Bookworm

Everyone in the world has a story, pages of events and twisting turns that lead to who they are. Every story has chapters, to define events and maybe make a point for reflection and a pause. And as with a dirty bit in a novel or something that would hit too close to home with a friend, everyone has a chapter that they don't like to read out loud. It might be abuse, heartbreak, betrayal, a chance to succeed stolen by a sleight of hand. These chapters don't get told as often as they should, for obvious reasons regarding the resurfacing of painful pages of memory that would be better if staved off for another day or twenty.I'm sure you're wondering where i'm going with this rambling paragraph that, according to you, is painstakingly long-winded and is honestly getting tired. Well, this is because i'd like to talk about a chapter i usually skip over in my life. Something that i don't read out loud, and as others, really should. Even if it's just to let people know that it indeed happened.

It was April 1st, 1992, and i was a withdrawn teenager of hormones, oily skin and social anxiety. Like many, i assume. Now seeing as my hideous oily face would surely turn any fair lady into a screaming horror, and men into a guffawing mess of pained ribs and strained vocal cords, where could a youth like me turn to spend my free time. For a while i considered skateboarding, but i could barely ride a bike without thinking i'd hit a small child i was sure would appear. I could make music, if i wasn't completely tone deaf. Drugs or ciggarettes were out of the question, because i honestly didn't see the appeal. No, what i decided to do was go to libraries. There was a great, massive one near my hometown i could walk to quickly without fear of someone seeing my "Stupid idiot hobby for nerds!". The staff were especially lovely, my favorite being a small old lady named Francine Palmer. She was heavyset and short, but had the sweetest smile and could always make me feel better by telling a corny joke or two. She'd recommend books i'd never heard of but usually always liked, and i began to think of her as a sweet grandma. It became an inside joke of course to call her Grandma Palmer. She'd act as if she'd trown her back out and use a yardstick as a cane while groaning about children needing to exit her lawn which always left me in tears.She even furnished a small area for me to sit and read. It was a cozy alcove by a window, just enough light poured in that it would illuminate the page to a comfortable degree and give me a cozy warming sensation. This was my Heaven, far from the jeers of others which i only now realize meant basically nothing.Oh yes, im getting long winded an wistful again, aren't i? Well, on April 1st it was a normal day. a few backhanded comments from the beefier kids in my class, the odd threatened ass-kicking, it all blurred into a stupid excuse for human contact at this point, really. So i went to the library to see Mrs. Palmer and hear about her tales of wile and mystery from when she was a young nurse in WWII. I know, boring right? but i enjoyed it all the same. I walked shyly into the door as i always did and expected to see her bustling around and sorting books and nitpicking about where the "The" books really fit, which was a great topic of debate with us. I'd argue they'd go with the first letter of the word The and she'd argue against it. But she wasn't there. I looked around at sad, moping faces. I wondered what had happened. Was the library closing down or something? it created great revenue for nearby businesses so that wasn't really likely. I looked around for Mrs.Palmer for at least an hour before the library's owner stopped me. His name was Johnathan Turnbull. Despite his name he was thin, wiry and always had a raised eyebrow for my actions with Mrs.Palmer. He never did anything but he'd look over with one of those "psh, kids these days" looks. He looked at me sadly and said some of the worst words in my chapter.

"I'm sorry sonny, but Mrs.Palmer died earlier today. She took to many sleeping pills by accident and she just..."

I would describe his face as sad and awfully pale if my own glasses hadn't been filled to the brim with tears. I slowly walked towards the spot she saved for me, crying my eyes out but trying not to let it show through too bad.I curled up in that spot and just silently sobbed for hours upon hours upon hours. I dont know how long it was when i finally wiped my red eyes and sat up, sniffling through a stuffy nose. That's when i saw the book she left me. It was a beautiful red leather bound science fiction/paranormal novel whose name escapes me at the moment. It had a handwritten note on it. She did that just in case i came in after her shift was over which i did a few times.I remember, clear as day what it said.

