The Book

A quick sweep along the walls revealed many doors, tables, cabinets, chairs and bookshelves.

Rubbing his hands due to the cold he walked over to the nearest small table, one near a large bookcase and a chair. Turned did not want to be here any longer than necessary. Taking the book out of one of his large pockets, he placed it upon the table.

No sooner than the book touched the table, a great slamming sound was heard. The door had shut. Turner was startled. As the door had shut, it made a book fall out of the bookcase. Turner bent down and picked it up. It had a plain red cover. Turner flicked it open and skimmed a page. He shut the book quickly, his eyes wide in shock, his face white as a ghost. He shone the torch along the bookcase and another, and a third. They were all the same, little red books.

Turner shone the torch erratically. There were books on the tables too, and cabinets. Even parts of the floor were stacked with them. His trembling hands dropped the torch, the lens broke as it hit the floor and it went out; but Turner’s adjusted eyes could still see.

An expression of pure helplessness began to descend upon him. He eyed the door but could make no attempt to get out. In resignation, he grasped one of the books and sat down. He cast his lamented eyes upon the all too familiar opening page. He began to read.

"The House was out of the way……"