The book slammed shut, a dust cloud emitted from the pages like a cough.
She stared at the cover. Her rapid blinking hoping to push back the tears that wished to fall in an attempt to drown her.
It had been a ridiculous tale. A blank book that could only retain the truth.
A fable.
A falsehood.
As if by magic it had appeared on her porch.
She had opened it. Seen the inkless pages. Remembered the tale.
Pushing it from her mind she had tossed it, watched it be caught by her alcove window cushion.
She had gone to bed.
She had just closed her eyes. Just gone to sleep when she was immediately gripped by a nightmare so detailed, so horrific.
A cold sweat dripped into her eyes when she finally wrenched them open.
She was not there.
She was in her bed.
Her hands weren’t stained.
She hadn’t done what had appeared so real behind her closed eyelids.
So impossibly lifelike.
What sounded like a flap of its pages came from the book only a few feet away.
It had been so vivid.
The syrupy crimson molding itself to her skin.
A thought whispered, Ask the book?
She shook the thought away.
It took a different form, a statement, Untruths disappear.
The sheet peeled away from her damp skin.
Her toes succumbed to the carpet.
She knelt on the edge of the alcove. Fingers shaking.
Opening the spine she realized she required a pen.
The book as though reading her mind, showcased a quill tucked in its center.
It felt cool in her fingers.
The question formed with little thought. The ink poured from the stem.
Could I kill someone?
The letters lay still before shimmering before her. Almost lifting off the page.
The hook on the question mark evaporated. Leaving just a period.
Her lungs clenched as first the ‘c’ than the ‘o’ followed by the rest of ‘could’ went the way of the question mark’s hook.
The ‘I’ and ‘kill’ slithered apart and with her brain sending warnings to breath a new word materialized between them:
will
Her eyes scanned the sentence of truth:
I will kill someone.
The book slammed shut, a dust cloud emitted from the pages like a cough.
Honestly Austen 