Chapter 2

My small apartment is quiet, dark, and comfortable this late in the evening. I lean into the feeling of comforting solitude as I click the deadbolt to 'locked' behind me, and put the chain on the door. With a sigh, I drop the heavy canvas bag containing my weekend's books to be read on the thick wooden table. I flick my shoes onto the corner, and wiggle my toes, feeling the cooler air through my socks.

The evening had passed at a crawl. With no customers in the bookstore, I had finished cataloging and shelving all three boxes of books before closing up for the night and even had enough time to dust the shelves. The trip home on the subway was uneventful, though the hours away from home had taken their toll on my energy level. Being an introvert meant that I always wanted to stay at home with my books, and enjoy my solitude, but life seemed to always need bills paid, and I kept having to buy things. The job at the book store was a good compromise for me.

I dig through the stack of books I had piled into my canvas backpack and pull out a few to read. Looking them over, I push them aside for the moment and decide to see what I can make of the blank book. I turn the pages a few at a time, looking for any hints of writing, images, really anything inside the book. Nothing. With a shrug I decide to see how the paper feels under a pencil. Setting the book down on the couch, I find a pencil and an eraser to work with.

Long arcing lines form under my pencil, as I sketch a super-light form onto the page. I drag the eraser along the line and feel the corner of my mouth tilt upwards as it erases, leaving no trace.

"To be able to find its true value," I justify to myself, still not sure what had compelled me to bring the large book home in the first place. "I need to test it just a bit more."

I begin drawing once more, creating the simple shape of an oval. I make an attempt at drawing a face. It's been a few years since my last art class, but the shape of the head doesn't look completely wrong. I begin to fill in some of the details, and frown as I realize that the eyes I had drawn are far too large for the head. I pick up the eraser to remove my sketched lines, and drop it as the image on the page closes its eyes in a squint. The image on the paper peaks at me, and its eyebrows twist downward at the edges of its eyes, and upwards towards one another at the center, in a look of fear. As I drop the eraser, the image moves away from where the pink rectangle falls onto the page.

I blink a few times, not quite believing what I'm seeing. I snap the book shut, and stare at the cover once more; trying to spot any kind of electronics that could explain what I had just witnessed. Finding nothing, I open the book again, with much more caution.

I flip through the pages once more and am unable to find my drawing. The pages are blank once more.

"This has to be a trick, right?" I ask aloud. The apartment remains silent. I pick the pencil up once more. I hesitate, unsure of what I should do.

"Hello?" I write. I feel ridiculous, writing in a book and expecting an answer-even after I had just watched the form I had drawn on the page move, just moments before. Letters begin to appear on the page, and I shift it towards the light, trying to make sense of them. The letters seem to flow and change as they rearrange themselves. The letters slow, then many of them fade, leaving a string of letters behind on the page.

"Tairngreacht," the letters spell out. I attempt to sound this strange string of letters out, though I'm not sure I get very close to pronouncing. I have no idea what this word means, and as soon as I begin to look it up, the letters fade. I bite my lip and watch as a new word arranges itself on the open page. "Scaoileadh."

"Ska-oil-E-ad-heh," I attempt to say the word out loud. The letters begin adjusting themselves once more, and when they settle the letters spell out the same word, with different combinations. "Skee-da-mach" I say aloud, trying to pronounce the word the letters had formed.

A light ripples through the air; much the way a stone that is thrown into a pond creates gentle waves on the surface of the still waters. The light seems to hang in the air right above the book and dance with unseen currents. I wonder for a moment what the light would feel like, and begin to extend my hand towards it. As sudden as it had appeared, the light and waves explode outward in a shockwave of light and force. The force pushes my body against the back of the couch.

The book begins to tremble in my hands, and I drop it onto the floor. The book had fallen closed, and I could not see any more writing if there was any to see. The tome continues to thrash against my floor for a few moments before its pages fly open. The pages turn with an unfelt wind, then all movement halts. A strange darkness shoots from the center of the book, and up into the ceiling of my apartment. It passes through the ceiling, not disturbing anything on its way. I wonder how high the bolt of darkness goes, and glance down at the book where it sits on my floor.

I blink a few times and pick the now still book, afraid it would begin thrashing once more. I shake my head and place the book on the couch next to me. A strong and sudden wave of exhaustion hits me, and I close my eyes. I don't know how long I sat there with my eyes closed, but after what felt like ages, I peel them back open with great effort.

"I must have dozed off. That's the only explanation," I tell myself aloud as I shake my head. "I need to stop trying to read after work." I double-check that the front door is locked, and drag myself to my bed without turning any of the apartment lights on. I strip my clothes off, toss my glasses onto the nightstand, and plop down into my unmade bed. Before my head even hits the pillow, I'm sound asleep.