A Bedtime Story That Simply Must Be Read

A Bedtime Story That Simply Must Be Read
A Short Tale of The Macabre

Inspired by the works of: Edgar Allen Poe ...

..... Respectable reader, my name is Hawthorne Pennywise Hollybrook, III and reading the masters has been my greatest leisure time passion. Our trysting should have held me to a lifetime of evening pleasure but I had a wandering eye and one chance encounter changed everything forever; and I am speaking of the grotesque.

..... Many of us have heard testimonials that the thing exists, but few will ever encounter one of the unlikely beasts in their lifetime; and yes the undocumented creature I am referring to is none other than a bedtime story that simply must be read. On the surface a book looks much like any other; but you would know the exception from the common run of the mill tale should you ever attempt to put it aside without reading it in its entirety; and believe me once you have laid eyes on the genuine article it is an uncommon connoisseur of the printed medium that can tear his eyes away again. You might be thinking it would be a grand sight to encounter one but I am here to assure you not every compelling bedtime story makes for an enjoyable companion for occasionally one will turn out to be quite bad; rotten in fact; and that one in a billion bad apple crops up more often than you think.

..... Pondering back to that day I should have been suspicious when I first laid eyes on the generic cover and its immodest title lodged haphazardly amid the disheveled roughage of a bookstore’s bargain bin. Again and again I shoved it aside and always it reappeared at the top of the heap. Annoyed I at last picked it up and was immediately enamored by its simple design and yet boastful pretense, to the point that I singled it out from the more circulated venues and placed it in my basket. I cannot recall the author’s name or even if it had an author as it is a little known aphorism that some books simply write themselves; I’ve no doubt this was one of those books.

..... I had made my selection so I proceeded to make my purchase.

..... “My good man,” the clerk informed me upon referencing his vast catalog of resources. “I had no idea this rare edition was in our bargain selection,” “Most unique! It indicates here it is the only copy in print anywhere. Are you certain you wish to complete this purchase sir? I have many of the popular titles available at discount prices.”

..... This one will do quite nicely,” I answered him. “The pompous title has struck a fancy with me and I simply must see what its hype is about.”

..... “I understand,” The clerk said; but he so stubbornly clung to the book that I was compelled literally to wrench it free from his grip. “Forgive me, but the book has captured my fancy in a like manner,” he explained apologetically. “Perhaps once you have finished with it … ahem … Mr. Hollybrook, you will consider trading it back in, or selling it to me privately.”

..... “Perhaps,” I said impatiently and expressing some annoyance, then I was quickly on my way. But I could sense the clerk was pursuing my departure with a stern gaze akin to the willful eyes of a cold-blooded carnivore calculating the movement of its prey.

..... When I arrived at my flat I put the book gently aside for I had no intention of reading it with any immediacy; that is the practice I most often employ; for I consider a cheap bedtime novella a leisure tool to be used to wrestle with an overactive mind and get it wound down and ready for naptime. And besides I would only permit myself to read one book at a time and at the present I had already begun on another project.

..... But as I went about my immediate chores, specifically filing away the groceries with practiced regimen I came across the very book that I had just moments before tossed in the laundry hamper and it facing upwards on the kitchen countertop [and if you will note I said I had put it gently aside and what better basin to hold such a commodity without bruising it than a clothes hamper].

..... “What ho! How did this happen?” I asked as I exchanged a quizzical glance between the hamper and the book again in my possession. A more intelligent person might have been alerted to danger by the hairs standing upright on the nape of his neck, but I shrugged the mild discomfort aside and returned the book to the hamper.

..... “If this happens again,” I addressed the book with exaggerated humor, “I will know something is up.”

