three interlocking circles burst apart and the cover flew open, fanning sheaths of thick paper in a blurred arc. Both Danni and her mother gasped and stumbled back.
A dark and fecund odor filled the room, filled Danni. She tried to turn away from it, tried to take another step back, but now she couldn’t move. Her eyes were fixed on the whirring pages, her mind enthralled by the creamy blur of their movement. What was this book?
The pages stopped, leaving the book opened in the middle, spread like something vulgar, something unnatural. She was shaking her head even as the first drop of red seeped from the binding to the polished surface of the table. Like honey, thick and sticky, it inched to the edge and then dripped over the side, following the intricate maze of the trellis before spilling to the floor.
Once again, the air became too heavy to breathe. Ripping her horrified gaze from the dripping wetness, Danni gave a surging mental push against the weight bearing down on her, gaining just a small space this time.
The red pool grew, bubbling up from the open spine and spreading out. It was blood, she thought. The tabletop was covered and now the liquid poured over the edge, faster and faster, spilling to the floor in a crimson tide. In moments it would be at her feet, and then it would touch her like the sticky tendrils of an inescapable nightmare. She wanted to scream. She needed to scream.
The pressure continued to build. Around her—inside her. It pressed against her ears, bore down on her heart, on her empty lungs, on her thoughts. She was past the point of distinguishing between reality and vision. This was happening and she couldn’t stop it. This time, there was no way out.
Blackness clouded her sight, and she knew if she didn’t breathe soon she was going to faint, right here, right now. And if she succumbed there would be nothing to keep that ooze from covering her feet, her legs, pouring into her mouth, her mind.
Danni took a deep, gasping breath.
Like a trigger, the sound of it shot across the room. The pages of the book began to fan again, furiously thrumming backward, forward, creating a noxious wind that lifted her hair and stung her cheeks.
Danni did the only thing she could. She loosed the scream trapped beneath her fear and hurled it across the room. She felt it ripping, tearing, shredding the invisible wall around the terrible book and then it broke free.
The book slammed shut with a bang that resounded, and the spiraled knots of the lock seemed to rush forward and join, mating with crude and sinister glee before it caught with a metallic grind.
Before she could take a second breath the book vanished, then the table, then the room. She was standing in the pouring rain with her mother again, and the air was pure and sweet. She gulped it in, staring at her mother as shock or cold or both wracked her body.
“What was it? I don’t understand what it was,” she tried to say.
But the words were garbled, swallowed by the enormity of her fear. A look of agony pulled her mother’s features and she began to fade. “No,” Danni cried.
But in an instant she was gone.
Danni stared at the foreign land and suddenly the blaze of emotion turned from terror to frustration and anger. “What now?” she yelled at the sheep, the clouds. “What am I supposed to do now?”
And then a word took shape in Danni’s head, like a sprout pushing from the black earth, becoming a green shoot and then a blooming flower of understanding. It was followed by another and then more.
Fennore. The Book of Fennore.
“What is it?” Danni breathed. “What do you want me to do? I don’t even know where I am. Do you hear me? Where the hell am I?”
No one answered, her mother didn’t reappear, but another trembling image poked up from a dark furrow in her mind. It wavered before snapping into focus.
Home.
This terrible place was home.
Chapter Four
T HE Book of Fennore, Danni learned via the seemingly endless web
A dark and fecund odor filled the room, filled Danni. She tried to turn away from it, tried to take another step back, but now she couldn’t move. Her eyes were fixed on the whirring pages, her mind enthralled by the creamy blur of their movement. What was this book?
The pages stopped, leaving the book opened in the middle, spread like something vulgar, something unnatural. She was shaking her head even as the first drop of red seeped from the binding to the polished surface of the table. Like honey, thick and sticky, it inched to the edge and then dripped over the side, following the intricate maze of the trellis before spilling to the floor.
Once again, the air became too heavy to breathe. Ripping her horrified gaze from the dripping wetness, Danni gave a surging mental push against the weight bearing down on her, gaining just a small space this time.
The red pool grew, bubbling up from the open spine and spreading out. It was blood, she thought. The tabletop was covered and now the liquid poured over the edge, faster and faster, spilling to the floor in a crimson tide. In moments it would be at her feet, and then it would touch her like the sticky tendrils of an inescapable nightmare. She wanted to scream. She needed to scream.
The pressure continued to build. Around her—inside her. It pressed against her ears, bore down on her heart, on her empty lungs, on her thoughts. She was past the point of distinguishing between reality and vision. This was happening and she couldn’t stop it. This time, there was no way out.
Blackness clouded her sight, and she knew if she didn’t breathe soon she was going to faint, right here, right now. And if she succumbed there would be nothing to keep that ooze from covering her feet, her legs, pouring into her mouth, her mind.
Danni took a deep, gasping breath.
Like a trigger, the sound of it shot across the room. The pages of the book began to fan again, furiously thrumming backward, forward, creating a noxious wind that lifted her hair and stung her cheeks.
Danni did the only thing she could. She loosed the scream trapped beneath her fear and hurled it across the room. She felt it ripping, tearing, shredding the invisible wall around the terrible book and then it broke free.
The book slammed shut with a bang that resounded, and the spiraled knots of the lock seemed to rush forward and join, mating with crude and sinister glee before it caught with a metallic grind.
Before she could take a second breath the book vanished, then the table, then the room. She was standing in the pouring rain with her mother again, and the air was pure and sweet. She gulped it in, staring at her mother as shock or cold or both wracked her body.
“What was it? I don’t understand what it was,” she tried to say.
But the words were garbled, swallowed by the enormity of her fear. A look of agony pulled her mother’s features and she began to fade. “No,” Danni cried.
But in an instant she was gone.
Danni stared at the foreign land and suddenly the blaze of emotion turned from terror to frustration and anger. “What now?” she yelled at the sheep, the clouds. “What am I supposed to do now?”
And then a word took shape in Danni’s head, like a sprout pushing from the black earth, becoming a green shoot and then a blooming flower of understanding. It was followed by another and then more.
Fennore. The Book of Fennore.
“What is it?” Danni breathed. “What do you want me to do? I don’t even know where I am. Do you hear me? Where the hell am I?”
No one answered, her mother didn’t reappear, but another trembling image poked up from a dark furrow in her mind. It wavered before snapping into focus.
Home.
This terrible place was home.
Chapter Four
T HE Book of Fennore, Danni learned via the seemingly endless web
Similar Books