"Here's a nice one for you, the protagonist reminds me so much of you. Take care, see you tomorrow! ~Grandma Palmer"

When i saw that i just...stared. For a few hours more, im sure. I didn't have enough sad in me to keep crying, so i just stared at the book. The library was closing soon, so i walked back home with the book in hand. Mr.Turnbull didn't say a word, he just let me go with a sad sigh. I'm sure he was just as sad as i was, losing a sweet woman like Mrs.Palmer. He just didn't let it show. I got home, brushed my teeth, put on my pajamas, and built up the courage to read the book. It was an amazing adventure, a tale about a shy but brave space pirate who is haunted by a demon or ghost of some sort, and his travels around the galaxy to rid himself of the beast through technological means and spiritual. I forget if he was successful, but i do remember i read that book religiously. I'm sure it was unhealthy but i didn't care, this was Mrs. Palmers last wish was for me to have this book and i'll be damned if i didn't commit the thing to memory and keep her alive in my thoughts. After the third night of this, because i would read the book nearly every night, i went up to use the bathroom. i got about halfway down the hallway before i just locked up. i was petrified and if you ask me why i couldn't tell you.I didn't hear a noise, i didn't see a shape, i wasn't hit. I just... couldn't move. Like sleep paralysis except i was perfectly awake all the time through it. It lasted for a minute or two and then i could move again. I finished up my bathroom break in quiet terror and ran back to read the book again.After weeks upon weeks of this, i would have dreams. The oddest, weirdest dreams. I dreamt....i dreamt that i was above myself as i slept, and the book is beside me. They started off normally enough, just me sleeping soundly, like i was my own security camera. But it got worse. It never fully escalated but one time, however in all the dreams other than that one there would be really subtle changes. A shadow that wasn't casted by my nightlight, a sound of scraping or tapping, or even worse my computer turning on and off and on again.The one time it escalated fully was... Well let's just say this is part of the reason i dont speak this chapter out loud. I would be seeing myself sleeping, all normal, until the book twitched. And it twitched again, and again, and again, until something came out. It was gray, and looked like a worm with beady white eyes.It crawled out of the book and inched closer and closer to me. I was screaming from my view above myself but the me below me was just snoozing quietly. It inched closer and closer until it walked along the mack of my head. And i felt it. I felt the tiny legs, the small feeding mout grazing my skin. I screamed louder and louder, trying to wake up but i couldnt. It pulled itself closer and closer to me, but stopped at my ear. And then it went in. I could feel it's tiny, sharp legs scrape my ears as it puched further in and further in and further in until it's tail was all that was there, and even then i could feel it nesting.Then, i woke up. Not me me, the dreaming me i was watching. He stood right up, and walked down the corridor. I followed him like i was a camera glued to him he walked down the hallway, towards the bathroom, and just like i did weeks before, froze.He stood there motionless, like he was waiting. Then i saw her. Mrs.Palmer. She was just as nicely prepared but still frazzled as she looked almost every day at the library. I got excited despite all that had just happened. I'm seeing her again! My one friend who understood!

Then she leaned in and said the other part of why i like to read this chapter quietly. She walked over to me slowly, and leaned in, and said,

"It wasn't an accident."

"I hated that place. I hated everyone in it. I hated books, i hated words, i hated everyone who bought them except you. You were the reason i stuck around. Now that i'm gone, would you do me one last favor?"

She whispered in the other me's ear, something i couldn't hear but could feel. He nodded, the motion appearring odd seeing as his body was completely still.She leaned back out, straightening herself and said, "You promise you will? Okay, they're in the smallest drawer.". Then she started..burning. and boiling. and her skin peeled off her face and her bonesy cracked and her eyes exploded and she was gone. i wanted to wake up. I wanted to take control, i wanted to stop. But the other me unfroze, and walked out the door. I followed him, as i couldn't seem to stay where i wanted.He walked in the moonlight in his pajamas towards the library. The library had a late night sort of readers club where you could go around 11 or 12 and read for a bit. I remember the people who worked at that time bitching about it terribly but i always thought it was a neat idea.So, seeing... "me" walk in wasn't too much of a shock. He went behind the counter where Mrs.Palmer worked, opened the drawer the evil caricature of her described, and pulled out a box of matches. He burnt the place down. I could hear a scream, and i knew Mr.Turnbull was in there burning, boiling with all the late nighters. Then as if he'd done nothing wrong he just, sat down in bed and layed down as if he hadn't just killed people. The worm crawled out, and went back in the book. And i woke up. And i vomited, and ran, and saw it was on fire, and i tossed that goddamned book in there with those people's ashes and... And now im here, Doc. So now you know the chapter of my life i dont like to read out loud. I guess that's my final statement then? Off to lethal injection i go? Well. It was nice talking to you. I hope Mrs. Palmer wont be too mad when i see her in hell.

This was the statement of James Edlund Whittaker, before he was sentenced to death for fifteen counts of first degree manslaughter and destruction of government property. The book he mentions was never found.