Rebekah

This is a flash fiction I wrote for Flash Fiction Online. However, it wasn't accepted. I think it's a cool little story.

I walk through the silent halls, my fingers lightly brushing the faded spines of the leather bound books as I pass, each one in turn. I examine each tome by the light of my candle, searching for the one I came to find. The halls stretch for miles in every direction, the long rows of books extending backwards as far as the eye can see.

Rebekah.

My candle flickers. I'm not scared. There is no one else in these halls, I am one of few who know they exist. I have wandered here many times before, searching for the volume that will answer my questions. I'll probably never find it. But I always entertain hope.

Rebekah.

Grandfather had told me about the library when I was little, had shown me the entrance. He told me never to open the door, for knowledge was power, and power corrupts. I didn't listen to grandfather. Many days and nights have I spent in these dark passages, a thousand candles have I burned out. A thousand old books have I opened. But never yet have I found it.

Rebekah.

My feet make rhythmic taps on the stone floor. Shelf after shelf, book after book, year after year. The only other sounds are that of my own breath, the slight breathing of the candle, the occasional drip of hot wax hitting the floor.

Rebekah.

My finger touches a red leather volume. Like the others near it, its spine and cover is blanketed in a layer of dust. I run my finger over the top of it, the thick blanket catching on my finger and tearing away as I pull it back. I wipe the grime off on my skirt and remove the volume from its resting place.

Rebekah

My candle flickers excitedly, as if dancing. I hold the flame in front of the tome and try to read the inscription on the cover. It is too covered in dust to read. I sit myself on the floor and wipe the cover with my hand. Gold lettering is exposed.

Rebekah. My name is written on the cover. Rebekah. But it is not my name. I know what is kept within this book, locked secret, for a thousand years, hidden in a place it should never be found. I have found it, and I am terrified.

Rebekah.

My quest, I know, had been the childish fancy of a childish girl. Grandfather had told me the stories, I hadn't believed him at the time. I had wanted to prove him wrong. Grandfather was prideful. He felt safe in the thought that even if I decided to search for the book, I would never find it in this endless maze. But now I had, and here it was.

Rebekah.

My hands tremble as I lift the front cover of the book. Either my worst fears are to be realized, or the past several years of my life were to be wasted. I hesitate. If grandfather's stories were true, I know what is to happen. I don't want it to happen. I run my fingers over the large letter "R." A shiver passes through my body.

Rebekah.

My name, Rebekah. Her name, Rebekah. I hold my breath and open the cover. A rushing wind shoots out of the book and into my face, my hair whips about my eyes and cheeks. I hear a woman's scream. "Rebekah." It cries. "Rebekah." Grandfather had been right. I drop the book and claw at my ears as the wind screams my name over and over. "Rebekah, Rebekah, Rebekah." It's in my ears, in the wind, in my mind. Rebekah, why Rebekah? Why were you here? Why did they seal you in the Library of Souls?

Rebekah.

The wind stops. The screaming stops. Only a whisper remains. "Rebekah, Rebekah, Rebekah." My name is repeated, I loe count of how many times. I slowly lift my head. I feel her, waiting for me. Her time is up and she knows it. My time, my eternity, is just beginning. I see her, out of the corner of my eye. Her hair floats all about her head, arms and fingers outspread. I can’t see her feet, but I know they do not touch the ground.

Rebekah.

I turn to look at her. Her eyes are nothing but gaping pits, her toothless mouth hangs ajar, a black, rotting tongue lolling out around her chin. Her skin is dry and pale, flaking and falling off in certain places. So this is what a thousand years trapped within a book does to one.

Rebekah.

"Hello great-grandmother."

"Rebekah." The ghost whispers.

"So the stories are true. It is time," I mumble. The image nods its head slowly.

I shiver. It is my turn. I am to spend the next thousand years, two thousand years, an eternity, trapped within a book, until a young, foolish girl named Rebekah comes wandering these halls to find my book and take my place. I close my eyes.

"Rebekah."

"I know grandmother, I know." I force a smile. "Use it well please." She nods, a silent promise. I pick the book up off the floor and step towards the pale apparition. I open the book and hold it out to her.

Rebekah.

I could run, but I would never escape her in the maze of books, my fate is sealed. She places a pale hand on the open page, I place mine on the facing page. She is mouthing something. I can't hear what she says, but I know what she means. I feel myself being pulled towards the book, I look back and see my body still touching the page. She is no longer at her place. She drifts towards my body as I exit. In seconds I am completely free of my body and she is completely within. She looks down at me, she smiles. The cover of the book slowly shuts and all is darkness.

Rebekah.

Author's Note

Sorry if there are spelling and grammar mistakes. If you could point them out for me though, that would be great. Also, keep in mind that it may seem like something is missing. This story was designed and written to be under 1,000 words.

Reviews

[TLK]

"If grandfather's stories were true, I know what is to happen. I don't want it to happen."

So why spend endless days and nights searching for this exact circumstance? I don't quite get the motivation of the character in this story.

Then again, I guess there wouldn't be much interesting fiction if all characters were as lazy as I am.