Papered Flames

Beads of sweat line my upper lip as I struggle to hang on to the cardboard box filled with plenty of well read novels I'd harbored over the years. I study my moms curvy handwriting along the top as I brace my arm against the old wooden door frame in an attempt to balance it on my knee. I could hear her voice now.

"You've got too many books. Do you plan on lugging these with you for the rest of your life?"

Yes, I had replied to her flippant question yesterday. I couldn't resent her for her mood. My mom hated happenings. Countless birthdays, holidays and school events were ruined by her perplexing attitude. The plus for me was I now lived hundreds of miles away from her. Where my own happenings could live in peace.

I can feel my cotton shorts riding up my backside, creating unwanted friction. It was the middle of summer in downtown Chicago, the temperature was heating up as we slid into July. The old courtyard styled building was located right in the center of Lincoln Park. It wasn't unusual for the older building's in the city to not have elevators, but the lack of central air has contributed to the mammoth size sweat puddle gathering on the swell of my breasts. I focus my gaze on the stack of boxes discarded lazily by the marble staircase. Each one labeled for a room in my new apartment.

My gaze flits over to the stairs as I hear a rush of loud foot steps. I brace myself for the unwanted encounter with my neighbor, who insisted on helping me with the last of my boxes, only no one ever appears.

I focus on the top of the staircase, thinking I heard wrong. Maybe someone was coming down, but nothing. It felt as though something was lurking near by, but I was the only one who seemed to be around.

If this place is haunted, I'm getting a roommate. For sacrificial purposes.

I didn't waver on that thought for long as my new neighbor came bounding up the stairs. His muscles strained against the box before he set it down on the landing. He'd unabashedly taken my keys, leaving me stranded outside of my apartment. Which was cretinous on my part, seeing as I didn't really know him.

He takes hold of the box in my hands, sliding me my keys. I give him an appreciative smile before opening my door.

"Thanks for the help, I think I can take it from here." I had no inclination to invite him in. As pleasing to the eye as he was, I was not well versed in small talk. I avoided it actually.

"You sure?" He sets the box down just inside the door. "It's no problem."

"I'm sure. Thank you again."

"Of course." He smiled, turning to leave, but doubled back as he pulled something from his back pocket.

"Oh, this had fallen out of one of the boxes. Almost forgot, here you go." He extended his hand towards me.

I grabbed it, my eyebrows knitting together.

A little black book.

"Huh, this isn't mine." I say, more to myself than him. I quickly scan the smooth black moleskin before meeting his eyes. A frown marred the space between his brows, confusion behind his eyes.

"That's odd, it definitely fell from your box."

I had an affinity for collecting books, of all genre's. I also remembered every book I'd ever gotten and this certainly wasn't one of them.

Later that night, after unpacking the bulk of my things, I study the book. Which honestly resembled more of a sketchbook than anything, as there was nothing written on the inside or outside.

"Where did you come from little book?" I ponder.

Soon enough I'd find out exactly where it came from.

I woke to darkness and the scent of smoke. It was faint, like a shadow in overcast. I'd left my windows open, hoping the breeze would cool my room down during the night.

Maybe someone was smoking outside.

I check my phone for the time. Three AM.

The witching hour.

A shudder racks through my body at the sudden intrusive thought. A wisp of air dances across my back, it feels measured and precise in its course.

I was half joking when I thought this place was haunted earlier, but as the night moves on I'm starting to think that wasn't such a far fetched conclusion.

I get up to grab a glass of water, hoping to clear the sudden fog in my brain. However, something flickers in the corner of my eye.

The little black book was on fire. But like the air on my back there was a preciseness to it. My eyes grow wide as I get closer, trying to decipher exactly what the sizzling flame has come from.

When I arrive at the corner table I'd set it on I see a jumble of letters forming beneath the haze of fire. Instantaneously, the flames ignite higher, forcing me to step back. Just as abruptly, they vanish, leaving scorched words behind.

I lean in hesitantly, wary of whether the flames would arise again.

CREATIO EX NIHILO

Latin. I'd taken a year of the dead language in high school but retained little to no knowledge of the obscure dialect.

With a slightly shaky disposition, I snatch my phone off my bed, typing the words into my internet browser.

"Creation out of nothing." I mumble. My gaze moved back to the book. I was vibrating with anxiety, but something else as well. Curiosity.

"Curiosity killed the cat you know?" A soughing voice murmured inside my head.

"Yeah, well satisfaction brought it back." I find myself saying aloud. I go to the book as if an energy was drawing me in, tempting me with a fate unknown.

My stomach tightens with uncertainty, but more so I feel compelled by the little black book. Without a vestige of certainty I find myself opening it.

A single line of scorching bright words appear in Latin.

Astra inclinant, sed non obligant.

"The stars incline us, they do not bind us." Befuddlement slashes through me as I translate the words on my own now. A sense of foreboding overtakes me as letters continue to appear in the book, glowing like molten lava.

"Make a wish, but don't be remiss or this book will bind you." The Latin becomes fluent as I interpret it, a sense of familiarity lurking in the shadows of my mind.

I drop the book and back away, hitting the wall with a thud. The only sensible explanation was that I was dreaming. How else could I suddenly be able to read Latin? I’d barely passed the unnecessary elective. Although I'd never had the forethought to be aware that I was dreaming and not wake up.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up." I chanted, shaking my head violently. When nothing came of it and the little black book still appeared, I sank to the floor in a heap of perplexity.

The whisper of wind returned, only this time it wound its way around my neck, a soft purr of words sweeping past my ear.

"Wish. Wish now." It was so faint I had to strain to hear it. Time warped for a moment, sending me into an alternate reality where a little black book, appearing out of what seemed like thin air, could grant wishes to those plagued by it.

The thought was illusory of course, but what if?

The cats come to collect.

A moment passed. A decision was made.

Don't be remiss or this book will bind you.

What did that even mean? Wars were waged in my mind for quite sometime before I arrived upon an idea for a wish.

Money.

Money. Who didn't need it in today's world? But what amount was justifiable?

A thousand? Two? Ten?

"Twenty thousand." The voice inside my head murmured. An inconspicuous amount of money to some. To others it may change their life. How the money would appear though was a mystery? Would it fall from the sky or materialize out of thin air?

The only way to know for sure is to make the wish!

And so I did.

The way the air appears and grazes across my skin feels methodical, a sure path across my body. In its wake is a burning sensation. Pure, like the sun beating down upon you on a hot day. In moments it became clear what the inconspicuous winds intentions were. Like lightening striking its insentient victim, my wrist caught fire. The flame small and precise. I'd only felt pain like that once before, a distant memory not worth conjuring for comparison.

When the flames extinguish I'm left with a smell so thick I could taste it. It was nauseating but sweet. The fresh slash in my skin is small and unobtrusive, akin to a tally mark. As mind boggling as the experience was, it felt right. Like the stars aligning in the sky.

A knock sounds at my front door. My hand flies to my throat as a shiver runs through my body. I'm slow to answer it, unsure of what awaits on the other side. A warm breeze passes over me as I crack the door to find nothing but an empty hallway. I push the door closed, leaning my back against it as the warmth wraps around me. As disquieting as I felt, comfort niggled in the air.

I was breathless by the time I made it back to my room. A heavy ambivalent feeling tickled the back of my neck. My eyes move to where I left the book, but it was gone. In its place was a single stack of hundred dollar bills. Twenty thousand dollars.

I drag in a ragged breath, eyes wide with bewilderment. Behind that bewilderment though, hiding in the depths of my inner self, rings a reticent excitement.

Welcome to the world of the little black book.