Turning Page Novels & Stories

The light moved in its slow and reliable arc across the concrete and touched the edge of the book I was holding and I turned the page. I turned the page. I was not holding my breath. I did not know I had noticed this until I had noticed it. I put the book down. Not dramatically. Not in the specific and effortful way of a woman setting down a thing she has been holding with great care. I put it down in my lap with the unremarkable motion of a person who has been reading and has stopped and has placed the book where books go when you stop reading them. I looked at the pool.

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.

It contained only one sentence: “When the final page is turned, the knowledge will leave the page and enter the reader. There is no turning back.” My hands shook. I stared at the last page blank except for a single sigil in the center, glowing faintly in the candlelight. It wasn’t ink. It was light. Living light. I took a breath and exhale.Then I turned the page. The moment my finger touched the corner, the book screamed with sensation. A surge of energy broke through me, white-hot and blinding. It poured into my eyes, my mouth, my bones. I felt my memories unravel and reweave, my thoughts multiply, my very breath split into a thousand threads.

A boy’s voice is tinged with disdain as he speaks in a low whisper. Ignoring the sting of the words, I move to the next shelf, determined to finish my task. I run my fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the textured wear of countless hands that have held them before. I place another card in front of an ancient copy of Turned By Moonlight, the pristine white of the new card stark against the yellowed pages.

When the music started, I stripped down to my underwear and forced my body to move stiffly. "Good! Very good!" Mr. Newton laughed conceitedly. From the corner of my eye, I saw Timmy holding up his phone and filming me. Meanwhile, Jessica clapped along and cheered. - The next day, the company held its quarterly meeting. "Next, it's my turn to give my work report. Please look at the screen," Timmy said as he glanced at me with a faint smirk on his face. All of a sudden, the conference room suddenly went into a riot.

⸻ 🌙 The Lost Pages The book slowly opened. 📖 ⸻ Its pages fluttered wildly. ⸻ Most were empty. ⸻ Destroyed. ⸻ Gone forever. ⸻ Yet one page remained intact. ⸻ One final page. ⸻ One hidden page. ⸻ A page nobody had ever seen before. ⸻ The page that existed before Memory Zero. ⸻ 😨 ⸻ 🌙 Before The First Question The page glowed softly. ✨ ⸻

Turn back. Then the understanding. The fortnight was not there. Not scribbled over. Not inked out. Not torn, either, in the way a hurried person tears, leaving a ragged shoulder of paper standing proud of the spine. Cut. Somebody had taken a blade to that book and removed the pages one at a time, close in against the binding, and had done it well enough that the book still closed flat. You had to open it wide and hold it toward the window to see the stubs at all.

At two in the morning, my sister, Paige Boyce, paid men to smash up my barbecue stand. I fought to make them stop, ignoring the embers that scorched blisters into my skin as they landed. It was the first time in my life I'd ever raised my voice at her. "After Mom and Dad died in that plane crash, this stand paid for four years of your college education and helped you become a flight attendant for Golden Crest Airlines," I said. "Are you really going to destroy the only thing keeping us alive?" Something flickered in her eyes, a flash of reluctance, but she steeled herself and scoffed. "I've told you a hundred times to get rid of this dump of a stand, and you never listen. Do you want m

Ruth I felt the whole room tilt. I'd like to say I was glad. It was a very large number, and I'd waited twenty years for a person to read a page of mine. But I stood by the laptop with my sister's hand in mine, and I heard a faint, rising, rustling sound I'd never heard before. It came from the tree. It was the pages. Every pale green leaf along the bough was trembling. Not in a draft. They were turning, one after another, fast and slow, as though thousands of invisible hands were paging through them.

She built it together with her husband Magus McNaire…. This caught Dawn’s attention. She went down on her bead, placed the book into the side table, and flipped it to the next page to continue reading. She creased her forehead when she noticed that the next page was torn out. “No. This can’t be happening,” she silently whispered while shaking her head, disapprovingly. The strong wind of night air passes through the glass window pane, causing the pages to flip in one second. Dawn made a frustrated groan when she could find the page where she read it. The knock from the door interrupts her from searching the page to look for the interesting one.