Flash Fiction | Death
The Shuttered Room
A forbidden book
The clock ticks so loudly that it feels like a countdown. I sit across from him, watching his fingers drum on the table, and his eyes flicker over my face but never settle. The room is small, the air heavy with the smell of old paper and something faintly metallic. We are in the back room of a dilapidated bookstore on the edge of the city, the kind of place where the past clings to the walls, where time seems to fold in on itself.
His name is Marcus, though he introduces himself simply as “M.” His voice is low, almost a whisper, as if the walls might be listening. He is thin, nearly gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes that speak of sleepless nights and a mind perpetually in overdrive. I am here to buy a book, but not just any book — a forbidden one, whispered about in academic circles and hidden away from prying eyes.
“I’m not sure you understand what you’re asking for,” he says, his fingers pausing mid-drum. His gaze finally locks onto mine, piercing and intense. “This isn’t just some old text. It changes you. Once you read it, there’s no going back.”
I nod, feeling the weight of his words settle over me. “I know. I need it.”
The corners of his mouth twitch, almost a smile, but not quite. He stands and walks to a battered filing cabinet in the corner. The drawer screeches open, and he pulls out a book bound in cracked leather, its pages yellowed and brittle. He places it on the table between us, his hand lingering on the cover for a moment longer than necessary.
“This is it,” he says. “The Shuttered Room.”
I reach for it, but he grabs my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “Once you start, you can’t stop. It will consume you.”
“I understand,” I say, my voice steady. I have to understand. My sister is dying, and this book holds the only hope of saving her. It contains knowledge lost to time, secrets that can bend reality and cheat death.
Marcus releases my wrist, and I take the book, feeling its weight, the rough texture of the cover against my palms. As I open it, the air in the room seems to shift, growing colder and more oppressive. The first page is blank, but as I turn it, words begin to appear, ink seeping into the paper as if drawn from some hidden reservoir.
Hours pass, or maybe minutes — time loses meaning as I read. The words swirl and dance, drawing me deeper into their thrall. Marcus watches silently, a sentinel to my descent. My head throbs, and my vision blurs, but I can’t stop. Each sentence is a step closer to understanding the power I need.
And then, suddenly, the words stop making sense. They twist and writhe, reshaping themselves into a language I can’t comprehend. Panic seizes me. Have I gone too far?
Marcus is at my side, his face a mask of concern. “You need to stop,” he says, but his voice is distant, echoing in the void that has opened up inside me.
I push him away, clutching the book to my chest. “No! I have to finish.”
He shakes his head, his expression a mixture of pity and fear. “You don’t understand what you’re doing. This book — it’s alive. It’s feeding on you.”
But it’s too late. I can feel the book’s hunger and insatiable need for more now. It is not a tool but a parasite; I am its latest host. The realization hits me with the force of a blow, and I drop the book, my hands trembling.
Marcus catches me as I fall, his grip gentle now. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I tried to warn you.”
The room spins, and darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. I can feel my life slipping away, siphoned off by the cursed tome. As my consciousness fades, I see Marcus pick up the book, his face set in grim determination.
He places it back in the drawer, the heavy metal clanging shut like the tolling of a bell. “Rest now,” he whispers, but his voice is already a distant echo, lost in the abyss that has claimed me.
In the end, it was not death I feared, but the loss of self, the erasure of everything I am. The last thing I hear is the clock ticking, counting to oblivion.
The book has found its next victim, and the cycle begins anew.
Ani Eldritch 2024
