Columbia University's rare books room smelled like old paper and something forgotten. Dr. Eli Varrick leaned closer to the open book, his glasses slipping as he studied its pages under UV light.
"See these marks?" he said, pointing to faded symbols. "It's Enochian—an old language from occult traditions. Roughly translated: 'The Keeper feeds the hunger.'"
Lena clenched her fists. "What kind of hunger?"
He paused. The room was warm, but his breath came out in a puff of fog.
"Most stories about cursed objects are nonsense, but this book..." He tapped it gently. "It shows up throughout history—Salem witch trials, ancient exorcisms, even Babylon. Always the same strange details: it predicts deaths, it moves on its own..."
Right then, a page turned by itself.
Varrick jumped. "Did you see that—"
The fire alarm blared. Sprinklers soaked the room. Students scrambled outside. In the middle of the mess, the book vanished.
That night, Lena found it in her backpack. It was wet, but somehow untouched by damage. New glowing words had appeared:
Dr. Eli Varrick. Tomorrow. Fire (while sleeping).
Panicked, she called him.
"It knows we're trying to stop it," he whispered. "Meet me at St. Paul's Chapel at midnight. I need to show you something."
The chapel's crypt was full of old graves. Varrick lit a black candle. In the flickering light, he uncovered a hidden space with a faded journal.
"My ancestor's journal," he said. "He was a Keeper too. The book lets you live... but only if you give it names of strangers. If you stop..."
He trailed off as Lena read the final page—handwriting twisted and broken.
It comes through the pages now. It wears my face when I sleep—
Varrick suddenly gripped her wrist. "You have to understand. When it chooses a new Keeper, the last one never makes it."
A sharp ripping sound echoed. The candle went out.
Something cold and wet brushed Lena's neck.
They ran upstairs. The book was waiting on the altar, already open.
Varrick's name was written twice—once on the list of those marked for death... and again under the names of Keepers, dated 1692.
He stared at the page, his face pale.
"Oh God. It remembers."
---