Purple Ink

If books could talk, think of what adventures they would whisper to us in the darkest depths of the night…

I remember the first time I saw that book. My father was working in the study at the top of the bookshop; I hadn't followed him, fearing my foot would pass straight through the rotten wood that made up the spiral staircase. So instead, under the watchful eye of the old, white haired bookkeeper, I wandered along the many shelves.

They stretched from the floor to the ceiling, and the books took up every spare space. I had never seen so many books in such a small room. The space between the bookshelves was very narrow, made all the more limited by the various piles of books on the floor, some reaching up to my knees, most a lot higher. I gasped sharply as I caught my knee on one stack, quickly reaching out a hand to steady it. Cautiously I looked back at the wizened old man who had eyed me so suspiciously before, but he was engrossed in some old tome on the counter, his long, white beard trailing on the frail pages. I smiled. I was free to explore the secrets that lay between the covers of these books. I could enter a new world, but there were so many to choose from! I decided to look around first, and see if anything caught my eye.

I wandered along the tight paths; it was like a forest of books, surrounding me, inviting me in. The gloom from outside seeped through the tiny windows, the last rays of the sun catching the dust motes, illuminating their dainty dances, as they rode the faintest wisps of air.

Slowly, I traced my fingers along the spines of the books, stroking the rough covers, feeling the creases in the spines, fingering the titles embossed on them. Then something seemed to draw my eyes to a dark corner, it was almost as though something was beckoning me, inviting me forwards, closer, closer. Squinting against the darkness, I crouched down to see what lurked in the shadows.

"Hm, Pride and Prejudice, oh poor thing," I gingerly picked up the book, its broken back causing it to flop helplessly in my hands. I gently wiped the dust from it, and placed it on one of the higher shelves, where hopefully someone would see it and take pity on it. I turned back to the dark corner, and looked to see what else I could make out in the murkiness. I was sure that there was still something in there, some deep feeling inside me tried to convince my mind that I was missing something, but in the little light that existed in the room, there was nothing that I could see.

Sighing, I put my hands on my knees, and started to stand up. "Nothing else here-" I froze. There was something down there, tucked right at the very back. I knelt down again and stretched into the shadows, stifling a scream as I felt something scuttle along my hand. Resisting the urge to snatch my hand back, I grasped the book and pulled my hand out. I wiped my hand on my jeans; I so had the heebie-jeebies now! There was one thing in this whole, entire world that I could not stand – spiders.

Well, bookworms as well I suppose. Nasty little things… I mused. But spiders are definitely the worst of the lot.

I rubbed my hand on my jeans again, wiping away the memory of the…the thing crawling over my hand. I took a deep breath and steadied myself, then finally looked at the book in my hands. The cover was made of some purple material, smooth to the touch, furry almost. There were no words on the cover – no title, no author. But that wasn't unusual. There are a great many books in this world that don't have words on the cover. I opened it and looked at the title page, but it was blank. I frowned.

"So strange."

I shook the book gently, just in case there was a loose piece of paper inside with some clue as to who had written the book, or even the name of this mysterious novel, but nothing came out. I inspected the book all over: the front, the back, the spine, all over the inside, all over the outside, but there was nothing. The story just began with no introduction.

"Really, really strange." I murmured. This book made me uneasy, yet I was excited. What sort of book had no name? And I was certain that, if I hadn't delved into the furthest reaches of the bookshelf, it would have lain there, forgotten, for much longer. I gently opened the book up to the first page, and softly stroked the smooth pages. They rustled slightly beneath my fingertips, I shivered with delight. I tried to read some of the words, but found that the light was so dim now, that I couldn't make anything out.

I had to read more, that much was obvious. I smiled with excitement; I couldn't wait. I span around quickly and started to walk towards the front of the bookshop, staring at the book in my hands, but, in my haste, I bumped into someone standing nearly directly behind me.

"Oh, s-sorry, I didn't see…you…" My voice trailed off into a whisper, as the man in front of me glared evilly. It was the old bookkeeper, I realised that I didn't know his name; I hadn't really been listening when he and my father had been talking. Then his face had had a bored, calm expression, but now it was a completely different affair. Pure menace flickered in his eyes, like flames, all too ready to destroy. One of his hands reached towards me, and rested on my arm, I immediately recoiled from his touch. He didn't show any annoyance to my reaction, but kept one, gnarled hand outstretched, the palm facing upwards, as though he expected to receive something.

"The book," he snarled, his lip curling as he spoke.

"P-pardon?"

"Give me the book." He took a step forwards, I took a step backwards. He leaned closer. So close. Too close. I could feel his warm breath lightly on my cheek, and my heart started hammering in my chest. I was surprised he couldn't hear it, deafening as it was.

"Give me the book." He repeated, taking another step forwards. I stepped backwards again but tripped over one of the piles of books. I whimpered as I hit the ground, and cowered against the shelves. The bookkeeper in front of me sighed, as if tired that I wouldn't give in. He crouched down beside me and slowly extended his hand again.

"Please," he said quietly, all earlier traces of hatred gone from his face, instead weariness enveloped his features. "Please, just give me the book." I knew it was silly but I just couldn't bring myself to hand over the book, it just didn't feel right. I hugged it closer to my chest.

"N-no," I stuttered, "I-I can't." And suddenly the man looked so sad and miserable. It was heart-breaking, knowing that I had been the cause of such distress. He stood up, and faced the books above my head.

"Too late," he mumbled, so softly that I nearly missed his words. "I was too late, too late. It's begun calling…too late. Much, much too late." He shook his head slowly from side to side, and I was sure that I could see tears welling in his eyes.

"Please sir, what's too late?" I bit my tongue after uttering those words, the saying 'curiosity killed the cat' would one day apply to me, I was sure I didn't have too many lives left. I fearfully looked upwards, but the reaction of madness that I had almost been expecting did not show. In fact, if it were at all possible, the man looked even sadder. He looked me in the eyes then, and I saw that his were a deep, piercing blue. Wise eyes, as my father would say, eyes that have seen too much. And I felt he was right, these eyes of such sorrow indeed looked like they had seen far too much of this world.

"Promise me you'll be careful. Promise me." What was I promising for? Why did I have to? Nothing made sense about what this man was saying, nothing at all, yet for some reason, I felt compelled to say yes. Why, I don't know, but say yes I did. The bookkeeper smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry, but I can do no more. If only you hadn't seen the book, I should have locked it away many years ago, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, I just couldn't."

I looked up at him in confusion. What on earth was he talking about? He gave me one last regretful look, than walked away, out of the room and into the lobby. He looked around one last time, then disappeared through the front door, the bell tinkling quietly as he left.

I was still staring at the closed door when my father came down. He glanced around him quickly, then turned to me, a baffled look on his face.

"Meggie, have you seen Mr Montgomery?"