Inkbound

Hazel slumped over a pile of old, leather-bound books in the dimly lit corner of the university library. She didn’t know how long she had been there, surrounded by the scent of dust and worn paper, with only the soft flicker of a desk lamp casting an amber glow on her face. Her hair is disheveled, and dark circles deepen under her eyes, which have grown heavy with exhaustion as she pores over yet another dense text. Her hand rests limply on a highlighter, which she hasn’t used in a least fifteen minutes as the words blur and swim before her. 

The silence is thick and almost oppressive in the empty library. The ticking of the old clock mounted high on the wall is the only sound, a metronome of her fatigue. 

She hears a soft thud, followed by a barely audible scuffling. Hazel’s pulse quickens. She glances around but sees nothing in the dim rows of bookshelves that loom like silent sentinels. She brushes it off, her tired mind already attributing it to her imagination when a shadow flickers at the edge of her vision. 

A sleek black cat sits on a table a few feet away, its dark fur blending almost perfectly into the dim surroundings, its eyes bright as lanterns, watching her intently. She can’t recall ever seeing a cat in the library before; it seems out of place, almost surreal in the old setting. Its gaze is unwavering as if it’s sizing her up, studying her as deeply as she’s been studying her books. It’s unsettlingly - but in her exhaustion, she finds herself caught in its stare, unable to look away. 

The cat doesn’t blink. Instead, it hops down from the table, pads silently over to her, and pauses at her feet. It stretches one delicate paw forward and taps her ankle as if testing whether she’s real. Then, with a graceful leap, it lands on her table and weaves between her books, sniffing at them, its eyes flicking to hers with a strange intelligence, as if it’s examining what she’s reading. 

Hazel feels a chill creep down her spine. She tries to reach out to touch it, but it darts just out of reach, slipping back onto the floor and moving toward the library’s shadowy rear, where the rarely touched books are stored. As it moves, it turns back now and then, fixing her with that penetrating gaze, as though urging her to follow. 

Against her better judgment - and maybe fueled by a mix of curiosity and her drowsy state - Hazel rises from her seat, leaving her books and the small circle of lamplight. The cat slips silently into the maze of shelves, and, with a hesitant step, she follows, leaving the familiar warmth of her desk behind. 

The cat guides her deeper into the library, toward the shelves holding texts she’s never even noticed before - worn volumes with titles in faded ink, some in languages she doesn’t recognize. Her exhaustion fades as a strange anticipation takes hold. The deeper they go, the colder it becomes, and a faint smell of earth and decay fills the air. 

Finally, the cat pauses by an alcove she’s certain she’s never seen before, a narrow passage tucked between towering shelves. Hazel steps closer, and in the dim glow of a single dusty lightbulb, she spots a single book resting on a pedestal at the end of the alcove. Its cover is cracked leather, bound with strange symbols that seem to shimmer as she nears it. 

Hazel looks down at the black cat, which gazes back at her, almost as if it’s smiling, its tail flicking with something that feels like satisfaction. As she reaches out to touch the book, she suddenly wonders if it was wise to follow. 

She hesitates, but then, as if drawn by an invisible thread, she reaches out. The moment her fingers brush the cracked leather cover, a strange tingling sensation travels up her arm. The book shudders beneath her touch, and with a soft sigh, it opens on its own, pages fluttering as though flipped by an unseen hand. It finally settles on a page yellowed with age, showing a list of names scrawled in dark, spidery ink, each letter precise and ominously neat. 

Before she can fully process what she’s seeing, there’s a shimmer in the air beside the book, like the briefest ripple in water. A pen materializes, floating just inches above the page. Its handle is sleek and old-fashioned, made of some dark, polished wood, with a silvery, glinting nib that catches the dim light. It hovers, poised over the open book as if waiting for her to take it. 

Hazel’s heart pounds. The names on the page seem to pulse with an energy of their own, and some of them look disturbingly familiar - names she’s seen in old records, some even whispered about in local ghost stories. Her throat tightens when she sees her own surname a few lines up from the bottom, next to an empty space, the ink faded but unmistakable. 

The pen quivers slightly, as if eager, as if it’s calling her to add her name to the list. She glances down at the black cat, which has settled beside her feet, its gaze steady and unblinking. In that moment, she realized that the cat hadn’t just led her to the book - it was offering her a choice. 

The library is silent, save for the faint scratching sound as the pen hovers suspended, awaiting her decision. She feels the weight of history pressing down, the sense of countless others who once stood where she does, with the same choice, the same chilling offer, made in the shadows of this forgotten place. 

She pulls her hand back, refusing to take the pen, the room seems to darken, as if the shadows themselves are disappointed, closing in around her. The pen hangs in the air for a moment longer, quivering, almost as if it’s reluctant to believe her decision. Then, as if sensing her defiance, it drops onto the open page with a dull thud, rolling to the edge and lying still, abandoned. 

The air grew colder. Hazel feels an unsettling shift in the room, as though something ancient and unseen has taken notice. The black cat at her feet lets out a low, rumbling growl, its eyes narrowing, but it doesn’t move to stop her. Instead, it watches her intently, its gaze unreadable, as if it’s merely the observer of what will unfold. 

Hazel turns to leave, her instincts urging her to put as much distance as possible between herself and the cursed book. But as she steps back, the book’s pages begin to turn rapidly on their own, flipping in a frenzy, blurring past her in a flurry of yellowed parchment and faded ink. A sound fills the room - a whispering, like a thousand voices murmuring, angry and disappointed, each word dripping with something dark and resentful. 

A chill races up her spine. Hazel’s name appears, ghostly and translucent, at the bottom of the list, shimmering faintly on the page. The letters seem to pulse desperate to anchor themselves, but they begin to fade as she steps farther away. She feels a strange pull, as though something is reaching out from the book, trying to drag her name back into the ink, to bind her to the page even without her consent. 

Suddenly, the room grows silent. The whispers cease, and the air feels thick and stifling. Hazel glances down and realizes that the shadows have lengthened, stretching across the floor to encircle her feet. She tries to move, but it’s as if her shoes are rooted to the floor, held fast by invisible tendrils that tighten with every breath. 

The black cat circles her slowly, watching with hose eerie, knowing eyes. Then it pauses, and she hears a voice - not spoken, but a clear whisper inside her mind.

“You were chosen, Hazel,” it says. “You can’t simply turn your back on this. You choose to follow me.” 

She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. The shadows pull her down, inch by inch, until she feels the cold floor pressing against her face, her vision clouding as the darkness overtakes her. In her final moments, she sees the book on the pedestal, the pages still, her name flickering on the page like a dying ember, just visible before it fades entirely. 

Everything is silent. When morning comes, the library is empty. The only trace of her presence is a faint, spectral outline of her name in the book, as if written in smoke, almost unreadable but lingering, a warning to the next unwary soul who might dare to turn those pages.