Have you ever heard about the story of the cursed book?

Once in a while, a book would appear in random bookstores or libraries. The unnecessarily luxurious cover was made of soft velvet and decorated in golden ink. 

Why did people call the book ‘cursed’ when its appearance was the farthest from it?

It was simply because each person who had read the book mentioned different titles from the other, with full conviction, as if the title they mentioned was the real one.

— and many others. Some were very ridiculous, and some were lovely to the eyes and ears.

But the bizarre thing wasn't just the infinitely changing title.

The content?

No. The story was a standard romance fantasy trope with a predictable plot line, like another copy of a typical story of the same genre that one could find in any bookstore.

Was it the velvet cover?

The style of the cover was uncommon, but couldn't be said to be unprecedented or bizarre.

In another word, no aspect of the book could be called odd — at first glance.

A comprehensive summary from the testimonies regarding ‘The Cursed Book Incident’ had been attempted, on the grounds that every bizarre event needed to be researched for them to be understood in an academic sense. The result was as follows:

First, was that no matter how boring and predictable the story was, no one could ever stop reading it, until they reached the end of the story. They described the situation as if being under a spell, enthralled by what should be a very basic story without any twist, like a straight, honest line.

Second, everyone who had read it had either fallen into delusion of living inside the book or gone crazy for an unknown reason, believing that they descended from a lineage of nobility. 

And third, there was an uncertain and inarticulate testimony — unintelligible, one might say, given by one of the readers. During the night after they had read the book, they would experience a long, vivid lucid dream, in which they watched how the plot of the story unfolded like they were watching it in reality.

The summary itself was baffling and hard to believe. And it made one wonder whether the book and testimonies were just a nonsensical story created by a delusional disorder patient.

It could be safely concluded that one should never read a random book that appeared out of thin air, especially one without a barcode.

And never, ever, complied with anyone who told you to read the book. Even if they were shoving the book in front of your nose. And even more so — if those ‘people’ happened to be deceitful and boisterous phantoms.

— an excerpt from “A Complete Guide and Analysis of Bizarre Events and Ghost Stories", by Elias Crowley.

***

"Finally finished," Elias muttered as he closed his laptop.

The arduous task to write an analysis of bizarre events, given by his ‘respected’ professor, was finally completed after 2 and a half months of non-stop writing — or typing, to be more accurate. And his head was still aching from arranging hundreds of thousands of words about things that he so disliked and found ridiculous.

He stood up from his desk and glanced at the old clock on the wall. 

It was 6 p.m.

'No wonder.'

Elias sighed as the temperature in his room seemed to have dropped a few degrees compared to this afternoon. One would argue that it was normal for the temperature to drop, considering that it was autumn — right, if only it were truly caused by the weather.

[Hey, Elias!]

A translucent, ghostly figure appeared in front of Elias, whose expression had turned into a scowl, fed up by the uninvited ‘guests’ who seemed to have treated his house like a community centre for the dead.

[You annoying guy! Why do you look so upset when you see me, huh?]

The formless figure slowly took shape, becoming a teenager in his early adolescence, probably 12 or 13 years old — his age when he died.

[Anyway, the old hag sent me here to ask whether you have read the book yet.]

"I have," Elias answered curtly. He was still irritated when recalling the persistent ghost who kept forcing him to read the rumoured cursed book that suddenly appeared in the bookstore near his house.

[Oh, good. I can be spared from her scolding, then.]

Elias's eyebrows furrowed when he heard the boy's remark.

"Are you going to pester me 24 hours per day if I haven't read the book?"

[That was what the old hag told me to do.]

Haa.

' — f*cking old hag.'

Elias swallowed the curse that barely escaped his mouth. For some reason, the vexing, dreadful shriek of the ghost, in the form of an old lady in middle-eastern clothing, seemed to echo in his ears.

Pushing away those thoughts, he grabbed his phone and headed out of his house.

[Where are you going?]

"It's almost dinner time."

