The Memory Trap

Avery was sitting in the library. The library was a small one, with peeling yellow paint and washed-out bricks. But she loved it; no one bothered her, and she had everything she could want to read. It was also nice and cool, quite a contrast to the hot buggy weather outside, as it was summer.

She often helped the librarian, who was very old and now almost blind, with errands and was sometimes rewarded with some pocket change. She didn't do it for the money though; she did it to be close to the books. Most of them had yellowed pages and tattered covers and seemed older than even her great-grandmother.

One day she was squatting in the backroom sorting through some books. The box they had been stacked in was moldy and had started to disintegrate. She glanced at another book, presenting a royal blue cover so piled up with dust that it encased the whole book in a gray blanket. The title was nearly faded and read, The Science of Watching Grass Grow. She stared at it, astonished. Then just set it aside in a stack of other books, shaking her head.

Avery grabbed for the next one and brushed the layer of dust off the cover. There was empty space where the title should have been. She blinked, intrigued, and gently flipped the book open. The yellow pages were completely blank. Avery waited, considering the book, before gently setting it beside her in its own pile.

When she finished, Avery chatted with the librarian and brought up the blank book. The librarian was as confused as she was and told her if she liked she could keep it. So Avery took it home to her small apartment and set it on her desk. For the next hour, she checked for invisible ink or any secret messages but came up empty. It seemed like an ordinary blank book.

She contemplated it before picking up a pen and scrawling a few words in it. My name is Avery. Nothing happened. Disappointment filled her; she had hoped it would respond back to her, like in the books she loved so much, but no such luck. Probably better off; all those magical books seemed secretly evil anyway.

 ~~~

Later she was sitting by her window watching the stars and fidgeting with the frayed edge of the blank book. A shooting star flashed by, and her heart squeezed painfully. 

When she was younger, she remembered visiting her grandmother at her farmhouse. Avery had loved it there. It was so different out there, without the rush of cars and horns, but instead with the stars and crickets. She would sit with her grandmother for hours and stargaze. But her grandmother had passed away soon after, and Avery never felt right watching the stars without her.

She grabbed the book and held it tight against her chest, tears slipping down her cheeks. And as the star vanished from the sky, she whispered a wish to the darkness. “I wish I could see my grandmother again.”

That night she had a dream. She was sitting with her family, and they were playing a game. Her grandmother was there, and they were laughing together.

Avery woke up as the sun glared bright rays into her eyes and groaned. It was the only dream she had had for a while, and she wished she could have stayed in it forever. 

Her eye caught on the book she had brought back from the library. It now had scrawling golden letters on the cover that read Memories. She stared at it for a second before snatching it up and opening it. The rough pages were filled with photo after photo of her family. All pictures with smiling or laughing faces, most with her grandmother as the center.

Avery’s breath caught in her throat as she examined each picture. A photo of her grandmother's birthday stood out. She remembered baking that sloppy white cake. She was pretty sure it hadn’t tasted good, but everyone had still eaten it anyway. She reached out and brushed the photo with the tip of her finger.

There was a sudden jolt and blinding rush, like if she’d just sat up too quickly. Then there she was, sitting in that scratchy maroon armchair, singing her grandmother a happy birthday. Then there was a small woosh as she blew out the candles and a cheer as cake was passed out. Then the jolt came again, and Avery was back, slouched on her bed, not the armchair.

Her vision blurred, and she sank down into the mattress, flipping through the pages, tapping more pictures, reliving more memories. She didn’t care how it was possible, just that it was. 

~~~

It was raining; of course it was raining. Late September had never been her favorite time of the year, but now she spent almost all her time inside the book. One time a week had gone by, and she’d never even noticed. Avery hadn’t gone to her job for a few weeks either. She didn't want to go back; she didn't need to. The book gave her all she needed.

She wasn't even hungry, despite not having eaten in at least three days. Avery glanced at her phone, lying neglected on her nightstand. It displayed a text from her brother, asking her how she was doing. She had not told anyone about the book and didn’t plan to. They might take it or destroy it. Her grip tightened on the paper and then relaxed. She glanced back at the text. She always ended up fighting with him; why not laugh instead? She flipped the pages until she found the right picture and tapped it. 

The jolt was comforting and familiar, and she smiled as she lived the happy memory again. When she came back, her phone had switched off, and she didn’t turn it back on again.

It was routine. Wake up, eat, look at the book, go to the bathroom, and sleep. There was nothing else she needed; even when the food disappeared and her electricity cut off, she still sat there and watched the book. The flashes from her phone eventually started to become more and more frantic, but she ignored them. Them and the poundings at her door, which came with voices that begged and begged words she forgot.

Avery flipped through the book again and found a page she had never seen before and stared at the memory it showed. There was only one, glued to the page, with blank space surrounding it. It showed her, sitting on her bed, eyes downcast, darkness around her. She gaped; this wasn’t a happy memory. It seemed like she had slunk into more of a depression. She also looked older, lines on her face and circles under her eyes. In her hands was a frame holding a picture of something that she was staring at. In the memory, she seemed lonely and forgotten.

She paused. How was this a memory? Or was it the future? But how could it be? She was happy, wasn't she? She thought back. Had it been happy? She loved reliving the memories; it was beautiful. But those were memories and not reality. But surely it didn't matter. No, which was more important: the past or the present? And now she did something she had not done for a long time. She closed the book. The cover was even more frayed from being used so many times, and the title was slightly faded.

A violent knocking at her door made her glance upwards. A voice pleaded with her, asking her to open it and talk to them. Who was that?  Wait, wasn’t it someone she knew very well? Her brother? It certainly sounded like her brother, and her mind started to clear of some of the fog it had been soaked in as she recognized his voice. How could she forget? But... she did always disagree with her brother; they had some very mean arguments sometimes. She loved him, didn’t she? Weren't the memories the book contained so much better though?

The knocking increased, knocking her back from her thoughts. Where did this come from? Even if the memories were happier, shouldn’t she still love her brother now? But not answering would prevent more bad memories; however, there would be no more good memories either.

She stood up. The book slipped from her lap and fell to the floor, landing with a thud as a gasp slipped from her lips. What had happened to her? She had gotten so enveloped in the past she had forgotten the present and ignored her family and friends. The book had drawn her away. She had to get rid of it.

Then she paused. Did she? The book hadn’t done that much harm, right? It was just a book. A magic book. But does magic belong in this world? Should it even be here? It had done this much damage to her already...

Avery strode over to the fireplace and lit it with a match. The flames mesmerized her as she watched them dance and flash across the dark room. Then she dropped the book in. Her heart ached as she watched it, but it felt like chains had been unclasped from her wrists. Pages crumbled and blackened under the fire, and smoke drifted up toward her. The book crumbled to ash as she turned to answer the knocking.