The Sleeping Book....

[qlipothica]

The Sleeping Book
by A. Sethran

“Jason. . . I’ve got something to show you. You gotta promise to keep it a secret, all right?”
“OK, I promise. What is it?”
Michael went to a forgotten corner of the attic. He pushed back dusty veils of cobwebs and disappeared behind the boxes. When he came back he held in his hand a large black book.
It was very old with a thick leather cover and a large cross on it.
“You can’t tell. . . Father would switch us if he knew we were up here again.”
Jason swallowed hard. Their father had told them to leave the old boxes in the attic alone. They had things that didn’t belong to them. Some of them were grandfather’s things, others were older than that. Jason promised to be quiet as he thought about his father’s voice and shuddered.
Michael opened the book up and began to show Jason the pictures inside. “How strange?” Jason remarked, “All of these people have their eyes closed.”
“And look at their faces! Hardly any of them are smiling.” Michael noted.
“No, look. There’s one.”
The two children stared the odd wooden smile stretched across an old woman’s pale face. “She reminds me of a nutcracker doll,” Jason laughed. Michael smiled as he nervously looked over his shoulder. “Here’s another one. Look, his eyes are open a little bit. See?”
“Their clothes are so old looking. What is this b. . .” A noise came from below. Someone walked in the room beneath the attic. Jason coughed. Michael put his hand over his mouth and pressed hard. He blew out the candle leaving the two of them in the inky still darkness. Jason could hardly breath. After a few seconds, the noise went away. Michael relaxed his hand and Jason heaved a breath. The candle was re-lit.
That was close, Michael. I’m going back down.”
“Don’t be such a coward. Come on!” But his little brother already opening the door and quietly going down the stairs. Michael listened to his cough fade away as Jason rejoined the family.
Ann odd sense of fascination filled Michael as he thumbed through the funny pictures of the sleeping people with odd smiles. What were they smiling about? What was so funny? As he got closer to the back of the book, some of the faces began looking more familiar. When he was almost finished he saw a picture that raised the hair on the back of his neck. A scream exploded from the boy’s chest, a horrid shriek that barked out and brought his father racing up the stairs.
“Michael! What the hell? How many times have I--” The tall man’s fierce frame softened as he listened to his oldest son’s sobbing. He put his stone like hand on the boy’s quivering shoulder as he looked at the picture the boy had found in the old book.
Jason tried to come up into the attic, but his father yelled at him to stay put. Frozen in place, Jason called up, “Is he all right? What happened?”
“Don’t worry about it. Go to your room!”
As Jason went he heard the two o f them talking about grandfather. Jason missed him so much. The voices faded as he went to his cold room.
Jason listened hard for the sound of his brother getting a good switching, but it never came. As he lay in his bed coughing then night passed slowly. When the door to his room opened he saw Michael creeping in. “What happened? Did he whoop you?”
Michael wouldn’t meet his brother’s eye. “Go to sleep.”
“Michael. What was in that book?” he asked after a heavy silence.
“I don’t ever want to talk about that book again. Goodnight.”

Sleep did not come easy. Jason’s cough kept him awake all night. If Michael were awake, he didn’t show it. Jason awoke in the morning to see his mother bending over him putting a cool rag on his head. “He’s got fever, really bad! Go call for the doctor,” she told his father.
Jason didn’t go to school the next few days. His fever grew worse. He coughed so much his chest hurt and his throat cracked. Michael had been moved to another room were he could sleep.
When he saw his mother bringing in food he noticed that she had red eyes like she had been crying. “Come on mom! The. . . (cough) doctor told me I have to be brave. I’ll be up soon.”
The tired woman forced a smile onto her face and rubbed her child’s head lovingly. “I know you will, Jason I know. . .”
That night Jason fell into a place between being awake and dreaming. His family gathered around his bead, but he soon forgot all about them. Their voices faded and the words were strange. As the pasture read quietly from the bible, the world spun and melted. Jason could hear himself talking nonsense.
He didn’t know why, but he thought about that black book. What was it? He made up his mind that when he got better he would find it again and see everyone in it. For a second, just a second, Jason thought he saw some of the people from the book around his bed. He called out to his grandfather, who smiled back. And then. . . the deepest sleep came that Jason had ever known.
When he awoke the house was filled with noise. People were down stairs. Jason felt much better. For the first time in a month, he had no cough. He saw in a mirror that the circles were gone from under his eyes. Overjoyed he ran into the hall and called his brother, “Michael, I feel better now!” Michael didn’t turn around. “Mother! I think I am well now! I. . .” She just ignored him too. Jason knew better than to interrupt his father while he spoke with other adults so he walked over to Michael.
“I can’t wait to go back to school. I have been so. . .
But Michael walked away with a stone like expression on his face. Jason knew what it was like being the smallest. No one ever pays attention to you. But Michael? Wounded, Jason ran away were he would be alone, upstairs in the dark attic. He was surprised too see the old black book sitting out on a table. Walking over to it, he thumbed through the pages. Funny people, funny clothes. Why take pictures of people while they slept?
The as he reached a picture of his grandfather the hair raised on the back of his neck. He saw the once warm soft face hardened and wooden. It was the tired face that he had seen laying in the coffin not long ago at the church. He couldn’t make himself look away from the macabre photo. It put ice in his stomach. Then at last he turned the page and what he saw rose the hairs on the back of his neck. He screamed and screamed. No one came.
There in the old black book, a new black and white photo had just been placed. With a nutcracker like face, curled grin and peeking eyes Jason saw himself! He slapped the book from off of the table. Then he kicked the table over.
At last he heard someone coming. The attic door opened and Michael came in. His eyes were wide as he saw the book laying open on the floor, opened to his little brother’s picture.
And though Jason called out and waved his arms, Michael never looked over at him. He just picked up the book, dusted it off and replaced it on the table.
Jason’s father came in. “You go on back downstairs and make me proud son. Your mama needs you to be strong. . . like me.” With a heavy hand on his shoulder he pushed his son toward the door. As Jason screamed as hard as he could Michael stopped for a second. He looked right at where Jason stood and stared with a puzzled face. “It sure is cold in here.” Michael went back downstairs. Jason’s father stood alone in the still attic. Jason watched him from behind. His father’s back was heaving, his tall frame rocked as an unexpected sound of crying came from the strong man. Then, stiffening, he turned and opened the door, walking out with the candle.

“Father! Father, I am here! It’s me, please. . . “ The door shut leaving Jason in darkness, lost among the other shadows of time.