The winter was cold the year Veronica found the book. She was walking along a trail that ran behind her little cabin in the woods, singing one of her favorite songs quietly to herself as her boots crunched through the snow. She no longer sang loudly, or in front of others. She told them all that she was too old with a laugh, but singing just no longer held as much joy for her. Since she was little she had always felt that when she was singing it was like there was someone else there with her, holding her in a warm hug, and the feeling had helped her through many a bad time. About a year ago she noticed suddenly the feeling was gone. When she tried to sing it was just her, and her voice echoing around in her room. Sometimes, if she sang quietly, she could imagine she still felt the same. So she did so, but there was a sense of sadness every time the words came out.
Ahead of her on the trail she noticed something lying on top of a little drift of snow. It looked like a book, but the size was odd and the cover was made of some kind of filmy material, not plastic or paper. She picked it up, marveling how the pages were not wet despite where it sat. Nobody else walked on this trail since it was private property, so she had no idea how it got where it was. Something told her to carry it home with her, though, so she did. When she walked into the house she set a kettle on the stove top and prepared her mug and tea bags while the water warmed up. Her eyes strayed to the odd little book sitting on the kitchen table and before she knew it she was cozied up in her little chair by the fire with a warm cup of tea and the book open on her lap.
It seemed to be a fantasy story but from the first page she felt eerie little shivers run across her skin. The story was about a man who could see into another world any time this woman sang a song. From the first time where he watched her play with dolls she felt it was all so familiar. When he developed a nose bleed seeing the woman naked in the shower she blushed as if she was there. The first time he saw her face as she looked in her mirror Veronica could not help but reach up to touch her own freckles with a shaking hand.
All day she sat there, stopping only to get a cup of water or eat something before picking the book back up and continuing to read. The night was well started when she finished the last page and closed the book. She found that she was crying as she softly caressed the cover, running her fingers over the author's name with sadness. Jona Rodig, even the name sounded familiar but she was certain she had never heard it. The book would be right next to her bed every day for the rest of her life, even though she could never bear to read it again. Sometimes, she would touch it's cover and feel like she was not alone once again.