The Book, Part One

13 1 0
                                    

Growing up, my cousins told me to never wander into a graveyard. I know, just as strange as it sounds, but it felt like the entire town believed it. "People go crazy there," they tell me. "The dead will haunt you," they would cry. But I never believed them. If anything, their dedication to proving themselves right made me all the more determined to prove them wrong. I learned that those creeks and bumps in the night could all be explained by the weather and other scientific phenomena.

But now that I sit here, following something I can't just explain...

... I don't think they ever believed me.

On the surface, my family approved of my choice of college and my determination to disprove the supernatural, but when I left home, there was something among their presents that I would never need.

I mean, who in the world would ever need-

"Hey, Logico? What's this?"

I turned around, since my minute rice somehow needed more than a minute. Irratino was floating by my bookshelf- specifically the side facing my bed.

"You are going to need to be more specific...."

"Some guide...." He leaned closer to the shelf, then looked up at me. "Light purple, kinda thick... mentions ghosts on the spine?"

"Ohh, that one. It was a housewarming present from my mom. I've never read it, though."

He looked at the coffee table. "You think you could put it on the table so I could take a peep?"

I looked back at my rice. ".... Not until I've had breakfast."

And that's how it stayed, but I occasionally would hear a "Wh-huh?" or some breathy breathing from behind me. Even a random thunk or thud. Looking back, I can't tell if he was trying to get my attention or avoid it entirely. But anything that would have gotten me to turn around I willfully ignored.

The food was gone and the conditions were met, so I finally looked back.
Irratino was right behind me, and there was a book on my coffee table.

...A purple book...

I've never removed that book from the shelves. It sort-of became my placeholder when I need to know where to sort my books alphabetically. It isn't hard to sort books alphabetically, especially since they provide all the information.

"It's magic," my roommate said. "I don't think logic can explain any of this."
Well, sure it could! Maybe I was hallucinating.

I went over to my bookshelf. The book was gone. I put my hand over the book should be. I felt nothing. I rushed back to the book. I put my hand on the cover... the dusty cover. Or, rather, the dusty spine. The books were too packed together for dust to form on the front cover.

But he can't move real objects: he showed me.
...None of the fake murders ever dealt with dust before.

I decided to pick the book up. It was heavy. It felt like a real book. The paper felt like paper, and you could feel each bump and ridge on the cover's design. I know that sounds obvious, but an hour later when discussing what happened Irratino would conjure a book out of thin air: he pulled it from behind my ear like some sort of magic trick. It was on Herbalism. That book... it had weight, but not weight. It felt flat and hollow to the touch; it was missing something that made it real.

Anyways, where was I... oh yeah! "The Ghost Book."

Well, that's what Irratino would call it. The actual name was Ghosts and You: a comprehensive Guide. Despite being filled with fictional beliefs and falsehoods, the cover was formulated like any standard survival guide. I flipped to the table of contents, and it was labeled like an encyclopedia: everything was alphabetized and grouped neatly in their proper categories.

After finishing my investigation of the book, I set it back down on the table. Irratino opened it back up. "I want to start reading this." He leaned forward in such a way so that his body and tail were almost parallel with my table.

It was hard to look over him (at least, without getting nauseous), so I walked over to my bookshelf.
And... yeah... Ghosts and You was not where I left it.
A part of the shelf had a gap fit for one book and one book only.

I walked back to the coffee table. He was flipping through the book, keeping one hand smashed between the pages. Whenever he was done reading an excerpt, he would nod, move the smashed hand to reveal the table of contents, and start the process over.

Sometimes he even read the book out loud:

"When determining if you should interact with a ghost, you should first consider when the spectre died and where they came from. If you are not versed in their history and culture, an attempt to start a conversation could result in unnecessary hostility."

"A ghost's desire is the single most important thing about them. If they do not finish it, they cannot move on to what comes next. It is also tied to their strength and abilities... if you meet one, figuring that out should be your first priority..."

"Throughout my research, I've discovered a small subset of humans that can interact with the dead, regardless of the spectre's strength. I have decided to name these people Virtems- a combination of the Latin words for life and death. In the past, these people typically took up jobs relating to spirits and the esoteric. Nowadays, most seem to find themselves in graveyards."

He looked at me, his dilated eyes somehow wider than before. "How come you've never read this?!"

I shook my head. "You're a 'ghost,' right? Shouldn't you already know all this stuff?"

"Ohh, yeah," he said with a sudden twinge of resentment. "Whenever someone dies a book on how to be undead just magically appears a few feet from their resting grounds. How could I forget?"

"...Why haven't you-"

"It was sarcasm..." he sounded tired with that sentence, which leads me to believe he was fed up with me? I don't know what I did wrong.

My phone alarm went off.

"Oh. We have to go." I waved my arm and turned towards the door. "Come on."

"Wh-what?! Why are you working on a weekend?!" Classic rich kid. I heard it all the time in college and now I'm hearing it from 'the dead.'

"No, just... housekeeping. If you need me to define what that is I can." I went into my closet to look for my mop.

"B-b-but what about the book?!" He was pouting. He sounded almost like a whiny child.
"Maybe we put a bookmark in for later?"
"But it won't work. Believe me."
"If we get one thick enough it will!" At least, it could if we tried. I wanted to test this out, but Irratino always groans whenever I bring up scientific method. So I just stated my hypothesis and let him jump to conclusions.

The issue with looking for a bookmark in my apartment is that most of my bookmarks are in my office. And the number I have on my shelves matches the number of books I am currently reading in my apartment.

I was not going to swap one out for some 'ghost book.'

...Wait, where did Irratino go?

"Oh, what about these?"
I looked behind me to find the muffled voice.
Irratino had his head shoved partway through a box on one of my shelves.

I pulled him out of the box and looked inside.

"Oh, these? Raven threw a bunch of junk at me at the bar. She said one of them was hers."

"And you kept this biz in a closet?"

"Well, none of them are currently helpful to us." Irratino reached his hand in the box, pulling out a replica of the orange vandalized card. "As for that one.... You can hardly see what's under it. Save for that orange corner."

"...But there are words under it, right?? And it might have the name of someone you think is involved?!" He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. "WE HAVE A POTENTIAL LEAD AND AREN'T PERSUING IT?!?!"

"Woah! Hey! Please stop shaking me!"

"NOT UNTIL YOU..." He suddenly let go of me, sighing. "Just... isn't there anything you can do with it??"

...

"You know... there is one thing..."

In Your Head: A Murdle Ghost!AU FanficWhere stories live. Discover now