Burn This Book

Δολοφονία*

Forward

This book is transcribed by hand. If you possess this book, then you know that you are a part of a rare group. This book is to serve one purpose only.

If you have found this book without instructions, destroy this book. Burn it. Do not turn the page. You will regret the day you read this forward even if you follow my directions. There are things about this book that can only be explained to you by a previous owner. When he is finished with the book, he will know exactly who should inherit it. He will know what to tell you.

If you found this book without an owner, again, I tell you to burn this book immediately.

Michael turned the page.

Chapter 1

You have made the decision to end another person’s life. This book was written with only one purpose: murder.

In simple, direct instructions, you will discover many ways of killing a human. More importantly, you will learn the essential techniques for killing another human being undetected. Another human being will return to dust, and your hands will be clean.

Michael closed the book. He felt the weight of it. It was light and small, but it was somehow dense. The book could fit into his overcoat pocket. He tossed the book towards the other end of the couch. It bounced and landed in the thick shag carpet.

“Jesus.”

Michael had stolen the book. It was easy after the bookstore had been robbed. When Michael came to work that day, he called the police as soon as he saw that the front door had been smashed and kicked in. And while he was walking through the aisles of the bookstore, he thought of Desmond’s collection of rare books. It’s likely the robbers were just looking for some quick cash. What if they had no idea the money Desmond had invested in those ancient books? What if…?

Michael raced to the back of the store where Desmond’s oak display cabinet was tucked around a corner, underneath a staircase. It was untouched. He acted quickly. The police said they were on their way, but Desmond, the owner, had not replied to Michael’s texts.

Michael knew he would have to make it look like the thieves busted the display cabinet open. Of course, this would add a new wrinkle. Now the thieves weren’t just looking for some cash. This meant they knew about the valuable books.

Michael raced back to the front of the store. The cash register was smashed, but he wasn’t worried about that. He was searching for the aluminum bat that Desmond kept under the front counter. Not that he would ever get violent with a robber. He was a "Peacenik". But still the bat was there for “protection.”

Michael ran back to the rare books. He smashed both sides of the glass. He picked through the glass and scooped up the first editions of Virginia Wolf and T.S Eliot. These were the most rare and expensive. He was still wearing his backpack. He stuffed as many of the books as possible into the backpack.

In the rush, one book fell to the floor. He grabbed that book, and investigated. It was small and not one that Michael had ever seen Desmond show to potential buyers. He stuffed it into his bag, too.

At that moment he heard a loud voice calling out from the front of the shop.

“Hello? Is there anyone here?” It was the police. Michael was a little nervous, but he knew his plan was solid.

“Yes.” He walked to the front of the store. “Officers. That was quick!” The two officers were geared up for cycling. Michael was still wearing his helmet and fingerless gloves. He had locked his bike up outside.

The police split up. One had a flashlight, while the other approached Michael. “Let’s get some information. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Of course not,” Michael sat his backpack down and took off his helmet.

The interview took no more than ten minutes. One officer took Michael’s account of the morning as the other officer searched around for clues. They would have to ask the owner who was always the last to leave. It was their habit for Desmond to go to the bank for deposits after he would get to the shop around noon.

“Have you reached out to the owner?” This was the flashlight officer, talking to Michael without taking his eyes off of the wrecked cash register.

“I texted him, but I could call.” Michael called Desmond’s land line first.

“Hello?”

“Dez, it’s Michael. Did you see my texts?”

“What? Michael? No. I didn’t. Hold on.” There was a long pause before he came back to the phone. Michael put his phone on speaker so the police could hear. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“The police are already here. They want to know if you had any cash in the register?” Another long pause.

“Yes. Dammit. Did they get that?”

“The register is smashed and empty.”

“I’m getting dressed. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Over the next two hours, the police took a statement from Desmond. He figured he lost a little over a thousand from the register. He has insurance, but there is a minimum for a claim. But what really anguished Dez was the loss of so many of his rare books. The police figured that either the perpetrators simply searched the place and saw the books in the display case and figured they might be valuable or they KNEW they were valuable.

Desmond estimated the books that were stolen could bring up to 20 or 30 thousand dollars at an auction or to a private collector. But Desmond seemed so distracted and broken. He searched the shattered cabinet. He brushed away the glass by pulling his sleeve down over his hand. He still managed to get a cut on his wrist. Michael saw the shallow cut on Desmond’s freckled white skin, but Desmond was unfazed. He was searching for something in particular.

