This book will kill you. This book has already killed you.
You were a deadthing the moment you read these words. You were a deadthing when you opened the first page. You were deadthing the very instant you discovered this story even existed, the very instant you heard somebody whisper its name.
Because if you know about the book, then she knows about you, she sees you. She's watching you right now, can you feel her? She's sitting right behind you. You started to read, and her eyes peeled open and her lips peeled open and she saw you and she's grinning her moon-yellow grin because she knows there's nothing you can do to stop her. She's already killed you.
This book has already killed you.
So it doesn't matter if you read on or not. There's nothing you can do to change things now. One day very soon she'll let you see her. You'll turn your head and she'll be there, sitting beside you. Or she'll open her mouth and let you hear her dusty voice, and you won't be able to unhear her, you won't be able to make it stop. One day soon she'll reach out and scratch her crackboned finger down your cheek, or you'll wake to find her birdnest body pressed against yours, her fingers worrying themselves beneath your skin.
There's nothing you can do to stop her, not now, not ever. But if you want to keep reading then who am I to stop you? Maybe you'll find something I didn't. Maybe you'll find a way to make her unsee you.
You're dead. She's already killed you. This book has killed you. But don't turn around yet. You might have a few hours left-days maybe, if somebody else starts to read this book as well, weeks if the whole world starts reading. But if you see her now, the rot and the horror will eat you up fast.
She sees you. She is on her way.
Don't turn around, deadthing. Don't stop now, deadthing.
- _H Ɔ T I W_03