The Book With No Words Novels & Stories

A well worn, thin strip of leather hangs from the bottom of the book marking a page towards the back. When I turn to the page the air is sucked right out of me. My name in giant golden letters at the top, and the most beautiful, inked image of a wolf howling at the moon takes up most of the space. Down the righthand side, next to the spine are words, laid out like a poem, but I don’t recognise any of them as English. “Haec verba recita ut intus bestiam absolvas. Benedicto lunae revelavi tibi.

Hand on the knob. The house burned behind her, slowly, elegantly. The kind of fire that didn’t destroy, only reminded you what had already been lost. She didn’t look back. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t cry. She turned the handle. The door creaked open. And behind it, There was no sky. No ground, Just a single chair. Facing away from her. Someone sat in it. Reading, A book made of bone. Their voice hummed. And the page they read out loud was Chapter 101.

“Open to chapter three.” I obeyed. Mostly because the look she was giving me suggested violence. "Symbolism", she whispered. I frowned. “What’s symbolism again?” Her eyes widened. “You cannot be serious.” “I’m very serious.” She flipped open the book. “The bluebird represents freedom.” “It’s a bird.” “It’s a symbol.” “It’s still a bird.” She closed her eyes. “This is going to be a very long semester.” “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll carry us.”

Somewhere in a grove no one could map, a book lay open on a flat stone its pages blank save for a single line, written not in ink, but pressed with intention: “Here is where we did not speak and still, the world listened.” A wind turned the page. Then left it open for the next to come.

It was a small book, wrapped in brown leather, and coated with dust. I blew some dust off it, before glancing at the first page. Empty. I turned to second, and it was empty as well, then I skipped a multiple pages, landing in the middle… “Spare none, we hunt to survive, we die if they survive.” I read out the words aloud to myself, “What is this? Some sort of code?” I sighed, letting the book drop—but then a couple of sheets stuck out from some page in the book, and when I took it out, I fixed my eyes on the drawings, and certain familiar words.

Growling I sit up then hold the book "What's your problem, I know you're not fake so why are you hiding " " am not" The moment the book spoke I quickly let it go but it didn't fall off my hand, it remained in the air. " you..... just.... speak" stammer I crawl backward on the bed "How is a book speaking" " what do you expect lady, you have been making so much noise am forced to wake up "Two eyes open, a mouth shape forms then a nose, the book blinks then exhales loudly " It feels great to be awake again, I thought they are no more innocent women for me to eat "

Probably because the shelf was old and creaky; any part of it could be affected if I touch any other. As I raised my hand to put back the book in its shelf, I noticed the book seemed different from the others. It was blue, and had blue stones on it. “hmmm.” I opened the book, and what I read, caught my interest. *MYSTERY WORDS CAN’T BE SEEN, BUT CAN BE BROUGHT TO THE PAGES, BY FIRE.* It was weird, but I turned to the next page, and it was blank. I turned to another, and it was also blank, until I flipped the pages until the end, and realized everything was blank.

or someone? I walk to the desk. It’s painted light blue, with flowers carved into the edges. A bookshelf above holds a small collection of picture books Ruth says I love. But when I take one down, feel the shiny new cardboard cover, turn the pages, it feels alien to me. There’s not a single word on the pages, just pictures of animals, of trees and flowers. Why would I love a book I cannot read? I turn toward the door, and Ruth pops back in. “Oh, you’ve finished your breakfast. Lovely. Would you like anything else?”

But she… didn’t flinch. Lena walked over to a little table display and picked up a thin, cloth-bound book. She walked over to him, holding it out like an offering. *The Quiet Between Lightning Strikes.* A poetry book. The cover was old and nubbly, the title scribbled in fine silver ink. Julian stared at it like it was an alien thing. "What's this?" "A book," she said, smiling. "I told you. I don't—"

It didn't look like a bedroom at all. On the table was a huge pile of books. I had put in a lot of effort to stay at the top of my class because it was only then that I would be able to speak to him. Therefore, I thought that if I just tried harder, Dad would like me. Now, I understood that it was all just wishful thinking. Dad just glanced at the desk before opening the drawer. There was a box with a password lock inside. I became nervous. The box contained my diary, which, in turn, contained secrets that Dad should never see.