The book 2.0

Into the Mystic

The night was dark, painted in deep shades of blue and black, decorated with a scattering of stars and a moon that hung low in the sky, casting its pale glow upon the quiet earth below. The wind whistled softly through the sparsely placed houses on a lonely street, rustling leaves and whispering secrets through the cracks of old wooden fences.

Inside one particular house, a boy lay still in his bed, his body tangled in sheets that looked as restless as he felt. His name was Adam, and he had the look of someone who hadn't slept in days.

With a groan, he flung the covers aside and sat up, rubbing his temples. His head throbbed with the same relentless pain that had plagued him since Monday, and those damn voices—those eerie, ceaseless whispers—chanted the same cryptic phrase over and over:

"Save the clown."

Adam ran a hand through his messy brown hair, frustration evident in his tired blue eyes. His gaze drifted to the glowing digits of his alarm clock. 2:37 AM. He sighed. Sleep was a distant dream now, slipping further from his grasp each night.

"Am I losing my mind?" he muttered to no one in particular.

Pushing himself off the bed, he shuffled toward the door on his right, the bathroom. Flicking on the light, he winced at his reflection in the mirror. Dark circles clung beneath his eyes, making his usually sharp features appear gaunt and weary. He turned on the faucet, cupped his hands, and splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would wash away his exhaustion. It didn't.

His gaze lingered on the mirror.

"Talking to myself in a mirror... maybe I really am crazy," he muttered before reaching for the bottle of painkillers and sleeping pills on the counter. Without hesitation, he swallowed them dry and leaned against the sink, closing his eyes.

He needed rest.

Back in his room, just as he was about to collapse onto the bed, something caught his eye.

A book.

It sat at the center of his bed, as if waiting for him. The cover was a dark golden-brown, lined with intricate gold patterns, and in elegant cursive, the words "Into the Mystic" were inscribed across the front.

His heart skipped a beat.

"Where the hell did this come from?"

His mind raced. He didn't remember putting a book on his bed. In fact, he was sure it hadn't been there when he left for the bathroom. Had someone been in his room?

As if answering his unspoken question, his eyes landed on an envelope lying next to the book, his name scrawled across it in familiar handwriting. His grandfather's.

Unease prickled at the back of his neck as he picked it up and tore it open.

Dear Adam,

Your grandmother and I will be leaving for a while, and we don't know when we'll return. As an early birthday present, I've left you one of my old books. But please, do not read past the first page until tomorrow night on the full moon.

Happy early 18th birthday, Adam.

Lovingly,

Grandpa

Adam stared at the letter, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

His grandfather was always a bit eccentric, but this was weird even for him. Why was he leaving so suddenly? Why this book of all things? And what was so important about the full moon?

He glanced back at the book, running his fingers over the worn cover. It felt... warm, almost alive beneath his touch.

"Whatever," he muttered, tossing it onto his nightstand. Right now, he was too tired to care.

Taking another painkiller, he climbed back into bed and let the pills pull him into the first real sleep he'd had in days.

The Next Day

Morning light crept through the cracks of his curtains, casting a dull glow over the room. Adam groaned as his alarm blared beside him, the shrill noise drilling into his skull. He had forgotten to turn it off.

Slamming his hand on the snooze button, he sat up, feeling only marginally better than the night before. The voices had been silent in his sleep, but the lingering exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.

Dragging himself to the bathroom, he went through his usual routine. As he brushed his hair, he caught sight of his reflection again and winced. His grandmother had pranked him just last week by cutting his hair into a ridiculous bowl cut

Adam scowled at his reflection.

"I look like a damn nerd."

Not that it mattered much—school was over, and summer had just begun. It wasn't like he had been a model student either; his grades were terrible, he got into fights more often than he should, and trouble followed him like a shadow.

Shaking his head, he finished getting ready, threw on a T-shirt and jeans, and headed downstairs.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

It felt strange without his grandparents around. The absence of his grandmother's humming or the sound of his grandfather's old record player left the place feeling... hollow.

As he poured himself a bowl of cereal, his mind drifted back to the book.

"Into the Mystic."

His grandfather had warned him not to read past the first page until the full moon. That was tonight.

Adam wasn't sure why, but the thought made his stomach twist with unease.

7:30 PM – Adam's Room

The book sat on his desk, untouched since last night.

Adam eyed it warily before sighing and picking it up. "Might as well see what the fuss is about."

He sat on his bed, flipping open the cover. The pages were thick and slightly yellowed, the ink written in an old-fashioned script.

The first few sections detailed various spells, rituals, and creatures he had never heard of before—things like the Dream Tiger, a beast said to only exist within dreams; the Eagle Wyvern, a hybrid of a serpent and eagle; and the Maple Axolotl, a tiny creature with bark-like skin that could manipulate nature.

"What the hell was Grandpa into?"

The book was surprisingly interesting, though. He kept reading, flipping through pages filled with strange diagrams and cryptic symbols. Then, near the back, he came across a page with one set of words written on it—standing alone as if they had been waiting for him.

The text read:

"The Almighty that equals the Abyss,

Bridger of Worlds,

Ruler of Creation that tamed Life and Knowledge.

I ask to open the gates to the Bridge and the Library."

A chill ran down Adam's spine as he read the words aloud.

The room remained still. Nothing happened.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. "Figures."

Closing the book, he placed it on his nightstand, popped another painkiller, and slid under the covers. Whatever this was about, he'd deal with it tomorrow.

Within minutes, he was asleep.

Midnight – Adam's Room

The clock struck 12:00 AM.

The book that had rested peacefully beside Adam began to glow.

A golden light seeped from its pages, lifting into the air like glowing dust. The particles drifted toward Adam's head, shimmering briefly before disappearing as they made contact with his skin.

Then, the two bookmarks tucked within the book floated up, glowing brilliantly before phasing directly into Adam's chest—right over his heart.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then, Adam twitched. His fingers curled against the sheets, his face contorted in pain.

Deep within his subconscious, something stirred.

Something ancient.

Something that had just woken up.

And the night fell silent once more.