Ephraim was too focused on opening the book to notice the strange things happening around him.
The flickering lights and shadowy shapes went unseen; his mind was only filled with anticipation and a small worry that this might lead to disappointment.
Without hesitating, he opened the book to the first page.
The thick cover flipped open, and he squinted at the page. Only one word was there, written in a language he'd never seen before. Yet, somehow, he understood it. "Sinner."
The word sent a shiver down his spine. He ran his fingers over the ink, which seemed to pulse faintly under his touch, as if it were alive.
He read the word aloud, and it resonated within him, a low echo that grew until it filled his head, pounding louder and louder as if the sound was pulsing through his skull. He winced as a sharp headache flared up.
Before he could process the strange sensation, a chill swept through the room. The temperature dropped, and a barely audible whisper stirred in the silence around him.
As he blinked, trying to shake off the feeling, the book's cover began to move. The dark texture rippled as if alive, shifting into something more sinister.
The swirling patterns at the center of the cover started to twist, forming two curved lines that gradually shaped into a closed eye.
Then, as if waking up, the eye opened—a bright yellow eye with a narrow, slit-like pupil staring out from the middle of the cover. Thin tendrils spread out from it, looking like nerves branching out and anchoring the eye to the rest of the dark surface.
But Ephraim, his head throbbing with an intense headache, didn't notice the book's transformation. It lay closed, out of his sight, as the shadows around his apartment deepened.
Slowly, he became aware of the strange darkness creeping into the room. The lights flickered wildly, casting quick flashes that revealed shadowy figures seemingly waiting just beyond the windows.
"Supernatural!" was his first thought, his heart racing as adrenaline surged through his body, making everything feel sharper, more real.
Time seemed to slow, stretching out each second as he registered the erratic lights and the dark shapes beyond the window.
His mind whirled with unfinished thoughts, but he pushed them aside and fixed his eyes on the book. This has to be the cause.
If there was any source of the strange occurrences around him, it had to be the mysterious book he'd brought home.
Ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, Ephraim reached for it, his hand drawn toward it by an instinct stronger than fear.
His fingers fumbled for his phone as he reached out, but he grabbed the book first. As he pulled it close, he blinked, noticing the cover had changed—the piercing yellow eye now staring back at him.
He took a shaky breath, his surprise dulled by the headache, but the unsettling presence of the eye snapped him back into focus.
To his own surprise, Ephraim accepted the surreal situation quickly. He'd seen enough stories where the protagonist wasted time denying the impossible, only to be caught off guard by reality.
Instead, his mind raced, wondering what fate awaited him as the darkness thickened, creeping closer and swallowing the edges of his vision.
Every instinct screamed at him to move, yet his curiosity kept him rooted in place. Was this some kind of ritual?
He wondered if opening the book had triggered something—and what that something might want in return.
The shadows pressed closer, as if testing his resolve, a silent warning that he was stepping into dangerous territory.
As the shadows thickened, Ephraim felt himself drifting, his mind growing hazy, as if caught in a trance. Seconds slipped by, his thoughts spiraling, before he snapped back to clarity, his heart racing.
In that moment, one thought struck him with urgency: Mikha. She had a book like this one. He didn't know what effect it might have on her, but the thought of her encountering the same darkness made his stomach tighten with worry.
With a shaky hand, Ephraim unlocked his phone and typed quickly, "Be careful about the book!" He hit the send, hoping the message would reach her before anything happened.
Just as the message delivered, the encroaching darkness swallowed him whole, pulling him under until there was nothing but silence.
In the stillness of his now-empty apartment, only Ephraim's phone lay on the floor, its screen dimmed, and his clothes left in a crumpled heap.
The space felt strangely hollow, as if every trace of him had vanished into thin air, swallowed by the unnatural shadows that had closed in around him.
You might think Ephraim was foolish for spending those precious seconds on a text, but in the face of the unknown, instinct sometimes takes over.
There was little he could do to stop what was happening, and even if the message wasn't perfect, at least he'd managed to send her a warning.
Whether it would protect her—or pull her into the same darkness—was a question left hanging in the silence.