In the small town of Dunlow, a forgotten village nestled in a hollow valley, there was an old book. It had been tucked away for centuries, gathering dust in the farthest corner of the library's basement.
No one really knew where it came from or who had written it, but the elderly librarian, Mrs. Allen, had always insisted it was ancient—older than anything else in the town. She would never let anyone touch it, except for the few people she trusted, and even they were warned to never speak of it.
The book was called The Final Scripture.
James Turner, a quiet man in his thirties with a penchant for curiosity, had heard about the book since childhood. Growing up, he'd heard the old stories—the ones about how the world would end, about things that shouldn't be and things that couldn't be.
The town's folk had always dismissed these tales as nonsense, nothing but bad dreams and foolish superstition. But there was something about James. He was different. He could never shake the feeling that something was off, something not right about Dunlow.
Maybe it was because the town was so isolated, surrounded by dense woods on all sides. Or maybe it was just because he had a mind that asked too many questions.
One night, after his shift at the local gas station, James couldn't take it anymore. He had to see the book for himself.
The library was quiet, as it always was at that hour, its creaky floors and low ceilings making it seem like a mausoleum. Mrs. Allen had gone home for the night, leaving the library abandoned except for the dust and the rows upon rows of ancient books. James crept down the stairs to the basement, the smell of mildew and rotting paper thick in the air.
The book was on a pedestal, the pages yellowed and brittle, bound in a leather cover so worn it looked like it would crumble at the slightest touch. There were strange symbols etched into the front, symbols James didn't recognize. His fingers trembled as he reached out, tracing the grooves in the cover. The librarian's warnings echoed in his mind—never touch it. But it was too late.
He opened the book, and the pages practically turned themselves, each one flipping wildly, as if the book was alive, trying to keep him from its truth. Finally, it stopped, settling on a page near the end. A chill ran down his spine.
The words were strange, but there was no mistaking their meaning. It was a prophecy. A scripture detailing the end of all things. A day when the earth would crumble, the sky would burn, and the very fabric of reality would tear apart. And James... James was named in the scripture.
His name was there, plain as day.
James Turner would be the one to bring about the end of the world.
At first, he laughed. It had to be some kind of joke, a prank left behind by some twisted mind. But the more he read, the more the words seemed to pull him in, the meaning behind them growing clearer with every passing second. The scripture wasn't just a warning—it was a map. A map that led to his doom.
A sudden crash echoed through the basement, and James jumped, dropping the book in a panic. He spun around, his heart racing. Mrs. Allen stood in the doorway, her old eyes glinting with something dark, something he couldn't understand.
"You shouldn't have done that," she said, her voice low and cold. "Now, there's no going back."
James's mind raced. The air in the basement felt suddenly oppressive, like something was pressing against his chest, squeezing the breath out of him. He tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond. His legs were frozen, as though he was rooted to the floor. His eyes darted back to the book, but it had disappeared. Only the empty pedestal remained.
"What... what did I do?" he whispered, his voice shaking.
Mrs. Allen took a step forward, her eyes locked onto his. "The book chose you, James. It always chooses the one who is too curious. The one who asks the questions."
James felt his stomach churn. He could hear the faintest sound now, a noise that seemed to echo in the distance—like a bell tolling, growing louder with every passing second. A deep, reverberating sound that made his very bones ache.
"I didn't mean to—" he started, but his words were cut short by a sudden pressure in his chest. The room seemed to spin around him, the walls closing in. The library was no longer just a library. It felt like the very earth itself was shifting, groaning under some immense weight.
Mrs. Allen's face twisted into a grimace, and she stepped back, as if afraid. "There's nothing more to say now. The end is coming."
James's hands shook as he tried to stand, but his body wasn't obeying him. His vision blurred, and he could feel the ground beneath him starting to tremble, like something huge, something monstrous, was rising from beneath the earth.
And then, the door to the library slammed open, the wind outside howling with an unnatural fury. The trees were swaying violently, their branches creaking as if they were trying to tear themselves free from the soil. The sky above was a sickly orange, and in the distance, James saw something moving. Something impossibly large.
A figure appeared in the doorway, dark and looming, its silhouette blurred by the flickering light outside. The ground beneath James's feet cracked, the sound of the earth splitting loud enough to shake the very air around him.
Mrs. Allen was gone. She had vanished, as if she'd never been there to begin with. James was alone now, surrounded by an ever-growing darkness, his body still frozen in place. The figure in the doorway began to step forward, its presence suffocating.
The wind howled louder, and the earth groaned in protest. The figure in the doorway wasn't alone anymore. More shapes emerged from the shadows, moving silently through the smoke and fog that had filled the library. There were too many of them to count, their eyes glowing red as they surrounded him. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. His chest felt as though it was caving in.
The scripture had said it would happen. It had warned him, warned him that when the time came, there would be no escape. He was the one who would bring about the end. He was the one who had unlocked the door, who had set in motion the events that would consume the world.
He had done this.
The ground beneath him cracked open, and in that moment, he understood. The darkness wasn't just a thing outside—it was inside him too. He had carried it all his life, unknowingly, until that moment when he touched the book, when he read the prophecy. The end had always been there, waiting for him to make the final choice.
The figure reached him, its hand cold as ice. James felt his heart stop as its fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling him down into the void that had opened beneath his feet. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The darkness was suffocating, and all around him, the world was collapsing.
There was no escape.
The earth cracked wide open, swallowing everything in its path, consuming the town of Dunlow, and with it, the last remnants of a world that had once been. James was lost, dragged into the abyss, a small part of the prophecy now fulfilled.
The final chapter had been written.