The Curse

Chapter 2: Whispered Horrors

I awoke to the insistent blare of my alarm, a harsh intrusion into the fragmenting of a dream I couldn't quite remember. For a moment, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the events of the previous night feeling like a distant echo. The itch, the book—it all seemed like part of the dream I just had in the light of day.

Reluctantly, I swung my legs off the bed, my feet touching the cold floor. The memory of the itch flitted across my mind, but it was quickly dismissed as I remembered the laughable conclusion. "A curse, indeed," I muttered to myself, a half-smile playing on my lips at the absurdity of it all.

The routine of the morning unfolded in its usual, comforting rhythm. A quick shower, a hasty breakfast of whatever was within reach in the fridge, and then I was grabbing my bag, making sure my laptop and notebooks were safely stowed inside. The day promised a long stretch of classes, group projects, and the never-ending pressure of upcoming exams. Yet, amid the familiar chaos of my student life, a part of me remained stuck to the peculiar curiosity of the night before and the book.

Stepping outside, the world greeted me with a brisk chill, the kind that reminded you of the transition between seasons. The campus was coming to life, with students milling about, lost in their thoughts or caught up in animated conversations. The path to my first class took me past the library—a building I had spent countless hours in, yet now it beckoned me with a newfound allure. I paused, considering.

The rational part of me knew I had no time for detours; my schedule was packed enough as it was. Yet, the memory of that old book and the mysterious itch urged me on, coaxing me with promises of unanswered questions. With a glance at my watch, I made a decision. "Five minutes," I told myself. "Just a quick look."

The library welcomed me with the familiar scent of old books and the hushed reverence of a sanctuary for knowledge. I made my way to the section where I had found the book, my steps quickening with a mix of anticipation and a hint of apprehension. What was I hoping to find? Confirmation that the whole episode was just a figment of my overworked imagination? Or perhaps, deep down, a part of me yearned for the opposite—to discover that there was indeed something more, something beyond the ordinary?

The shelf where the book had been was completely empty, not just the one book, but the whole shelf. My heart skipped a beat, then I came to my senses. A small sign indicated that the books were being relocated. My heart sank, then fluttered—an odd, contradictory sensation. Disappointed yet strangely relieved, I stood there for a moment, lost in thought.

The chime of the clock tower broke my reverie, reminding me of the reality of my schedule. With one last look at the empty space on the shelf, I turned and hurried out of the library, the itch at the back of my mind now a persistent whisper.

As I made my way to class, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was stepping into a day that might seem like any other but was, in fact, the beginning of something entirely new.

My best friend greets me with a smile. I can also count on Lily to take my mind off things. 'So then when he rolled me over,' she goes on describing in way too much detail the events she went through last Saturday.

"So anyways, anything new with you?" she asks. I stare at her absent mindedly. A quick impulsive thought tells me to tell her about the book in the library from this weekend, then the rational part of my brain takes over and I decide correctly to not mention it.

"Oh you know, same old same old," I shared lightly.

She nods, accepting my answer at face value, but I can tell there's a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, a silent question about the shadows she must see lurking beneath my façade. We've been friends long enough for her to sense when something's amiss, yet not close enough for me to unveil the depths of my current predicament. How do you explain that your own sanity is fraying at the edges?

The conversation drifts to safer territories—upcoming exams, weekend plans, the mundane minutiae of university life that used to fill my days. I feel like I'm playing a part, my part includes laughing and nodding at the appropriate moments, but it feels like I'm watching myself from a distance, a spectator in my own life, but I guess dissociating isn't exactly new to me.

Lunch ends with promises to catch up again soon, and we part ways, her back to the rhythm of her daily life and me to mine. As I walk back to my dorm, the campus around me feels different, charged with a subtle energy that I can't place.

Tonight, I decide, will be the night I begin my search for the book. The library should still have the book.

My phone buzzes with a message from another friend, a reminder of an assignment due tomorrow.

With a sigh, I shift my focus to the task at hand, the academic demands of my life. I remind myself of my priorities. I turn to get started with my assignment, the book can wait, if it's even still in the library.

As the day fades into evening, and shadows stretch long across the campus, I can't shake the feeling that I'm standing on the brink of something monumental.