Auction

Five bidders. One hundred and twenty dollars.

Tenisha was amazed. The book had been up for auction for the past week without garnering any attention. Now, in its final hour, it had incurred a bidding war.

Tenisha checked her description to make sure she hadn’t accidentally written something that was leading people on: 8x5’ notebook, blank, parchment paper, black velvet cover with design on front. An accompanying picture showed the thing resting on her dining table, a pattern of stars and swirls on its face.

Refreshing the page, Tenisha let out an audible “Wha?” There were now twelve bidders, and the price was $590. A few minutes later it was over a thousand.

This continued for the remainder of the hour, the price skyrocketing toward ten thousand dollars. Tenisha was thrilled, bewildered, and nagged by a twinge of guilt. She felt she’d perpetuated a terrible hoax without knowing it.

The last few minutes saw no action, and it seemed that xChantx1 was going to claim the prize for $11,245. Nine o’clock struck. Tenisha refreshed the page one more time.

Twenty. Thousand. Dollars.

And one cent.

Tenisha was gobsmacked. At the last second, someone named sine_nomine had swooped in to steal the book for twenty frickin’ grand.

And there was a message from the buyer: “Excited to get the book. Would be willing to come get it if more convenient.”

This was overwhelming. Tenisha typed a hurried reply, thanking the buyer for their purchase and assuring them that she would send the book off first thing on Monday (it was Saturday night). She’d even pay for expedited shipping.

Tenisha stood up, electrified with excitement. She pattered off to her closet of a bedroom to fetch the book from a cardboard box. It had belonged to her recently departed grandmother. Tenisha had found it in the attic while cataloguing all of Granny’s belongs, an unenviable chore her siblings were suspiciously unavailable for.

Tenisha fanned through the empty pages. She closed the book and examined the symbol on the cover. Perhaps this, whatever it was, had triggered the sudden and lucrative interest.

Anticipating another fast response from the buyer, Tenisha returned to her computer and refreshed the page. There was a new message, but not from the buyer. It was from xChantx1, who’d been outbid at the last second. It simply read: “Please contact me. Don’t give them the book!”

Wow, thought Tenisha. She wondered if the book hadn’t been some prized possession of her grandmother’s. It suddenly seemed a shame to give it away. Then again, it didn’t mean anything to her. Better to give it to someone it could bring some joy to.

As for xChantx1, Tenisha chose not to engage. Sine_nonime had won the thing fair and square, and she didn’t want to deal with sore losers.

She lay in bed that night with a mind too excited to sleep. Twenty thousand dollars. Tenisha envisioned a new apartment, one that didn’t literally snow in the winter. And then there was that trip to Italy she’d been promising herself for a decade.

It had been a good night.

***

Tenisha’s grandmother stood in the bedroom doorway. Her brow was furrowed with bitter disapproval. The silver sunlight that cut through the window shades shimmered in her eyes. She had no mouth.

Tenisha pressed backward against the headboard. Her hands rubbed together furiously, as was their want when she was frightened. Something in her right palm felt strange. Glancing down, Tenisha found a deep, dry cut in her hand.

Then the room suddenly dimmed. The sunlight was fading away with unnatural haste, leaving Granny’s eyes black and cold. The world had gone dark, and from the onyx void beyond the bedroom window came the echo of a thousand screams.

***

Tenisha wrested from the dream with a cry. Her eyes went immediately to the bedroom doorway to confirm that no one was there.

The dream lingered with Tenisha as she showered and made breakfast. Trying to shake it from her mind, she decided to check her laptop for messages.

There was a reply from her anxious buyer: “Can’t wait to get it,” it simply said.

And there was another message from xChantx1: “Please call me,” followed by a phone number.

Again, all this commotion over a collection of empty pages baffled Tenisha. She brought the book to her tiny dining table and examined it in the fresh light of day. What was so special about it?

She ran her fingers over the parchment. It was rough, its surface uneven. She held it up for closer scrutiny. To her surprise found there was a path of divots in the parchment that resembled handwriting. Tenisha thought of old spy movies where messages were written on hotel notepads, leaving indentations on the sheet beneath. She imagined rubbing the pages gently with a pencil to conjure up secret messages. Of course, this would tarnish the merchandise, so Tenisha refrained. Still, it was an enigma.

Tenisha spent the next couple of hours window shopping for apartments online, and couldn’t resist peeking at hotel prices in Venice. It was early afternoon when her phone sang out to her. The number on the screen was unfamiliar. Tenisha rolled her eyes as she answered, anticipating a telescammer. “Hello?”

A man’s voice, husky and urgent, greeted her ear. “Do you still have the book?” it demanded.

Whoa, thought Tenisha. “Who is this?”

“Do you still have it?” the man repeated with mounting desperation.

“How did you get my number?”

“You can’t let them have it. It’s dangerous.”

“Do not call me again,” Tenisha warned, and hung up. She felt it safe to assume she’d just spoken with xChantx1.

She was in the middle of drafting a complaint to the auction site administrators when her phone rang again. The number was different, though equally unknown to her. She answered.

