The Book: Chapter 29

The next thing to invade the room was the whispering.

It wasn’t words, not as they knew them but an ancient, demonic chant, somewhere beyond comprehension—like voices speaking backwards, layered and overlapping. It filled the room with a dissonant hum, attacking their ears in a deafening crescendo.

‘We’re about to die,’ Mick said. ‘But if you survive, remember I died a hero.’

‘Yeah, a regular Tonto to my Ranger,’ Alice shot back.

The noise intensified until they covered their ears. The hum hit a frequency that caused nausea and Alice was the first to gag. Mick understood what they needed to do. They had to kill its energy. He grabbed Alice’s wrist. ‘Sing.’ He started singing and soon the dry heaving stopped. He squeezed her hand. ‘Come on.’

Alice joined in. 

The windows flew open and the curtains billowed, caught in a sudden wind. From the corner of the room, a shadow uncurled from nothing.

‘Ignore it,’ Mick shouted and carried on singing.

It moved towards him. ‘Jesus Christ.’ Jumping up, he scrambled backwards, his injured leg making him stagger. The darkness slithered up the wall, stretching to form jagged fingers. They sang louder. 

In a violent motion, they heard every cabinet in Mick’s kitchen slam open, drawers yanked out as unseen hands threw the contents around the room.

Alice stopped signing. A guttural growl filled the space, vibrating in her chest as the demon screamed from her lungs.

‘Alice—what the hell. Don’t let it in.’

The book flipped open. Its pages turned on their own. And it stopped, landing on something intended for them. Mick took a step closer. His eyes scanned the words. And his expression crumpled, as he read the insert written in fresh ink in the margin.

She belongs to me.

The demon left Alice through her mouth, but the singing was done. She saw terror flash across Mick’s face.

She reached for the book, but a sudden force threw her against the couch. The book wasn’t done. That’s all she needed, a homicidal book with attachment issues. Mick’s body convulsed as an unseen hand yanked him upright. His feet dangled inches above the ground, his fingers flying to his throat. He clawed at the air, scrabbling at nothing. His eyes bulged and terror twisted his expression as he gasped. Veins stood out on his neck and as she watched, Alice thought they were about to rupture. She remembered Mick describing his father’s death in her vision and sobbed. She saw the bruises form beneath his fingertips, a sickening purple rose against his pale skin as invisible hands crushed his windpipe.

She screamed and ran to help him. ‘Let him go, you bastard.’ She was sobbing, tearing at the nothing killing Mick.  

As suddenly as it started, everything just—stopped.

The silence felt as ominous as the absence of the deafening noise. Its vacuum of emptiness was complete and all-consuming. The energy left a void.

Mick was released and fell to the floor. He cried out as his broken leg jarred from the sudden drop and his hands went to his damaged throat where bruises formed on his skin.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

Alice nodded and went to him. She knelt and they clung to each other.

They didn’t notice the shift at first. Not until the electrical cord from the upright lamp yanked free from the wall with a violent snap. They turned, watching in horror as the severed cord slithered across the room like a snake, moving with coiled intent. It reared up and lunged at them with the plug end prominent, the face of a hooded cobra. They didn’t have time to move or react. The cord wound around their bodies.

Alice gasped, struggling as the thick coils constricted around them, pressing them together. It allowed them to breathe in—but then used the pause to tighten, preventing their exhalation. Mick gritted his teeth, his free hand trying to pry the cord away, but it tightened with every breath. It wrapped higher, snaking around their shoulders and pinning their arms.

‘Cut it,’ Alice screamed. ‘Mick move with me.’

 The crab-stepped together, and the book let them. It could have killed them outright if that was its intention, but it let the insidious game play out. In the kitchen, Mick fumbled, his fingers scrabbling for a knife from the block. The cord jerked, knocking him off balance. It taunted him, keeping his hand a fingertip away from the knife block. With a surge of effort, he grabbed for it again. He had the blade and slashed through the electrical wire. As he sawed, Alice had the horrific thought that even though it was disconnected from the mains, the cord might still have a live circuit and enough power to fry them. The book didn’t need to harness electricity to control it.

She had no choice but to hold her breath. She was sick and dizzy, the tight coils pressing into her diaphragm and robbing them both of oxygen.

The moment the cord severed, it recoiled violently, snapping back across the room like a wounded serpent before falling. It died and dropped, limp on the floor.

They gasped for air, staggering apart—and the room was still.

Alice’s pulse thundered in her ears. It was the most present and violent attack to date. She locked onto the book. The air around it shimmered. A thing unseen shifted beneath its green cover. Then, satiated, it snapped shut.

Mick collapsed on the couch, gripping his chest. When he looked up his face was pale, sweat beaded at his temples. ‘It didn’t hurt us. But it could have.’

Alice nodded. ‘It’s stronger.’

‘We need to destroy it. There must be a way.’

Alice stared at him. ‘Don’t you think I’ve tried everything? I’ll take it home with me.’

‘Not a chance,’ he said. ‘Leave it here and I’ll burn it.’

‘And that’s why it has to come back with me. It will kill you. You’d be a fool to think you can control it.’

The book had never harmed her until today, and that was all for show— it only hurt the people around her.

She picked it up, the familiar weight settling against her palms like an old friend. It pulsed—once—a heartbeat. The book emitted a warmth that shouldn’t have been there. It spread through her fingers, and for a second, she felt comforted.

The book was pleased to be back where it belonged. She had the ridiculous image of a tiny kitten, snuggling into her, purring and happy to be safe with its owner. The familiar tug of possession and ownership hit her with maternal force. This was her book. Nobody else’s. She hated it—but it made her love it, too.

The air eased and the tension lifted. Despite Mick’s protestations, the book was going home. To show its disdain for him it had a parting gift. It made him puke just to shut him up, and he staggered to the kitchen sink with his hand covering his mouth.

While she waited, awkward at his embarrassment, Alice flicked the book open. In hand-written ink, she read the new comment on the opening page.

Bound together, forever. In the serpent of love’s embrace.

When he was done, Mick washed his face, rinsed his mouth, and cleaned the sink. ‘It’s waiting for what comes next. I don’t know what to do,’ he said.

Alice didn’t have an answer. She tucked the book under her arm, met his gaze, and said, ‘Neither do I.’