It meant that he was thinking of getting some food since it was close to dinner time.

The boy wasn't offended at all by Elias's curt answer or his annoyed expression. It wasn't just a day or two that his dislike of ghosts and supernatural events began. The boy thought that if Elias talked to him kindly one day, he would be terrified and suspect that either something had gone wrong with his head, or that the world was about to be destroyed.

The two, a ghost and a man, passed through the streets, each in their own thoughts. 

[Elias, Elias.]

“What?”

[Hey, don't scowl at me like that! I'm not stealing your stuff!]

“ — don't bother me.”

[But I’m bored! How can you just walk in silence when you have a perfect conversation partner?!]

“....”

This time, Elias stayed quiet. The last thing he wanted was being called mad for having a conversation with the air.

Unexpectedly, their path was blocked by a crowd of people, who appeared to be surrounding a thin, disheveled woman, with broom-like, bristle hair covering her whole face. If Elias didn't recognise her as a human, he would have thought that he had seen a banshee.

Thick, black liquid oozed out from the woman's body, and a dark figure clung onto her back, its eyes flashing red, scanning its surroundings as if it was looking for something — or someone. 

Elias's expression grew colder. What the crowd saw was probably a staggering, strange woman, half-crazy and dirty from head to toe. But to his eyes, it was nothing more than a case of malicious ghost possession.

‘But what does it have to do with me?’

[— Elias, let's go. I have a bad feeling about that ghost.]

Elias didn't scoff nor sneer at the boy's statement. Ordinary ghosts tend to avoid the malicious ones, as the latter feed on other ghosts to become stronger. It would be strange if the boy didn't feel anything about the malicious ghost who possessed the woman.

"I know," Elias replied shortly, his tone less perfunctory than usual.

He turned around, deciding to take another route to go to his favourite restaurant, thinking about what he should have for dinner.

‘Roasted beef would be good for dinner. I should walk faster, for the sake of my pitiful stomach —’

STAB —!

[Elias!]

He shouldn't have gone out today — no, he should've listened to his professor and calculated today's bloody disaster before going out.

Elias stared blankly at the tip of a knife piercing his chest from his back. He seemed to hear people screaming and voices filled with urgency from behind him, along with a strange, shrill laughter.

"[HAHAHAHA! SERVES YOU RIGHT! THAT'S WHAT YOU DESERVE FOR ABANDONING ME!!!]"

" — f*ck."

Elias wanted to curse at this injustice.

‘Why me —?!’

He wasn't even acquainted with this ghost at all!!!

[Elias!]

The boy's crying voice almost deafened his ears.

"I — heard you — stop —"

He wanted to tell the boy to stop crying, but his consciousness began to blur like a fading mist as his blood began to dye the white shirt he was wearing.

His body seemed to have fallen onto the cold asphalt, as he could feel himself slowly losing his senses. In his fading sight and hearing, he could vaguely hear the woman's shriek, telling them to let go, and that she had finally avenged her injustice.

Elias wanted to sneer.

Injustice? Yeah, sure.

On the wrong person.

It was a short 21 years of his life. And truth to be told, he didn't have much attachment to the world — save for his grumpy, tenacious old professor.

'Ah, I forgot to tell the professor that I've finished the analysis — well, maybe he'll find out about it later through the police.'

He wondered what his professor's reaction to his death would be. 

Would he be sad? Would his death make him grieve? 

Elias hoped so. At least, there would be one living person in this world who would mourn his death. 

[Eli —!]

The boy's resounding voice began to fade away.

.

.

.

Why did the pain in his chest suddenly disappear?

He tried to move his body.

'What was this strange sensation —?'

"Anyone —?"

A hoarse and cracked voice, seemed to belong to an adolescent boy who had just experienced puberty, escaped his mouth.

Almost immediately, he opened his eyes and hastily scanned his surroundings.

It was a dazzling and opulent room, more luxurious than the one he had seen in a mansion he visited during one of his study tours.

