The young researcher, Dr. Lila Henderson, pulled the old leather bound book closer, brushing a thin layer of dust off the cover. The book was simply titled The Encyclopedia of Common Diseases. It seemed inconspicuous—just another old medical tome, nothing particularly noteworthy.
She'd been told to catalog its contents, cross-reference any peculiar details, and confirm that the entries were accurate. All in all, a mundane assignment, one that didn't strike her as warranting the containment protocols she'd encountered upon receiving it.
She opened the cover, expecting a typical foreword or at least a few introductory pages. There was none. Instead, the first page went straight into a neatly printed list of ailments, beginning with some of the most trivial she'd ever seen. No foreword, no introduction, no index. Just the cold, clinical listing of diseases.
"Odd," she murmured, pulling out her notepad. The lack of even the most basic formatting felt wrong, almost eerie. But she shook it off, attributing it to the hurried nature of older medical texts. She began reading through the entries, the first listed ailment catching her eye: Runny Nose.
"Start with the basics, I suppose," she muttered, and began reading.
The entry was straightforward, describing the standard symptoms of a runny nose in dry, clinical terms. It was boring, really—there was nothing out of the ordinary in its description. Nevertheless, she dutifully noted down the details, trying not to let her mind wander.
As she read, she felt an odd tickle in her nose. She blinked, swiping at her nostrils, then sniffed quietly. "Must be the air in here," she reasoned, a faint frown appearing as she focused on the entry.
She proceeded to the next entry on the list: Sore Throat. The description was again routine, detailing the causes, symptoms, and common treatments. The familiar scratchy sensation of a sore throat began to creep up on her as she read through the description, her attention wavering as her discomfort grew.
"Great. Now I'm catching a cold," she muttered, clearing her throat to dispel the feeling. But the tickle didn't go away; in fact, it seemed to deepen the longer she read, turning from a slight scratchiness to a persistent soreness. She rubbed her throat, trying to ignore the feeling, and continued to the next entry.
But as she prepared to read on, she began to question the assignment. She pulled out her notes, noting the entry titles she'd read so far: Runny Nose and Sore Throat. A cold sensation settled in her gut, her scientific mind unwilling to jump to conclusions yet, but unable to ignore the growing symptoms that mirrored her reading.
Lila flipped to the next page, an entry for Cough. Her throat tightened involuntarily. She placed a hand over her mouth, stifling a reflexive cough that had formed in her chest, even as her eyes remained on the page. Slowly, her gaze dropped to her own hands.
Dr. Henderson shifted in her chair and kept her focus on the text, brushing off the faint unease building inside her. It wasn't unusual for an old book to be a bit dusty, and surely, reading about ailments could prime anyone's mind to imagine a few matching symptoms. She took a deep breath and flipped the page.
The next entry read Rhinitis. She skimmed through the familiar description of symptoms: nasal congestion, mild headaches, and watery eyes. Nothing out of the ordinary; she'd dealt with rhinitis in patients before, and the detail seemed standard for a medical text.
Not long after, a faint ache started between her brows, subtle but unmistakable. She rubbed her forehead, chalking it up to eye strain from the old print. She jotted down a few more notes, her handwriting growing sloppier as she fought the mounting distraction of the dull ache spreading from her nose and brow to her temples.
"Really, Lila?" she whispered to herself, rolling her eyes. "You read 'headache' and now you're getting one." Still, she blinked hard, hoping the strain would pass soon. There was a lot more to get through.
Turning the page, her eyes fell on Pharyngitis. She made a few brief notes, describing the basics of the condition—dryness, inflammation, a feeling of tightness in the throat. She let herself get absorbed in the technical language, enjoying the distraction. Halfway through the entry, she felt a dryness building in her own throat, a sensation just at the edge of irritation.
"Maybe the air in here really is dry," she said aloud, trying to ignore the faint scratchiness that started to accompany the dryness. She drank some water from the cup by her side, barely registering the slight relief as she dutifully returned to the book.
