The Haunted Book: Stories that Come to Life
The Haunted Book: Stories that Come to Life
The old bookstore on the corner of Maple Street had always fascinated Olivia. Dusty shelves lined with ancient tomes, their leather covers worn from years of handling, gave the place an eerie charm. But one book stood out among the rest.
"Are you sure you want that one?" the shopkeeper asked, his voice a raspy whisper. "Some stories are best left unread."
Olivia smirked. "I love a good mystery."
She took the book home, placing it on her nightstand. The title, "Tales of the Forgotten," was barely legible on its cracked spine. That night, curiosity got the best of her, and she flipped open the first page.
As she read, the words seemed to shimmer. The candle beside her flickered violently, and a gust of wind rushed through her room—despite the windows being shut.
"That’s weird," she muttered.
Ignoring her unease, she continued reading. The story was about a boy trapped in a mirror, cursed to relive his worst memories forever. Olivia shivered, feeling a strange presence in the room.
Then, something moved in her mirror.
She gasped and turned sharply, her reflection appearing distorted—her eyes darker, her expression hollow.
"Just my imagination," she whispered, shutting the book.
But the next night, she couldn't resist opening it again. This time, the story spoke of a woman who heard whispers in the dark. Olivia barely made it past the first paragraph when she heard it—soft voices, indistinct murmurs coming from the shadows of her room.
Her heart pounded. "Who’s there?"
Silence.
She slammed the book shut, breathing heavily.
The following morning, she returned to the bookstore, the book clutched tightly in her hands.
"I need to return this," she said hastily.
The shopkeeper shook his head. "It doesn’t work that way. The book chooses its reader. Once you start, you must finish."
"Finish? What does that mean?" Olivia demanded.
He sighed. "You must read the final story. Only then will it let you go."
That night, she hesitated before opening the book. The last story was titled "The Reader’s Fate." Her hands trembled as she read about a girl who found a haunted book and refused to finish it. The story detailed everything that had happened to her so far.
Her blood ran cold.
The final sentence appeared as she read: "And as she reached the last page, she heard a knock at her door."
A loud knock echoed through her apartment.
Her breath hitched. Slowly, she turned toward the door, her heart hammering in her chest.
Should she open it?
The knocking continued, growing louder, more insistent. Olivia took slow, hesitant steps toward the door. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the handle.
"Who’s there?" she called out.
No response.
She took a deep breath and, with a shaking hand, unlocked the door. It creaked open, revealing... nothing. The hallway outside her apartment was empty, save for the dim flickering light overhead.
Olivia swallowed hard and glanced down. Sitting at her feet was the book.
"No," she whispered. "I left you on my bed."
Slowly, she picked it up. The pages fluttered on their own, stopping at a new entry.
"She opened the door to find nothing there. But as she turned, the real horror began."
A chill ran down her spine.
Suddenly, her reflection in the hallway mirror shifted. The Olivia in the mirror was not her—it had hollowed-out eyes, a twisted grin. It lifted a hand and waved.
Olivia screamed and stumbled back, dropping the book. The pages turned violently as an unseen force pulled at them.
"Please, make it stop!" she cried.
The book’s final passage glowed eerily: "To end the nightmare, one must give the story to another."
She thought of the shopkeeper’s warning—some stories were best left unread.
Hands shaking, she grabbed her coat and rushed out of her apartment. The book felt heavier with each step, as though something inside it was resisting.
Back at the bookstore, she slammed it on the counter. "Take it back!"
The shopkeeper shook his head. "It’s yours now."
"No! I—I can’t keep it!"
His eyes darkened. "Then find another reader."
Olivia felt sick. Could she really do that to someone else?
She turned and spotted a curious teenager eyeing the shelves. His gaze fell on the book.
"That looks cool," he said, reaching for it.
Olivia hesitated—but only for a moment.
She forced a smile and handed it over. "Yeah, it’s... interesting."
As soon as his fingers touched the cover, Olivia felt the weight lift. A deep, bone-chilling relief flooded through her.
The boy walked to the counter, oblivious to the knowing smirk of the shopkeeper.
Olivia left without looking back, but she knew—somewhere in the depths of that store, the book was already preparing its next story.
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