“Oh, hell.” Desmond’s head dropped and he fell to his knees. Michael could see the saucer-sized bald spot in his thinning red curly hair. Again he was cut by the glass. This time the cut was to his knee. He whispered more to himself than to Michael or the police: “They got it. They got it.” Michael knew he was talking about the little book with the painted cover. He was searching the shop with the flashlight cop, but he was aware of Desmond’s reactions.

After the police left, it was obvious that Desmond was devastated. He told Michael that there was one rare book that he had not bothered to include when he bought insurance. There was no way to value that book. It was hand copied, a translation of another copy of the book. A book that lived in the minds of only a few living people. It dates back to ancient Greece. He looked at Michael with tears in his eyes.

“We’ve got to find that book.” Desmond’s hands were in his lap as he sat in the leather chair that the dedicated readers loved. He looked small, almost like a child.

“Michael, did you take that book?” Michael’s blood felt hot in his face.

“What book? The Hogarth books?”

“No, Michael. It was a small book. Author unknown. It has no real value to the public or even to the keenest of collectors, but it has significant value to me.” He looked up at Michael with tears falling. “It's a deadly book.”

Michael didn’t know what to make of his boss. Desmond was in his late-fifties and probably about 100 lbs overweight. HIs diet of subs and gravy fries didn’t help. Sometimes his daughter would come by with some prepped lunches. She was a dietician and tried to encourage her father to eat better. And yet, he had such a passion for books. The store gave him endless energy and happiness. It was sad to see him so broken over a book. “Deadly?”

“Yes Michael. Whoever reads the book will certainly regret it.” Desmond rubbed his beard unconsciously. “It is doom.”

A few hours later, Michael wanted to leave for lunch. Desmond was still on the phone with the insurance company. Michael grabbed his backpack and popped on his helmet. “I’ll be back.” Desmond nodded. Michael was going to ride his bike home to drop off the books.

“I’m on hold. Are you coming back? It’s been a rough morning.”

“I’ll be back. I just need to eat. Do you want me to bring you anything?”

“No….” The agent on the other line interrupted the hold music. Desmond had the agent on speaker. “Yes, hello?” He covered the phone and asked Michael if he could get him a latte from the coffee shop upstairs.

“Sure.” Michael didn’t know what to do about the backpack. It would look odd if he left with the backpack, but he also did not want to leave it alone with Desmond.

Desmond was well aware of Michael’s struggle with changing plans. “Nevermind. I’ll get it for myself. Actually, I think caffeine would be a bad idea right now. I’ll wait until you come back.”

Michael tried very hard to ignore his elevating anxiety. “Well, give me a call if you want anything.”

“Michael,” he whispered. “I was desperate and in shock. I’m sorry I asked you if you took the book. You didn’t know it was there. No one did. Losing that book is worse than losing one of my grand kids.” Michael turned his head away and headed out the door.

*****

Michael picked up the book from the floor. Doom? Michael felt a twinge of regret for ignoring the warning of the book. As he held the book, it felt heavier than it should. He had skipped the frontispiece, but now he could see that it was also a hand drawn illustration of line after line of skulls. They didn’t quite fill up the page. Did the author leave space on purpose? Michael shuddered. He studied the cover again.

Δολοφονία

Greek. Michael didn’t know Greek, but their alphabet was easy to recognize. Unfortunately, he had a feeling he knew what it spelled. He got lost in Chapter 1. It took every part of himself to read.

Chapter 2

At this point you have reviewed the vulnerable places on a person’s body to disable your victim. In this chapter, we will discuss poison.

Michael stopped reading again. He had read all of the first chapter and most of Chapter 2. This was all only 12 hours after he had stolen the books. He had decided that he was going to plant the other books in the alley behind the store. This could support a theory that the thieves didn’t know what they had stolen. They dumped the heavy books rather than trying to pawn them.

But the Greek book was difficult to release. It was approaching his bedtime, but he wanted to read just one more chapter.

Chapter 3

Knife Play.

All knives are a weapon. What makes a knife dangerous is the man who wields it.

Michael read the chapters on knives, firearms, and using everyday items as weapons. He was transfixed by the book. It was so simple and straightforward. There were only ten chapters, but what was being unraveled was enormous to Michael. He could see what would make this book so valuable to Desmond. Michael doubted that there were many copies of this book. “How to murder.” That must have been what the Greek said.

Desmond decided to close the shop for the week. He wanted to replace the broken front door, the register, but not the rare book cabinet. He removed all of the rare books including the ones that a neighbor found in the alley. Michael assumed he took them home.

*****

After a week of having the book, Michael started to feel the burden of it. It was a mistake to steal any of the books. At least the return of the Hogarth first editions alleviated some of the guilt. By the end of the week he had read the book over and over. It was the first time in almost ten years that Michael wanted a drink. Yet, he did resist. The book was better than booze. He felt intoxicated by the book.