..... I was about my chores once again when I heard something strike against the floor and glancing abruptly down the hallway I could see the book lying innocently at the base of the hamper. “Oh no you didn’t,” I said with some disbelief. And I hurried to the hamper and emptied it of everything. “Nothing,” I exhaled, and I addressed the book directly. “I know you did not climb out by yourself.” I picked up the book and studied it for evidence of limbage. That it might actually have sprouted arms and legs is ridiculous I know but I was a mite perplexed and the preposterous seemed the most likely and a plausible explanation. But after a thorough examination from various angles it appeared only a generic hardbound edition with no outward anomalies of any kind.

..... “Let us see if you can perform an encore of your magic act and escape from a locked cupboard,” I said; and I put it to the test; a test it passed with the same slight of eye and hand, as it had done on two prior occasions. I turned about and opened the refrigerator to put away a carton of eggs and there [gasp] was the book propped solicitously on the dairy shelf. I drew my hand away in fright and stumbled back a step, but the book made no aggressive movement and so with eight ticks of the clock behind me I breathed easier. Cautiously I approached and lifted it from the shelf.

..... “There is no doubt about it,” I rationalized out loud. “I have a poltergeist in the house.”

..... And so with that hypothesis arresting my anxieties ere they could bring about an insurrection I tucked the book under my arm and put away the eggs. A ghost in the house was a lot easier to accept than the possibility that I was losing my mind.

..... “You have had a good joke at my expense,” I addressed the unseen agent at large, “but I am on to your childish games. From this point on I will contribute no more to them.” With that ultimatum I completed my chores and retreated to my inner study where I filed away the book; wedging it tightly between anthologies of Kipling and Keats.

..... “I have no notion of your worthiness, “ I confided to the troublesome book, “but it can do you no harm to rub shoulders with two respectable laureates of literature until I have the need of your company. Which will not be for a very long period if I have any say.”

..... I then gingerly fetched down the fifty-seven pound Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson from its high pedestal and propped it across my failing knees while I reclined back in my easy chair to read a fresh poem for the day. Like a spoonful of wild honey one mental aspersion by that gifted poet was all I could digest in one sitting; and a daily indulgence that I would extend for as long as possible. Having read the short passage where I had flagged the page with a bookmark only one day previous my temples warmed to the fulminations of synaptic energies her words had set into motion ere I replaced the marker and closed the book. Ah, at this selfishly frugal rate I would not be freed up to begin another book for years. Most exquisite. However, my reverie did not last long.

..... My prodigal eye strayed to the bookshelf what revealed the conspicuous absence of three books: Keats, Kipling, and that other mongrel of dubious parentage. Of the whereabouts of the one I could care less, but because I had permitted the other two to suffer rubbing elbows with the one of low station I felt remorse weighing on me. Putting aside the heavy volume of Miss Emily’s peculiar design I began a harried search for my two prized anthologies and I found them: the one, pale and bleeding color from its pores, floating face down in the commode; and the other lying disheveled on the bathroom tile, its cover torn; its once immaculate type stained with grape juices; and copies of Vogue strewn about it in a provocative manner.

..... I wrung my hands in despair. Keats and Kipling were ruined; and there propped on the bureau was the unrepentant charlatan; and it was mocking me. Oh yes. It was laughing silently as only an un-pedigreed blackheart of a dime store novella could laugh upon dragging not one but two distinguished paladins down to its sullied level. I roughly fetched it about. I clutched it until my knuckles whitened; and had it possessed a breathy soul I would have choked the life out of it then and there. But fortunately I returned to my senses … or did I? Ah … that is the million-dollar question.

..... I busied myself with tidying up the mess made of my two disgraced literati exemplars and paused to admonish the guilty party once more when I noticed with some chagrin that it was no longer where it had been. “Now where?” I asked. But then it occurred to me and I fairly guessed at the foul books intention. I was off to the study in a panic. I distinctly smelled smoke as I entered the room whereupon with the aid of a fire extinguisher I rescued Miss Dickinson and my library from sure ruin barely in the nick of time. I exited my study with the aforementioned book in hand; and now I was fully convinced that the poltergeist I had thought was in the home was in fact inside the book. Yes, the book I had purchased was haunted; but by what sort of gremlin or devil I could not hazard to guess.