His feet dashed to a large mirror standing at one corner of the room. 

Instead of the appearance of an ordinary brown-haired man with tousled hair and a stiff, cold face — being reflected in the mirror — what he saw was a dark-skinned boy of average height, who appeared to be in his 14 or 15. His hair was dark brown and his eyes were like the glowing ambers that he once saw in a museum, full of vitality. And on his forehead, was a — birthmark? A single red dot in a perfect, diamond shape, like it was stamped onto the forehead right after birth.

His gaze moved to the clothes he was wearing — a set of long-sleeved tunic and trousers, with some embellishments on the collar and sleeves, similar to the one he saw in a fantasy book illustration.

"Bloody — damn it —"

He spewed out more curses, while knowing that what he did was just a futile and pointless complaint.

Possession.

A case he had encountered many times, almost like a monthly occurrence.

But this time, he was the one experiencing it.

[HUAAAA…..! Hic… hic… sob….]

“ — hey, can't you stop? I’m tired of listening to your crying,” the boy sighed wearily, pressing his aching temple. If this went on, he felt he would be diagnosed with high-blood pressure before reaching old age.

[But… but…]

“Quiet.”

[.... yes.]

The boy habitually messed with his own hair as he sat cross-legged on a chair, staring at the crying maid in front of him who had been sobbing non-stop for almost an hour.

‘ — what a pain in the neck.’

Even if he disliked noise, he wouldn't be this irritated usually — if only the maid had been a living person.

That was right.

She was a ghost.

And to make the matter worse, she had been constantly getting in his way and making a scene inside his room since early at dawn.

[Oh, my. It seems that the situation is getting out of hand.]

Another ghost floated beside him, her expression calm as she stared at the crying ghost maid.

He could feel his aching head worsening. Just what kind of sin did he commit to make him suffer through this kind of thing even in another world —?

It all started yesterday, when he realised that he had just fallen into another world.

****

Before he could make sense of the situation, a knock was heard from the door.

“Pardon the interruption, sir. This is Gemma. I have come to help with your preparation.”

‘Preparation —? For what?’

He was confused, but it wasn't like he could just dismiss her either.

“ — enter.”

The door opened, revealing a woman in standard maid clothing. Her brown hair was tied neatly in a double braid, and she was wearing a pair of large glasses. The stark contrast between those glasses with her small face made him wonder why they hadn't slipped from her nose yet.

“Good morning, sir. His Lordship had requested that you present at the dining table at 8.30 a.m sharp,” the maid, whose name he recalled was Gemma, spoke in a rigid tone as if she had memorised every word carefully before coming.

‘8.30 a.m? Wait —’

He hurriedly glanced at the clock and saw that it was already 7.50 a.m. —

“Since we only have forty minutes at our disposal, let us make haste.”

As soon as Gemma clapped her hands, a few maids came rushing in. One was holding a basin filled with water and a towel, and the other immediately opened the closet and began to pick his clothing.

Gemma appeared to acutely notice his displeasure and dissatisfaction. Strangely, she wasn't surprised at all, as if nothing was unusual.

‘Does this guy also not like dressing up and socialising? We’re more alike than I thought.’

It took more than twenty minutes for the maids to dress him up. The cravat on his neck felt stuffy, and the clothing itself was quite heavy, whether it was the fabric or because of the decorations.

“Sir, please do not make a mess of your attire.”

His fingers, which were about to loosen the cravat, paused.

Unlike the other maids, Gemma appeared to not bother hiding her dissatisfaction and annoyance at his actions. Did she have quite a prominent position among the servants — or was it just his position in the family wasn't that good?

In the end, he decided to swallow this matter and put it aside. With not many clues in hand, he couldn't afford to make a hasty judgment.

“Please follow me.”

Without saying anything, he followed her along, through the luxurious and bright hallways and stairs, until they arrived in front of a huge door.

“His Lordship, Her Ladyship, Lord Leonard, and Lady Rachel have been waiting.”