Desmond told Michael he would still pay him for the week. Michael appreciated that. Desmond asked if he could stop by the shop tomorrow. Desmond would be home from his mini-trip to Bethesda Springs. Michael said there was no rush, but Desmond’s voice was hollow and empty.

On Sunday, Michael got up and showered, dressed, and grabbed his bike from the hallway. He tucked the book into his coat pocket. He headed to the shop. When he got there, he was impressed with the new heavy metal framed front door with the logo for the store. The door was locked, and with a new lock Michael didn’t have a key so he knocked.

In just a few moments, Desmond came to the door. Michael was surprised by Desmond’s appearance. Michael guessed he might have lost 10 or 20 lbs.

“Come in.” Desmond locked the door behind them. The new lock needed to be locked and unlocked with the key. “I cut you a key. Hold on.”

But Michael could smell the whiskey on Desmond’s breath.

“Are you okay? How was the trip?”

Desmond ignored him.

“I’m sorry,” he tried to be empathetic.

“Yes. I know. I appreciate your sympathy. It’s precious.” Desmond went back to the counter and filled his cup halfway. Michael estimated he was drinking about 4 shots at a time.

“I’ve been thinking about you, Michael. My co-worker. My friend.” He put his other hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“I have been thinking of you….” But before he could finish the sentence, there was a flash, and Desmond grabbed his neck and took Michael straight to the ground. Chapter 1 to perfection. In seconds the room went dark.

When Michael woke, he was bound to the heavy soft brown chair. It was clear that the chair was here for this reason. The chair was fastened to the ground, and he couldn’t move. He looked up, shocked with a monster headache. Desmond was crouched in front of Michael. He splashed Michael's face with the whisky in his cup. Michael realized he had cuts on his face when the alcohol hit the open wounds.

“Hurts? Whisky can kill a drunk, you know?”

Michael tried his best to free himself, but clearly Desmond had secured him perfectly to the chair. Chapter 7.

“Let me go.” Michael said. “I don’t have your book.”

“Yes. That’s true. I have the book.” Desmond picked up the book from a pile old dictionaries. “It’s right here.” He tapped Michael on the head with the book. “Did you read the warning?”

“I did, and that was as far as I got.”

“Yes? That’s good.” He put the book down and reached behind his back, producing a small silver handgun. “Because it’s a powerful book.” He reached his arm back and unleashed a solid chop to Michael's throat with the book. It took his breath away, but he was not going to die. Desmond had clearly read the book. This was Chapter 5: Using Everyday Objects.

“Do you think the only security measure I had for these books was that glass display case?”

Michael’s face was flush. “I don’t know?" Pause "Video surveillance?”

Desmond finished the whisky in the cup. He threw the empty cup at Michael.

“I’ll bet you read the whole book many times, but you didn’t see the secret page.” His voice went up with his deep understanding of the book's power. “It was lightly glued to the back cover, but I carefully opened it. Take a look.” He held the book up to Michael's face. He never saw this page. It was a long list of names. Most of them had a strike through them, but some names were untouched.

“Notice a familiar name near the end.” Michael saw Desmond’s name, unmarked. Below that were three names that all had strikes through them. Desmond pulled a pencil from his pocket. “Since you read the book, I know YOU know that I could kill you with this pencil.”

Michael tried his best to undo the ropes that had him bound. No use.

Desmond smiled. “But I don’t have to touch you with this pencil to kill you with it.

Michael’s mind realized what Desmond was saying. “The names with strikes are people who have been murdered.”

“Yes. Good! The book is inside of you. You’re thinking like a killer.”

“Are you going to strike my name?”

“What do you think?” He wrote Michael’s name. “See? Your name is untouched.”

“Because I am still alive?” Michel could see where this was going. “Don’t kill me, Dez. Think about this. We could work together. I know the book. We could kill people to—

POW!

The bullet went right through Michael’s skull. Two more shots to the chest. Chapter 3: Firearms. Two in the chest, one in the head.

Desmond opened the book and scratched Michael’s name and his own. He put the gun back in his pocket and grabbed a lighter. He opened the book and started to set the pages on fire. He put the book on Michael’s dead legs and poured the whisky to fuel the fire. Michael was eaten by the flames. The book was fully engulfed. “You should have heeded the warning.”

Desmond took the gun out of his pocket and placed it to his neck and fired. The force of the gunshot sent Desmond backwards to the floor.

And the book named simply Δολοφονία* would never kill again.

*translation : murder