I Can Help You With That

I Can Help You With That

Everyone has a story. Some are more tragic than others. Some are just plain weird. Mine is a mix of both. I am telling you this because my story could have been prevented had I seen the signs. Or just not been so naïve. So a word to the not-so wise. Take caution, because not everything is as it seems.

I was in my early twenties and still in college for psychology. You could say I wasn’t the popular type, usually sitting alone at lunchtime. The occasional classmate asking to sit with me only to compare notes, then leaving. So needless to say, I did many things by myself. Which included after school activities. The town my school was centered in as rather old, and in retrospect had many accommodating businesses. Used furniture, used books, etc... I was on a drive one day when I ran across a particular shop, an antique shop. My mother told me of numerous tales, finding hidden treasures in antique shops. But when she died of cancer my freshman year, those ambiguous tales seemed to fade away.

Until I laid eyes upon this one store. Sure, I had passed by other antique stores before. Again, it is a relatively older town. Although, I seemed to be pulled to this one specific area where this certain shop was located. Once I saw the store, I found myself drawn, fixated even on that store. So much so that I had a wreck because of it. Nothing major, just a fender bender. Considering that, pulled over very near the shop, after the events played out, I decided to finally go inside.

It was magnificent inside. There were oriental paintings on the walls, Chinese chests of all sizes near the selling counter. It was as if the store went in sections and cultures. Oriental, Egyptian, European, Renaissance, Western. Each section was breathtaking. Divided into its own time periods. I continued deeper into the store, seemingly wandering throughout the vast collection of items, until I came across a certain book. A single, solitary, little black book. Shorter than the rest around it. Nothing of real significance about it. But once my eyes laid upon it I couldn’t escape. I walked to other sections, but always found my way back, staring at the little black book. No name on the spine, no indication of what it may have been used for. When opened, it appeared to be a blank journal. I showed it to the cashier, and they were just as bewildered as I was. How did this get in here? It had no relevance. No information inside. No anything, so they let me have it for free.

A full two weeks went by after gaining ownership the little black book, that I never looked at it again. Suddenly I had an overwhelming urge to write in it. So, I began writing simple things. Teachers I wasn’t fond of, people I thought were cute in class, upcoming tests I was worried about. After a week, my entries became more personalized and serious. Issues with my father. Grieving for my mother. I even began to dream about my entries. Except, in my dreams, the journal wrote back. These dreams continued for about a week. And each time, I would check the journal to make sure I wasn’t crazy. Nothing new, only my own rambling inside the blank pages.

That is until one day. I had a dream where my father lost his house, and I got kicked out of college, because we couldn’t pay our bills. When I awoke, I went to write this dream in my journal. As I opened to the new page there was a message “I can help you with that.” I read the message a few times, flipping through other pages to see if anything else had changed. Just the one sentence on the one page. Am I still dreaming? I closed the book and walked away, giving my mind time to fully wake up. Maybe I had dreamt about the journal and didn’t remember. My eyes were playing tricks, that’s all. After my morning routine as I was about to head to class curiosity got the better of me. I opened the journal once more, and the message was still there! One solitary sentence on an otherwise blank sheet. “I can help you with that.”

“What the hell is going on here?! What the hell are you?!”

“I’m sure you are wondering what I am, right? Well, I am a book. And in being a book, I do not have ears. So if you would like to communicate with me, you will have to write it out.”

Reluctantly, I picked up my pen, “What are you? How is this possible?”

“I am what some people would call an incredibly old soul. I have been around for longer than you could probably comprehend, no offense. My creation is a rather complicated tale, but I am proof that many eons ago, magic and enchantments did exist. I have been ‘owned’ you might say, by thousands of people. But people die. Then I sit in a box, or on a shelf for countless years. That is, until another person, like a young curious girl, finds me and takes me home.”

“What do you want with me? What did you mean by ‘I can help you with that’? How did you even know I had a bad dream?”

“I can explain in more detail later. For the sake of time, however, let’s just say that was one of my many enchantments. I can see your dreams like pictures in a book. Another of my abilities, is I can make small things happen, when given the chance. All I ask of you is that you keep me around, keep me with you. It gets so unimaginably lonely sitting on a shelf. Every second seems like an eternity.”

“Ok, so how are you going to help me?”

“Your dream was of financial problems. I can help with that. But I can’t make money appear from thin air. If I had something money was preprinted on though, then I can work my magic.”

My mind was racing at all of this. Is this for real? There’s only one way to find out. I snatched up the book and went to the closest convenient store that sold lottery tickets. Its worth a shot right? I was low on cash, and just in case it didn’t work I wouldn’t be out much money. So, I bought the first $20,000 ticket I saw.

“Alright, I have a lottery ticket. Will that work?”

“That’s perfect. Just slip it in between the pages anywhere. I will do the rest. Don’t forget though, we have a deal.”

I did as the book instructed, then suddenly felt so drained. Maybe it was the excitement of the day. Or maybe I’m simply crazy, talking with a book. Seriously? I went straight to bed. When I awoke the next morning, I noticed the ticket was sitting halfway out of the book. It had already been scratched, and it showed that I won the jackpot! $20,000 overnight!

“You really did this?! Oh wow! This is fantastic!! Thank you so much!!”

“Yes, I made that happen. Your father will be very pleased when he finds it later. I held up my end of the bargain. Now its time to make sure you hold up yours.”

The book began to glow a deep red, almost black. Something was opening in the middle. Some kind of portal?! I could see things, people on the other side! Thousands of them! Some looked normal, many were in the process of decomposing, and others were skeletons! A thick black tar substance came out of the book and began to pull me inside! It stained my clothes and skin where it touched. It was ink! The book was using all the collected ink from previous owners to pull me in! I could hear a voice coming from the other side…

“This is how I have managed to stay around for so many years. Did you not notice that to be so old, I have no rips or tears? I feed on the life force. The souls of my owners to keep me pristine. And since you have agreed to stay with me, I am making true on that promise.”

In an instant, I was floating through the vast empty space that was the inner self dimension of the book. So void of anything, even time itself. Except for pain. The pain is unimaginable! The only sounds are the agonized moanings of previous ‘owners’. I could see my father through the cover of the book enter the room and find my ticket. The excitement on his face. He ran through the house looking for me, shouting my name. but to no avail.

Time has passed. Not sure how much. Long enough for all my books to be donated to different stores. Now I sit on a self. No light coming from the cover anymore. No glimpses of the outside world. Only darkness. Only black. I have managed to learn how to talk to others through the unstoppable moans. It turns out, if a new soul is taken in, then the pain is lessened on the previous victim. I have nothing to look forward too anymore. Except that someone new finding the book. Someone new being dragged into this abyss. Someone new to lessen my eternal suffering now. All for a lottery ticket. $20,000 that I will never see again.

With all that being said, if you are reading this, then congratulations. You have found my long-lost journal. Forgotten to the sands of time. Until you, a curious reader, came along and decided to give this little black book a new home. So curious reader, is there anything I can help you with….?