Chương 109: Chapter 109
She never meant to do it. Never meant to look. Never meant to see what she did. But when the phone rang, she didn't hesitate. There was something in the voice, something in the urgency that pulled her in. That cracked the fragile barrier between the world she knew and what lay just beyond it.
The call came on a quiet Tuesday. It started like any other, her father's voice calling out, distant, but still so familiar, a lullaby she'd known her whole life. But it wasn't him. Not really.
"Is this Beth?" The voice rasped, low and unfamiliar.
"Who is this?" She stood in her apartment, in front of the window that overlooked the street. Rain slid down the glass in long, slow lines.
"Do you remember that book?" the voice asked, barely a whisper. "You don't understand yet, but you will. Do you remember the book?"
Beth didn't know what he was talking about. The book? She had a thousand books. But something about the voice—it pulled at her, like a rope tightening around her chest. The need to know something, to understand it, became unbearable.
"You need to come." The voice ended with a sharp click.
She could've put the phone down. Walked away. But it had already begun. The inevitable pull of curiosity—the sort that would drag someone into things best left forgotten. Without thinking, Beth was already moving toward the door.
She never looked back.
The building was old, worn down in a way that felt suffocating. The peeling wallpaper, the creaky floors, the musty smell of forgotten memories—it all led her through narrow hallways, as though the walls themselves were trying to swallow her whole. The door she came to was dark wood, warped at the edges, as if it had been waiting for her to come back. But she wasn't ready. She wasn't prepared.
When she opened it, it was worse than any of the nightmares she'd ever had.
The room was full of books. But not the kind of books she knew. These were... different. They weren't just on shelves. They were scattered across the floor, piled high, covering every available surface. Stacks that had no order. No pattern. Just a mess. And in the middle of it, like the eye of some sick storm, was the book.
The book.
Beth didn't have to touch it to know what it was. She didn't have to open it. She already knew the cost of it. The price. She could feel the wrongness of it crawling under her skin. A gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't explain it. She just knew.
But still, her fingers reached out. They hovered just above the cover. Something about it—it felt like it was calling to her. It had a life of its own. As though it wanted to be opened.
When she did, everything inside the room seemed to freeze. The air didn't just still—it felt like it collapsed in on itself. For a moment, there was nothing. No sound. No movement. Just a suffocating pressure.
Then the clock on the wall began to tick. One second, then another. Slow at first. But then faster, faster. Each tick a hammer against her skull, each second falling in her chest like a stone. She wanted to close the book. She tried. Her hands refused to obey. The sound grew louder, faster, until it was the only thing she could hear.
Time. She had broken it. She had torn something. And now it was chasing her.
It didn't start at first. It didn't hit her all at once. No, it took its time. Each second that passed felt like a separate eternity, stretching out before her like a path she couldn't escape. And the faster it moved, the slower she seemed to get.
She knew she had to leave. But when she moved to the door, the floor beneath her feet was wrong. It tilted. It warped. It felt like it was about to give out beneath her. Every step she took was slower than the last. The more she tried to hurry, the more she seemed to be sinking. The walls closed in, and the light in the room flickered, bending in ways that shouldn't have been possible.
Beth turned back toward the book. She tried to run, but it was as if she was walking through thick mud. The seconds stacked up behind her, following her with increasing urgency. She could feel the weight of them on her neck, pressing down on her back. It was almost unbearable.
Then, from behind her, came the sound of footsteps. Quiet at first, like someone walking in the distance, but they grew louder. Closer. Beth's heart thundered. It wasn't just the sound of footsteps. It was the sound of something chasing her.
Her breath came fast, shallow. She couldn't think. She couldn't—
The door. She reached the door. But it was locked. It was always locked. No matter how hard she pulled, it didn't give. And behind her, the steps grew louder, closer, more frantic.
She pounded on the door with her fists. She screamed. She begged. But there was no one. No one to help. No one to hear. Time was there, it was coming for her. And it wasn't going to stop.
She turned. The book was still open on the floor, mocking her, its pages fluttering in the nonexistent wind. Her fingers ached to reach for it again. To close it. But she couldn't. She couldn't move.
The door behind her rattled. It shook violently, as if something on the other side was trying to break through. Beth didn't wait to see it. She knew what it was. She could feel it creeping up behind her, its shadow falling over her body. Its fingers grasping at her legs, pulling her back.
With each second, she felt the world she knew become smaller. The walls seemed to close in, tilting at angles that shouldn't have been possible. Time was taking everything from her. It wasn't just moving fast now—it was devouring her, erasing everything she had been. Everything she knew.
Her thoughts felt disjointed, memories slipping like sand through her fingers. Her breath caught. She tried to scream, but the sound was smothered in the flood of seconds.
Time reached her.
It was cold. Unyielding. It took her, pulled her back toward the book with violent speed. Her hands scrambled, but she couldn't fight it. She couldn't even move.
Then, the book snapped shut. The room went silent.
Everything, still. Frozen.
The floor beneath her feet was gone. The walls were gone. The door was gone. The clock was gone. It was just her, standing alone in the dark, her body heavier with every passing second. Each one, a punishment.
Beth had done the impossible. She had touched something she should never have touched. And now, time wasn't just chasing her. It was consuming her.
And somewhere, out there in the dark, she heard it. The ticking. It was back. And this time, it wasn't stopping.
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