Lila turned to the next entry, Allergic Conjunctivitis, another common and relatively harmless condition. The text described itchy, watery eyes, sensitivity to light, and mild puffiness around the eyelids. As she read through, her own eyes began to feel tired and itchy. She rubbed them gently, trying not to smudge her glasses.
This time, though, she did feel a bit of unease creep up on her. Her throat was getting sorer by the minute, her head throbbed persistently, and now her eyes were red and watery. All the symptoms fit with what she'd been reading in the text—but it had to be coincidence, right? She was tired, and the room was dimly lit. Not exactly ideal conditions.
She closed her eyes briefly, letting her head rest on the back of her chair. But when she opened them again, she felt the scratchiness in her throat intensify, each swallow sending a slight ache down to her chest. For a moment, she considered getting up to take a short break.
Yet the feeling of responsibility weighed her down. The task was to read and catalog—simple enough. It was just an old book, after all. Taking a deep breath, she turned to the next page. Sinusitis.
As Dr. Henderson scanned the page on Sinusitis, she tried to concentrate on the clinical terms and ignore the growing unease. The symptoms listed were basic enough: pressure around the forehead, tenderness under the eyes, and congestion.
She dutifully noted them, but the words seemed to blur together, and she blinked hard, suddenly aware of a heavy ache settling between her eyes and creeping into her cheeks.
Pressing her fingers against her temples, she gave herself a quick massage, hoping to relieve the pressure. The ache was familiar—she'd experienced sinus pressure before—but its sudden appearance left her feeling uneasy. Her throat was still dry, each swallow slightly painful, and her eyes continued to itch. She was starting to feel unusually run-down for such a light workload.
"Focus, Lila," she murmured, almost willing herself to feel better. She adjusted her chair and turned to the next page.
Conjunctivitis. She gave a small sigh; this was yet another mundane ailment. Red, watery eyes, itching, sensitivity to light—symptoms she'd already begun to feel creeping in. Her fingers rubbed the corners of her eyes, and she took a shaky breath, thinking that maybe she was just psychosomatically absorbing the symptoms.
It was embarrassing to think she was letting herself get affected like this. She couldn't help but laugh, albeit weakly, at the thought of going to her supervisor and explaining she'd gotten ill simply by reading about it.
The dryness in her throat had settled into a consistent, dull burn, like the start of a mild cold, and her head was now throbbing with more insistence. She turned the page, her hands feeling a bit clammy against the paper.
The next entry caught her eye: Common Cold. She skimmed the symptoms. Runny nose, congestion, sore throat—everything she was currently experiencing. She hesitated, glancing up as if seeking reassurance from the empty room.
"Alright, maybe a break," she muttered, trying to shake off the discomfort crawling over her. She took another sip of water, but it felt like the dryness in her throat had seeped in too deeply. Each swallow seemed to scrape against the rawness.
Taking a few breaths, she turned back to the book, feeling determined to push through a few more pages before allowing herself to get caught up in what seemed like an overactive imagination.
But as her eyes scanned the next entry—Seasonal Allergic Rhinitis—her chest tightened. The description was brief, focusing on itchy eyes, a runny nose, and fatigue. She couldn't help but brush a finger under her nose as it began to itch.
Her eyes watered, a dull pressure pressing against the bridge of her nose. She leaned back, rubbing her temples, trying to ignore the symptoms that were becoming increasingly hard to dismiss.
Her hand hovered over the next page, as if hesitant to turn it. The symptoms, one after another, seemed to be escalating. She flipped to the next entry, blinking through a foggy headache, and began reading about Bronchitis.
"Coughing, mucus production…" she muttered, her voice rougher than usual. Suddenly, a dry cough escaped her throat, catching her off guard. She clutched her chest, clearing her throat in a futile attempt to dislodge the scratchy sensation building up. Another cough followed, then another, leaving her chest aching.
She was beginning to feel truly unwell, her pulse quickening as she set the book down, her mind racing through the bizarre coincidence of the symptoms aligning with each entry she read. It was impossible.
Surely, she was just tired—perhaps she was actually coming down with something, and it just happened to match what she was reading. She took another shaky breath, feeling lightheaded.
Determined to ignore her growing anxiety, she turned another page, her eyes falling on the title: Flu.