The door opened and a similarly luxurious dining hall appeared in his sight. At the head of the table, was a man with flaxen hair with blue eyes as deep as the sea. His gestures, along with his neat moustache, gave a soothing yet distant atmosphere.

To the left, was a woman with slightly tanned skin. Her hair was of a similar dark brown shade of his, while her eyes were dull amber. Her expression was unpleasant — undeniably — as she glanced at him, as if he had stolen something precious from her.

He was puzzled. If his conjecture was true, the woman should be the mother of this body, yet she appeared to loathe him so, as if she had given birth to a rival and enemy.

To the left side of the woman, was a little girl who seemed to have inherited all of her father's genetics. Flaxen hair and blue eyes with a lovely appearance. It was obvious that she was loved and doted on.

Lastly — he glanced at the man on the right side. He stood out from the other three, with his dazzling blonde hair and blue eyes. A stereotypical appearance of nobility, in his opinion. Although the man was evidently smiling, there was a hidden scorn and dislike in his eyes.

"You're late," the woman, presumed to be his mother, spoke in a tone as cold as a blizzard.

"Please don't be upset, mother. Iskandar probably just stayed up until night studying shamanism. He's very diligent, after all," the blonde-haired man chimed, seemingly wanting to defuse the situation.

But his words only served to make the woman angrier.

"Iskandar Barman! Have you got no shame? How dare you make your parents and siblings wait for you —"

"Enough."

With a single word from the flaxen-haired man at the head of the table, the hall fell into silence.

"Sit down."

He nodded and took a seat beside the blonde-haired man. It was an unconscious movement — a muscle memory ingrained into the body, perhaps?

The servants entered and moved the dishes from the trolley onto the table. The breakfast was quite sumptuous and lavish, consisting of toasted bread slices with butter, omelette, grilled oysters and thinly-sliced bacon, stewed apple, and some fresh, autumn fruits.

He ate his food in silence while covertly listening to their conversation. As of now, he had already concluded his position in this household, and the dynamic between each member of the house. Not to mention that he also learnt the name of his current identity — Iskandar Barman. He thought that it was a cool name, and since it was like a variation of his original middle name, Alexander, it was an almost effortless task to quickly be accustomed to it.

"Iskandar is daydreaming again, hehe~"

A lovely, bell-like voice rang, snapping Iskandar out of his thoughts. The owner of the voice was the little girl with flaxen hair. Unlike their mother or older brother, she didn't seem to harbour any hostility towards Iskandar.

Iskandar was uncertain, whether he should respond to the girl or keep silent. He hadn't fully grasped the previous Iskandar's personality either, and having someone doubted his identity was the first and foremost thing he should prevent from happening.

Eventually, he decided to just give her a glance before responding with a common denial, " — I don't."

Fortunately, the little girl appeared to not mind his brief response, as she just shrugged it off without any signs of offense. But of course, it went differently for his mother, who shot him a glare as if he had made an almost irreparable mistake.

'Ridiculous.'

This kind of extreme partiality wasn't that uncommon for him, as he happened to encounter this kind of situation quite a few times, and some of the stories he heard from the ghosts — who never ceased to irritate him unless he listened to them — mostly depicted partiality they suffered from during their lives. Back then, he already thought that it was ridiculous. Who knew that when he came to experience it himself, the situation felt more ludicrous than ever.

And so, he decided to focus on his plate — until he suddenly felt a chill creeping to his spine.

Almost dropping his fork from the shock, he cast a glance and noticed from their expressions that none had felt the chill except for him.

'I have a bad feeling — as expected, my luck has been worse lately. I should've made an amulet to ward off this bad luck —'

Before Iskandar could finish his laments, as if shattering his last wishful thinking, a translucent yet vivid figure of a lady appeared behind his father's chair, calm and poised, as if she had belonged there from the beginning.

'Goodbye, my short, peaceful time.'

As his professor had said repeatedly, he was never destined to have a peaceful life — only now did he surrender to his unfortunate fate.