“Good afternoon,” came another man’s voice. This one was warm and calm. “I’m calling on behalf of the individual who recently purchased an item from you.”

Now Tenisha was properly angry. “How the hell do you have my number?” she demanded through gritted teeth.

“You may have received a call,” the man continued, ignoring Tenisha’s question, “from a third party inquiring about the item. I’d like to apologize for this, and offer to arrange someone to come collect the book in person.”

“Listen,” Tenisha yelled, “I already said I’d send the thing out first thing tomorrow. I don’t want anybody coming to my home. I don’t want any more phone calls. Or I’m going to report you.”

“I understand,” the man replied in unwaveringly even tones. “It’s just that the buyer is very eager. If you’d like to meet someplace other than your home—”

“Goodbye,” Tenisha stated, and hung up. She was breathing hard. The damn book was quickly going from blessing to curse. Twenty thousand dollars, Tenisha reminded herself. You can put up with these weirdoes for twenty thousand dollars.

***

That night, Granny appeared again in the doorway. Tenisha sat with her knees pulled up to her chest. Again, she massaged her hands as the mouthless old woman pointed down toward the mattress. Lying on the sheets at Tenisha’s feet was the book.

Tenisha’s hands were suddenly wet. She looked, and found the gash in her right palm was now gurgling blood that ran in streams down her arm.

The light retreated again from the window and the room vanished. Outside Tenisha heard the shouts and cries and wails and shrieks of untold masses. She could picture them fumbling blindly in the dark, climbing over one another, churning in a great human meat grinder as they begged the sun to return. And there was another sound; a shrill, musical tone that rose above the din, louder and louder.

***

Tenisha jerked awake. Her phone was ringing on the nightstand. Catching her breath, she snatched it up and brought it to her ear. She hadn’t even uttered a hello before she heard the desperate man’s voice.

“Get out of your apartment,” it commanded.

“Huh? Wha?”

“They’re coming. You need to get out right now.”

Tenisha’s heart pounded. “Who are you?” she cried.

“I’m on my way. Get out!” Then the call ended.

Tenisha stumbled from her room, flipping on the living room lights.

She gasped as the phone rang again in her hand: two rings, three rings—on the fourth, she answered: “What?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” said the calm, friendly voice, “but it has become necessary to accelerate events. An agent is currently en route to your home. I apologize if this is inconvenient—”

“No!” Tenisha screamed back. “You stay the hell away from me. I’m calling the police.” She ended the call, then swiped over to the number pad and dialed 9-1-1.

Just before she hit Call, her eyes chanced on the black book that lay on the dining table. She remembered Granny’s pointing finger, and the cut on her hand, and the blood.

Without questioning the sanity of her actions, Tenisha retrieved a knife from the kitchen. She flipped open the book, brought the blade to her hand, and sliced. Blood spat from her palm. She slammed it onto the open page, red streaks drooling across the parchment.

Then it was sucked into the page, and those little indentations filled with crimson. The page with soon filled with writing, though the words were alien.

Knock-knock.

Tenisha jumped.

It was the front door. Goosebumps rippled across Tenisha’s flesh. Standing alone in her night clothes, she felt as vulnerable as a babe in the woods.

Another knock—soft, polite, and yet with the most horrifying implications. Tenisha grabbed the book and ran for the back window that led out onto the fire escape. She threw open the pane—and screamed.

A man was standing on the catwalk. Tenisha leapt back as he slipped through the window, his open hands held out in front of him.

“Don’t be scared,” he said, and Tenisha recognized the husky voice. “Hurry, come with me!”

“Who are you people?” pleaded Tenisha.

“Later,” the man insisted. “We have to go now!”

There was an explosive report from the front hallway, the sound of the door breaking open. As Tenisha turned to look, the man grabbed the notebook. Tenisha pulled back, tearing it from the intruder’s grasp. “Please!” the man begged, approaching her.

Then he froze.

Body trembling, Tenisha looked over her shoulder.

Gliding through the apartment was a tall, black form draped in a velvet robe, its face a silver, grimacing mask.

The book dropped from Tenisha’s numb fingers and she stumbled backward into a wall. The man from the window dove for the book. The masked figure flew at him, and there was a piercing shriek.

Tenisha covered her ears, blood from her hand running down her cheek, and bolted for the front door. She heard the grunts and cries and blows of a desperate struggle behind her as she fled from the apartment, dashing down the stairwell and out of the building.

***

The police found blood in abundance, but no people, and no trace of the book. The only indication Tenisha had as to who the victor might have been was a notification from her bank that $20,000 had been transferred to her account.

She decided to take that trip to Italy, with no immediate plans to return. The streets and canals of Venice were not so beautiful as she had expected; not when she nightly dreamed of her Granny standing in the bedroom doorway, bitter tears running down her face.

Then the reports started coming in. The sun was going out all across the United States. It was inexplicable—no eclipses, no cloud cover, just patches of darkness that over the ensuing months spread from state to state, over the borders into Canada and Colombia and Venezuela.

As the world panicked, Tenisha hid in her hotel room and told herself day and night that it wasn’t her fault.

It was just a book.