Little Black Book

Little Black Book

I should have never read it—that little black book. A book filled with promise and ambition, yet in the end, offers only sorrow and remorse. Reading it felt like a dream, but now as I find myself alone, in a room devoid of light, tied to a chair, unable to move, I realize that some dreams are living nightmares. So how did I get here?

It took place yesterday. I received another rejection letter in the mail. My goal is to become a writer, but the universe and I are not on the same page. Discouraged and defeated, I had given up. I can no longer endure the torment and strain of putting my heart and soul into a story, only to discover, my work is not good enough. I wanted to share this newfound revelation with my best friend, Diana, hoping she can provide me with comfort by putting my mind at ease. Diana is a great friend.

She and I have known one another for years. Diana and I attended university together, and no one has been more supportive of my writing career than her. After graduating, she moved in with her boyfriend, but we were very fortunate only to live a few blocks away from one another. Needless to say, it was routine for me to take a walk and ponder life before I reached her apartment building. So, tonight was no different.

Once Diana buzzed me into her building, she witnessed the tears running down my face and met me with a warm embrace. It was what I needed. Diana always knew what to say without saying it. A precious gift she was known to possess. As we sit on the couch, sharing stories while drinking wine, I am reminded that rejection and setbacks can open doors to something far more significant. Diana’s wisdom, no less, but it makes sense. And it’s not just the wine talking. I believe it rings true.

Before I leave her place, she gives me a box of old literature to comb through. She informed me that the box was full of some of my favorite authors, and hopefully, I could find that spark of inspiration. I thanked her and began my quest back home. The journey felt like any other, except I was a little drunk. Although, the cheap red cabernet did make my stroll feel less monotonous. Once I arrive home, I sit at the kitchen table and briefly scan the box and its contents. I discovered many literary classics; however, there was one book in particular that caught my eye. It was a little black book. Inscribed on the front cover were the letters "F.J." and nothing more.

This little black book is not exactly what I am accustomed to reading. I have come across similar books before, filled with romantic suitors' details, accompanied by phone numbers. Some would view this methodology as grotesque. But who am I to judge? However, upon opening this little book, I find myself in awe. Within its pages contains a story that would ignite the faintest of flames. The story is well written, and I devoured every word. I was up all night, reading this creative and encouraging book. It was brimming with mystery and drama. This little black book gave me a brand-new lease on life, and one thing is for sure, I have to find the author of this remarkable story. As I reached for my phone to text Diana, I noticed that the book's very last page held an address. I googled the address instead and found that it was for a residence located a few miles outside the city. I wanted to notify Diana of my findings, but I knew she would disapprove of my decision to pursue this further. She would convince me to stay home and avoid doing something reckless. Looking back now, I should have done just that.

As I approach the house just outside the city, I find that no one is home. It is entirely vacant. The house is for sale. I see the sign in the front yard. It looks as if I was too late. The previous owners were gone. I surveyed the area, looking for any remnants of the prior occupants, and found nothing. I attempted to open each door, but they were locked—all except those of the cellar. The padlock was left unlocked, but there was no one in sight. I hesitated before I opened the doors. Diana would say, “this is a mistake. Turn around. Go home," but the adventurer in me loves to see where a story will lead. Suddenly, I find myself in a cold, dark basement. It's quite chilling. It reminds me of something out of a horror movie. I examine my surroundings and discover the steps that lead up to the rest of the house. I grab the staircase rail and stumble slightly. It is loose and unstable, so I take my time. Finally, I make my way upstairs and come across the kitchen, which has a modern feel. The entire house has an open floor layout. It reminds me of my family home. There are cobwebs in every corner of this estate, and it looks as though no one has been here in months.

Trying to avoid detection, I quickly tour the house and examine each room. I inspect them thoroughly. I have no idea what I am looking for, but I know there is a clue somewhere. However, after a while, I began to feel disheartened. I was about to give up hope until I found a room that leads to the attic. The room was well hidden and blended in with the wall. As I went up the steps, I could feel that chill I once felt when I was standing in the basement. It was an ominous feeling. Again, I should have left that house, but I was full of intrigue. Reaching the attic, I discovered a desk and a typewriter on top of it. I imagine the many stories written on this precious piece of machinery. I sit at the desk and find that one of the bottom drawers is locked. I survey the room carefully but conclude that there is no key in plain sight.

Entranced by the typewriter, I move to bring it closer for a better look. Upon executing the act, I notice that there is a key underneath it. I pick up the key and do not hesitate. I quickly open the drawer, which was once locked, but I found something that I would have never expected, to my surprise. There was a black duffle bag with an excessive amount of money in it. Why was this here? Where did it come from? Did the owners leave it? Was this little black book more of a scavenger hunt? These were the questions that raced through my mind. I am unsure of what to do. Should I take all the money, some of the money, or leave it and walk away? I had almost reached a decision, but then I heard the faint voices of two individuals at the bottom of the steps. I could not discern who they were until they reached the top of the attic and we made eye contact. “Diana? Johnathan?” Why were they here? What is going on? “Diana, what?” And before I could finish my question, Diana replies, "Lauren, you should not be here. And you found the money? Oh, my God. I’m so, so sorry.”

What is she sorry about? "What the hell is going on, guys?" Johnathan looks at Diana and says, "you know what must be done." I answer, "what's that?" And before I can utter another word, Diana rushes toward me; we scuffle, then everything goes black. I awaken and find myself in this unfortunate predicament, as previously stated. I cannot move, because I am tied to a chair, not knowing whether I will live or die. What started as an extraordinary quest for rediscovery has turned into a troublesome journey of misery and angst. All this because of a damn book. A little black book.