the symbols glow. The book feels hot. Suddenly it is on fire. The old wizened hands began to burn and sizzle, melt and become one with the book. The pain shoots into the rest of my body. I scream!
...........
Suddenly I wake up in my apartment. My entire body is drenched in sweat. I reach for my glasses, the lamp, anything. No good. I get up, heart racing, and rush towards the bathroom and switch on the light. I allow a calming sense of relief to overcome me.
I get a towel and wipe the sweat from my forehead. My pajamas are soaked as well. I study my face in the mirror. I'm still myself. Still young, normal-looking. My teeth are intact. My arms, my hands are my own. My apartment is as it always is, drab and dull.
I take off what I have on and shower. No way am I sleeping again tonight. Not with what lies under my pillow. I get out and dry off. I feel refreshed, in spite of the muggy feeling I get after showers. Then I go over to my bed and pick up the pillows.
There lies the book. The "Red" book. Done up in leather and iron.
I go and open the curtains, look down below at the bustling city streets. Even at night, the streets are busy. There are undoubtedly crimes of all sorts going on. I can even hear a wailing police siren. Inspite of this, the sight of all the night life below comforts me. Makes me feel that I am not alone in the world. I feel brave.
Now the effect of the shower seems to fade. I feel safe again. Want to sleep. It won't hurt to try my experiment again. I pick up the book once more. I study it's eldricth, embossed images. Then I lay it beneath my pillows. I turn the lights out. Then I curl up under the sheets, my head above the pillows, the book beneath them.
I briefly get up to ready the showers again. Dry off the floor. I even go into the kitchen and get the hot-water heated up on the stove for coffee eventually. Then I go back to bed. I'll be asleep in a few minutes. But at least I'll have everything prepared to comfort me soon.
Because I know I will wake up screaming in just a little while.
