Bewildered (echoes series) - These Fantastic Worlds

A good bookseller knows exactly what a customer needs…

Bewildered

It is always said that a good bookseller knows exactly what a customer needs…

Cass finally gave in. He seemed to have passed the Antiquarian bookshop five times today. Perhaps it was stalking him, he grunted to himself. Every time he passed the main window, with its jumble of old books, faded in the sun, his eye scratched at the small poster in the window:

We have just the book for you…

Drawn like a circus poster in bright yellows and reds it played at the edges of his mind which was occupied by a general sense of discontent, a familiar emptiness. Last night his long-term girlfriend Gail had kicked him out. And her final words bounced around his head,

“You fucking narcissist, what else have you not told me?” She had shouted from the top of the stairs as he bundled himself out of the door of the block of flats.

“I don’t see why I should deal with your shit anymore.” From the other side of the door her words were muffled but still perfectly clear.

Cass was bewildered, he’d hauled his bag through the streets and reached the door of his own apartment. He opened his front door, threw the bag into the hallway and retreated back into the streets. He didn’t understand what Gail was so angry about. They hadn’t talked much recently, but she’d always seemed to do what he asked of her, without complaint, or any he could detect anyway. Why did that change when he told her about the reading?

He didn’t know what to do next, so began to walk around the high street, searching for a decent coffee, his head down, hands in his pockets, allowing self-pity to crowd in. As far as Gail had been concerned both of them loved reading. They’d met at a book group. She was an enthusiastic reader, although he’d wandered in out of boredom. But he did love books, the look of them at least. His parents house had been a jumbled library from floor to ceiling, with clusters of fiction, biographies and theatre plays, everywhere, without much sense of organisation, or so it seemed to him. He’d not seen his parents for some time, his mother had passed away, his father a recluse, not answering the phone.

So, Cass looked up as he passed the Antiquarian Bookshop once more, and his eyes met the poster again. Seeking solace, he submitted, and entered the inner sanctum, nodding at the older woman at the counter, her eyes barely lifting from the broken-spined hardback on her knee, her legs crossed as she perched on a stool. She was watchful but unobtrusive.

Cass slowed for a moment, realising he and Gail had met for the second time, in this particular bookstore. They had marvelled at the tottering shelves, smiling at the high ceilings and the trickle of light that cast shadows through aisle after aisle of books. He shook free the memory and shrugged, then sought out some 17th century literature, guided by the ancient handwritten shelf talkers. He stroked the spines of the tomes, their wide leathery spans creaking at the touch. He pulled one from the shelf, flicked through its pages, a grimoire, with gory ink drawings decorating the pages like a medieval manuscript. He saw the pages were singed as if the volume had been rescued from a fire.

He replaced it, and reached for something smaller, a Book of Dark Days with astrological drawings, and cultish symbols. He’d seen it before. Perhaps he should buy it. He wouldn’t read it of course, but he could admire it, and if friends came they could wonder its presence in his home and he would be gratified. He grimaced slightly and wondered if that was why Gail was so angry. He’d admitted not to have read any of the books they had bought together, or she had bought for him. He didn’t see the problem, he’d always been polite, just didn’t feel strongly about the books. He could converse with her about them because he read the occasional review, so they could talk. He’d found that much easier than actually reading the books. He remembered his father’s eyes, when he had told him the same thing. A slight widening, a shade of disappointment discolouring his cheeks, before he returned to the immersion of his own reading. Cass had always felt different about the books, even the few he had actually read seemed to fill his mind with their thoughts, and he found the misery and joy of within, rather baffling.

Cass ran his hands slowly across the books at shoulder height in this aisle; he could feel something in them, a tingle pricking at his flesh and he felt his gloom lift a little. He decided he should buy something, and after further idle browsing he reached back for the Book of Dark Days, pulling it out from the top, feeling the dusty edge.

His mood definitely lifted, he queued politely behind an older couple and a group of people, perhaps a family, chattering quietly to each other. He noticed that the woman behind the counter always made a suggestion, sometimes pulling out another book, or turning the page of the title her customer had chosen, highlighting something they might like. At his turn he gave a curt smile and pushed the book across to her. She paused for a moment, and reached underneath the counter top. She lifted out a larger book which she indicated he might consider.

Cass’ bewilderment returned. Surely this would be too expensive. `He had no need of such a large book, and he couldn’t even read the title it was so old and smeared. But the woman was insistent, her right hand hurrying him to look and hold the treasure. He looked at her and noted the steel in the rims of her eyes.

To avoid embarrassment, for there was bound to be a queue behind him, he sighed and gripped the book, to pull it towards him.

But as he did so, the tingle of before returned to his palms, and spread to his fingers. He realised that his hands felt hot, and he felt a surge as something slithered up inside his arms. He tried to let go, but could not. He looked up, appealing to the old woman, but her eyes were averted. He began to burn inside, the emptiness he felt was filling up. His eyes grew murky, as though melting, and the sounds in the store were distant, and he saw the old woman was on the phone.

Muffled but still perfectly clear, he heard her say, “I think you’ll be pleased, I’ve given him what he needs.” Cass emitted a sound; it might have been a shout, or a cry, or a sigh, as the burning sensation burst out through the flesh on his arms, flushed his face and his entire body was engulfed in flames in a moment.

His body shivered, and the last traces of him drifted to ashes on the floor.

A thin smile flickered across the old woman’s lips, as she finished the phone call, “Oh yes the book has done its job, I think we found a book to consume him, I think you’ll be pleased Gail.”

[end]

Part of a new series of micro-fiction stories, released as These Fantastic Worlds SF & Fantasy Fiction Podcast on iTunes Music, Apple Podcasts, Google Play, Spotify, and Stitcher and more. Also on this blog, These Fantastic Worlds.

Text, image, audio © 2020 Jake Jackson, thesefantasticworlds.com. Thanks to Frances Bodiam and Elise Wells, Logic ProX, Sound Studio, the Twisted Wave Recorder App, Apogee Condenser microphone, and Alfons Schmidt’s fantastic Notebook app.