The Book That Knew Me

You inherit a house where every book on the shelves is a detailed account of your future. except one that's blank. He inherits a house no one visits.

It sits at the edge of a quiet town-broad, dark, and still. Inside, the air smells faintly metallic. One board on the porch creaks in the same place every time. The wind sounds louder here than it should.

In the center of the house is a library.

Every shelf is lined with identical books. Each spine bears a single date.

When he opens one, he finds a detailed account of his future.

Not vague predictions. Not possibilities. Precise descriptions of his private habits. His thoughts. The exact moment he will hesitate in a doorway.

At first, he assumes it's a coincidence. An elaborate experiment. Something was left behind by the uncle who owned the house before him.

Then a prediction unfolds exactly as written.