Episode 2: The Book That Should Not Be Read

VANSHIKA POV:

I still remember the fire.

Even after waking up, even after convincing myself it’s just a dream, the images never fully leave.

Some nights I forget it for a while… but it always returns.

Like it is waiting for me.

I sat up slowly, pressing my hand against my forehead.

The same dream again.

The burning place.

The crying voices.

And that feeling I can never explain.

I exhaled.

“Just a nightmare,” I told myself, like I always do.

But it never feels like one.

Later that day, I went to work.

After shifting to the hills of Uttarakhand, my life had become quieter.

The air was cleaner here, colder too.

Dehradun had this strange calm...like everything hidden beneath its surface had learned to stay silent.

My job as a forensic historian and researcher kept me surrounded by old things.

Records.

Files.

Stories people forgot.

Or chose to forget.

That day, I was assigned to check an old storage section in the archive building.

Dust. Silence. Rows of forgotten history.

I didn’t think anything of it at first.

Until my eyes stopped.

A book.

It was placed slightly deeper between two heavy records, like it didn’t want to be found.

Something about it felt different.

I pulled it out carefully.

It was thick, much heavier than it looked.

Dust covered it, but not evenly.

Like it had been touched less… or protected more.

The cover wasn’t normal.

It wasn’t just written...it was designed.

Metalwork patterns ran across it, forming symbols I didn’t recognize.

Not decoration.

Something different.

Something old.

I tilted it slightly under the light.

It reflected faintly, even though it looked like it shouldn’t.

“Strange…” I whispered.

Later, I asked the caretaker about it.

He looked uncomfortable the moment I showed him the book.

“That?” he said slowly.

“It’s been here for years. We don’t really know where it came from.”

He hesitated before continuing.

“Experts tried to study it once.”

“And?”

“They couldn’t read it.”

I frowned.

“Language issue?”

He shook his head.

“Not just that. Some of them said they felt unwell after working on it for too long. Headaches. Fever. A few refused to touch it again.”

I stared at the book.

“That sounds like superstition.”

He didn’t argue.

Just sighed.

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s better left alone.”

But I was already looking at it differently.

Not fear.

Curiosity.

That always gets me in trouble.

I didn’t take it home immediately.

Work kept me busy for the next few days.

Reports. Documentation. Case reviews.

But the book stayed in my mind.

Quietly.

Like it was waiting.

On the third day, I went back for it.

The caretaker didn’t stop me.

He just gave me a look I couldn’t quite understand.

Almost warning me..."read it at your own risk."

That night, I brought it home.

I recently got shifted here in Mussoorie.

My room in the hills was quiet.

The windows opened toward distant dark mountains.

The air outside was cold enough to silence everything.

I sat at my desk and placed the book in front of me.

For a long time, I just looked at it.

Then I opened it.

The pages were fragile.

Old.

The moment I turned the first page, I froze.

Symbols.

Lines and markings that weren’t any language I had studied.

But my eyes moved over them easily.

Too easily.

I frowned.

“That’s not possible…”

I turned another page.

The same ease.

Like my mind already understood it before I did.

My chest tightened slightly.

“How am I reading this?”

No answer.

Only silence.

Outside, the wind moved gently through the hills.

Hours passed.

I didn’t realize how long I had been sitting there.

Studying.

Reading.

Following patterns that felt both foreign and familiar at the same time.

Then my phone rang.

The sharp sound cut through the silence.

I startled slightly.

My hand slipped as I reached for it.

A sharp edge from the metal design on the book grazed my finger.

I winced.

But I barely noticed it.

Because something else happened first.

Dizziness.

Sudden.

Heavy.

The room tilted slightly, like the world had shifted under me.

I blinked.

The phone kept ringing.

I tried to focus on it, but the sound felt distant.

Like it didn’t belong in the same place anymore.

My breathing slowed.

“What… is happening?”

The book was still open in front of me.

The symbols seemed darker now.

Or maybe my vision was just failing.

I tried to stand.

My legs didn’t respond properly.

A strange pressure filled my ears.

And then....

Voices.

Not from the phone.

Not from outside.

Somewhere else entirely.

“Fire…”

“Fire…!”

“Run!”

“Take her away!”

My breath caught.

I froze.

The room around me began to fade at the edges.

The phone still rang in the background, but even that felt far away now.

The voices grew louder.

More desperate.

“You must live!”

“Don’t look back!”

“Run!”

My hands trembled.

My vision blurred completely.

The book, the desk, the room.....all of it started slipping away like it was dissolving into darkness.

I tried to hold on.

To something.

Anything.

But it was already too late.

The last thing I heard was the voices repeating again.....

“Fire…”

And then everything went blank.

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