..... To prevent another mishap I deduced I must not let the book out of my sight; so I carried it around with me for the remainder of the evening; and upon retiring I placed it underneath my pillow so that if it made an untoward movement I would alert to it. That was not a good idea for I had no sooner doused the lights than I was visited by unsettling premonitions; and as quickly sensed something sinister was stealing about in the darkness of my bedchamber. The occasion had become one of those unnerving intervals we have each experienced while lying in bed and unable to sleep; when the long night is black as pitch and the shrill knell of silence is only surpassed by the momentum of ones own heartbeat racing uphill.

..... As I glanced about in stark alarm a phantom shadow reared up in my bed and leaned above me; and this shadow it grew in size while I retreated back into my mattress until I could feel the springs gouging unforgiving into my back. It was then that it happened: the featureless apparition fell across me and straightaway attempted to smother me. I clawed for my freedom and struggled for my voice; and mid conflict, grasping about in my panicked state I located the bedside lamp and turned on the light. At this jointure I discovered it was the foul book floundering atop me and I wrestled it to a captive position where I could see its open face and scan there for any clue as to its purpose.

..... “I must be read,” it seemed to be saying in no uncertain terms. Neither did it say so in a reasonable tone, for it demanded that I do so.

..... Ah, I quickly assessed, this is to be a contest of wills. This detestable book demands to be read. Well, I am not one that can be intimidated into an impromptu reading, and as a matter of principal I would never, ever read what I’ve deemed as bad literature; and this book was displaying all the clinical signs of being rotten to the core.

..... But still it had me in a stalemate. I could not dismiss it. I could not push it aside for it taxed too heavy on me [odd for such a puny fellow]; and besides I did not trust it outside of my sight. I could not snuff out the light and return to sleep from wondering what it might do next. And most importantly I could not give in and read it because that went against the grain.

..... Still I knew what I must do. I must forfeit sleep and tomorrow I would return the book to the seller. It was a sound plan but my eyes could not stand up to the strain and strayed constantly to the open text. I would pull them away again, and again, but I knew that I was fighting a losing battle and the book would have its way ere daylight.

..... Thusly all the nightlong we two combatants remained locked in our fierce struggle to overmaster the other mentally. It was to be the lengthiest night of my life. And with the rooster’s crow the telephone rang: and I, staring ahead with wide eyes unable to blink, groped for the receiver.

..... “Hello.”

..... “Mr. Hollybrook,” the caller initiated. “This is the clerk who sold you the exquisitely promising and rare hardbound edition yesterday. Have you by any chance considered my offer to purchase it from you?”

..... “I have, and you may,” I answered him.

..... “That is unexpected but wonderful news, Mr. Hollybrook,” he gushed. “Did you have a chance to read all of it? Is it simply marvelous? I must know.”

..... “My good man,” I assured him. “I have found myself unable to put it down. Can you come and get it at once.”

..... I was waiting inside the door when he arrived. Oh yes, he was prompt, as I knew he would be. But for some reason that strange little man recoiled in horror at sight of me; had I changed so much in one short night? But still he advanced [hesitantly] and accepted the book as I pushed it towards him; and then without warning he whirled and fled like a man in fear of his life. Meanwhile I fumbled in the darkness for the doorknob, closed the door, set the deadbolt against the world, and secured the chain. You cannot know the exhilarating sense of accomplishment I felt at that moment; and I commenced to laugh maniacally.

..... My good listener, if there is a lesson to be gained here, it is: the man who stands firm by his principles at any cost will always have the final laugh.

..... Yes, it took all I could do but I had triumphed in the end. The willpower of the book had proven no stronger than my will to resist it, although … I had had to claw my eyes out to prove it. Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha………

.oeg © †