Turn The Page Books Novels & Stories

See you amongst the turning pages, Shana Allen

With a distinct smile marked unto her face and lips, she whispers. “The Tarots.” Heeding with her command, the book opens and rapidly flipping its pages as the distinct neon gray light surrounds and illuminating it in exchange. With her eyes that are reading the pages and back in a rapid manner, she snaps her finger as the book stops flipping its pages and slowly changing its neon color into a bright purple one.

I turn on the torch and flip the book to where I stop, which is page eighty-nine, and I continue from where I stop. Why do bad things happen to good people? I ask myself, as I flip open the next page, which is now page 124. The book gets dreadful and as much as I hate suspense; I have to read my way through and I am almost out of the woods with the suspense when I hear a knock on my door.

Unlock it, and the empty pages shall be filled for you to read. I stare at the words for a long time. Read them again. And again. “What does that even mean,” I mutter under my breath. Within me. Unlock it. Empty pages. I flip to the next page. Blank. The one after that. Blank. I start flipping faster now. Page after page after page, all clean, untouched, mocking me with their silence. No hidden ink. No symbols. No diagrams. Nothing. Just white paper. My grip tightens on the book until my knuckles ache.

The ancient book flipped violently on its own, pages turning like a storm until it stopped—on a blank page. Blood seeped from the center. One word appeared: Run.

Not yours. NO AUTHOR TRAPPED ETERNALLY, I wrote on the title page. The book snapped shut in my hands like it had been slammed from the inside. Two volumes down the row jerked off the shelf and spun in the air, pages riffling wildly as if panicked. Loose leaves broke free, fluttering like frantic birds before bursting into static.

I brеathеd, еyеs fluttеring shut. That did it. I thrеw thе blankеts off and rеachеd into thе drawеr undеr my bеd. My toy was thеrе, tuckеd bеtwееn a fеw old books I prеtеndеd to rеad. It was pink. I pullеd my pantiеs off and sat back, sprеading my lеgs slowly. “Just a quick onе,” I whispеrеd.

Satisfied, I was about to close it when something caught my attention. The page numbers. I frowned. Page forty-three... Followed by... Forty-six. I turned back. Then forward again. Forty-three. Forty-six. The pages hadn't fallen out. They had been cut out. Cleanly. Almost professionally. I ran my fingertips lightly along the inner binding. There was no mistaking it. Several sheets had once been there. Now... They weren't. I sat back slowly. Perhaps... It had simply been damaged. Books this old were bound to lose pages eventually.

Next thing I know she'll be telling me she knows how to fly. "Open it," Alice says, handing the book over. I crack the book in the middle, but... the page is blank. Flipping through the tome, I find that every page is that way. "What am I supposed to do?" I ask. “It’s blank.” "For now," Alice says. The page suddenly begins to fill with words. "It's writing itself," I say, in shock. How is this possible? I turn the book over and study its spine, looking for the mechanical trick. It looks like any other book, though.

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.