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It starts with a book. Of course it does. Most of the tragedies in Tim’s life can directly be related back to books.
That sounds like a joke.
It isn’t. It stops being a joke when some books are capable of calling maggots and rot under your skin or endless nothingness into every mirror you see. He has witnessed both before. The bodies, or remains, show up soon after that. Most of the time.
It stops being funny very quickly after that.
Jason is the one who brings it home. He found it in a thrift store, he crows, when Steph gets curious. It was cheap and interesting, and the guy at the counter didn’t know its real worth given the book plate.
And this, this is what catches Tim’s attention.
This is what sets him on edge and forces his heart to pound.
He swallows and gets up, heads towards the talking to try and catch a glimpse of the book Jason is talking about.
He pauses when does.
The book is an old, yellowed thing, with a lurid cover more fitting of a pulp romance novel than a harbinger of despair. A mannequin with a blank face and the barest hint of a smile dips a woman in a ball gown. There are strings wrapped around her wrists. She looks like she’s smiling too, eyes shining at the reader.
She isn’t. There is terror in her eyes. She is crying, begging the reader for help.
And Tim knows without a doubt that Jason is holding a bomb. A metaphorical one, of course, the cover isn’t one that belongs to the Lightless Flame. But you can never be too certain with some books.
His Nanny once made the mistake of choosing a book from their library to read.
There was still a scorch mark on the floor, marred with ash that cannot be wiped away, and there is an old burn wrapped around Tim’s hip, from when the poor woman tried to hold him as she boiled from the inside.
He was the one to deal with the book in the aftermath. At least there was no body to bury.
His mother was not her father. It was a mantra she repeated every time her and Jack came back from their expeditions, suitcases full of old books with plates denoting them from her father’s destroyed library. It was a mantra she stayed true to by disposing of every single page from each cursed book they brought home.
It didn’t help her in the end. He doesn’t know whether it was curiosity, or fear, or something else that made her open that book.
Maybe she hadn’t even known it was cursed at all.
He would never know. There hadn’t been a body after all. But once the Vast has you, well.
It doesn’t like to let go.
His father hadn’t even been able to destroy the book. So it had been for nothing, anyway.
Back in the manor, the same dread rises in his stomach as when his Nanny held ‘The Warmth of Humanity’ in her hands, his grandfather’s library plate glinting in the morning sun.
“What does the book plate say?” tumbles out of Tim’s mouth, fear tightening his muscles like a wire. But he already knows.
Jason and Steph finally notice his presence, and as they turn to look at him, he can see the same shine from the sitting room lamp, the cover cracked open to the first page.
From the Library of Jürgen Leitner
Tim hopes his grandfather died a painful death.
“Jason,” he forces out, “put the book down.”
“What?” his brother says stupidly, but Tim is already moving, already reaching out to tear the cursed book from Jason’s hands. But they’ve both been trained by the Batman, and Jason holds it above his head, brows furrowing in irritation. Stephanie giggles from the couch, like it’s all a joke.
Tim wants to vomit.
“Jason,” he pleads again, throat strangled into a croak. And finally, his brother looks at him. Really looks at him. His eyes widen as he takes in an undoubtedly wretched sight, arm lowering for a moment in his surprise.
And Tim tears it from his hands and bolts. Jason shouts angrily, heavy footsteps thundering behind him, but Tim has always been the fastest. He zips into a room, shuts the heavy wooden door and locks it, and grabs a waste bin and a hidden bottle of vodka. He doesn’t hesitate before dropping the book into the bottom, and doesn’t bother unscrewing the bottle. There isn’t enough time. He smashes it into the waste bin instead, the thick stench of alcohol instantly leeching into the pages.
Jason bangs on the door, yelling.
Tim reaches into a pocket, fingers fumbling for the pack of matches he always carries. It’s easy to strike the box once, twice, before the flame is lit, and he drops it immediately into the soaked book.
For a moment, nothing happens, and Tim’s heart drops into his feet, terrified that Jason had picked up one of the rare books immune to fire.
But then the pages catch, red licking up the spine, and he collapses in relief.
It’s over. The danger is gone. Unnaturally thick smoke wafts from the bin, and the smell of burning hair clogs his nose. Tim wants to spit.
The Stranger and the Web is a terrifying combination.
“Tim!” Jason shouts again, a heavy boot thudding into the wood, and he can hear the murmurs of the rest of his family behind the door. He’ll have to explain himself. Will have to choose whether to drag his family into the terrors that lurk in the corner of your eye, or whether their ignorance is safer.
But for now, they are safe.
Criminals and crooks, rogues and aliens – they are easy to handle. They are physical, real, tangible.
The Fears, however, are inevitable.
And as Jürgen Leitner’s grandson, he should have known better than to try and hide.