Disobedient

My grandparents always had so many books. I loved going to their house just to gaze at their library, even before I knew how to read. When I finally did, I couldn’t wait to pore over every book on the shelf.

Older now, I feel quite confident that my eyes have gazed upon each page of every single tome that exists within their household. Only one book remains to be read, but I was warned not to touch it.

I accepted this rule as a child, but my curiosity grows stronger every day. When they decided to go on a cruise, I volunteered to house-sit in their absence. I was going to get my hands on that book and figuratively glue my eyes to the pages.

Their cab came and the driver was nice enough to load their luggage. I waved salutations to them as the yellow van drove away. As soon as they were out of sight, I ran inside, so excited I came close to falling down the patio stairs.

The book was on the tallest shelf in the basement, sitting alone and surrounded by a domed-glass case.

Setting up the ladder, I climbed to the top rung. As my gaze fell upon the book, it began to glow. I considered the morality of my actions for a moment, then proceeded to uncover what now seemed to be an enchanted manuscript.

I set the glass casing aside and picked up the leather tome. It didn’t have a title or print, anywhere.

The front cover opened unexpectedly, exposing two red eyes that stared back at me.

A yellow pencil slipped from the binding. As it fell, I tried to catch it.

The ladder toppled, I came crashing down; snapping my neck as I struck the ground.