Charles knew every nook and cranny of his library, every stairwell and cabinet. He had designed it himself, oversaw the construction, ordered the catalogue of books that now inhabited its shelves. An entire section was filled with first editions, some of his favorite works, but an even larger section was dedicated to books he had always wanted to read.

Ensconced between the familiar and the new, it was one of his favorite things to sit in his large leather chair, book in hand, and enjoy his final Scotch of the evening. It was on his way to this fateful task, carrying a copy of A Universal History of Iniquity, that he noticed a book on his shelf that he didn’t recognize. Bound in deep purple leather, sitting amongst his first editions, it stopped him short. He could point a guest to the location of any book they might request, but here was one that was unknown to him.

He stood frozen before it.  There were many titles of science and learning in his library, but it also filled his imagination. Perhaps a mischief maker had made their way into his sanctuary and placed the tome. He often had fantasies that the library, with its collective knowledge, would somehow gain sentience, and would try to communicate with him in such a fashion. Or perhaps a minor deity had cursed someone to inhabit a shelf in the shape of a book. His favorite idea, though, was that somehow, something ancient and alien had arrived in his humble library in the form of a grimoire.

Logic, though, dictated there were only so many possibilities for the book’s appearance. The most likely answer, he knew, the one favored by Occam and his blasted razor, was that Charles had put the book there and forgotten it.  That his faculties were finally failing him.

He reached for the book.

See the author’s published work here.

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