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Down an empty Fawn Road, between two petrified oak trees covered in ivy, lay a small path of stones. These stones held a curse, along with the rest of the property. They had for one hundred and seventeen years. The curse had been long since forgotten by the living, save Mr. Linden. At the entrance to his cursed property, Mara began to venture down the stone path. Seventeen mossy stones down, one was missing. Had Mara known the fate of the stone, she never would have taken another step. However, she was blissfully unaware, so she simply hopped to the next stone and continued down the path. Four stones further, one had begun to crack. Mara did not take notice and continued.
On stone number twenty-eight, the path came to an abrupt halt before six simple stone stairsteps. Mara took the stairs one step at a time. Six stairsteps conquered by six footsteps. Above the steps was a door, peeling paint as red as blood. Mara cared not about the color, only what laid beyond it. She raised her fist and knocked. Once. Tap. Twice. Tap, tap. Three times. Tap, tap, tap.
A man appearing to be in his late forties opened the door. “Who are you? Has the devil sent you to claim my soul?” the man yelled, his long, graying hair flying. “Three sets of six is the devil’s number, girl. Are you mad?”
“My apologies, Mr. Linden. I came to borrow a book from your library,” Mara calmly stated.
“You devil-girl have finally come to curse my abode. I’ll humor you, girl; my cursed library is yours to browse,” Mr. Linden said grandly.
“Thank you, sir.”
Mara stepped past the man and into the library. The library smelled of pine, ink, and sulfur. The sulfurous smell trailed after her, pulling her into a trance and into the shelves. As Mara ventured deeper into the maze of shelves, Mr. Linden murmured the end of his curse to himself.
“When the stone past ten with seven has left,
And the couple of twos has a cleft,
Let the girl who inflicts
Three sets of six
To the entrance of your abode
Be the only road
To break the curse
Caused by this verse.”
Mara did not hear this. Had she heard it, she would have left immediately. She walked by the shelves, led to a book at the heart of the property. Mara’s fingers brushed the spine. The words seemed to glow beneath her fingers. Mara blinked and time no longer mattered. Mr. Linden froze, the curse turning him to his true age. He appeared to be nothing but pure bone. His eye sockets poured black blood down his face. The shelves grew vines and the books rotted. Mara’s neck began to leak blood, a thin gap, as if a string was passing through, slicing her head off. Her eyes opened and everything flashed back to how it had been a moment before. Mara rubbed at her neck, oblivious to what had just happened. Mr. Linden rushed through the stacks. He stopped when he reached Mara. She had picked up the book.
“Girl! Drop that book, lest you end up cursed as I have been,” Mr. Linden’s voice shook with fear.
“But, sir,” Mara said without meeting his eyes, “The Cursed Library seems like such an interesting story.”
“The story will be your death. It is the one book that has been touched by the devil himself,” Mr. Linden warned.
“Then I should be perfect,” Mara giggled. “I am the devil-girl, am I not?”
With that, Mara said goodbye and danced her way out of the library. Mr. Linden watched her move gracefully and flawlessly down the stone path. Something chased her, leading her further along. As she passed beneath the two petrified oaks, Mr. Linden heard a laugh echo through the library. As it reached him, the world shook. He warned her about the book. Now it was too late.
Mara retraced her steps to the start of Fawn Road. Each step echoed down the road. Clack. One heel on the pavement. Clack. Two heels on the ground. Up went one, and back down. The next swiftly followed, outrunning the laughter from the library. Mara skipped down the neighborhood roads, laughing as she saw a car run over a mother in front of her child. Her bones crunched, loud snapping filling the air. Mara tripped the child, laughing even harder at his screams before his skull met the same fate as his mother. Crunch. Blood splattered onto Mara. She smiled and licked it off of her fingers. Waving at the driver, she continued onward, book in hand.
Mara began mindlessly speaking, “Mara turned the corner, brushing her hand against a red rose. She paused just long enough to pick it. Holding it in her—”
Mara cut herself off with a blood-curdling scream. She dropped the book and a crushed red rose, cuts causing blood to gush down her arms. She looked at the rose bush, its thorns dripping with her blood. Mara screamed louder, tears falling down her face. She picked up the book, ready to run to her house.
Just as her fingers brushed the book, her pain vanished. Mara smiled and began laughing again. She stood up and continued skipping down the street. Mara skipped to her house. She passed the simple white fence and neat lawn. Her shoes tapped on the front porch. The key slid in the lock and it clicked open.
“Mara, sweet suffering, open the book,” echoed a voice through the house.
Mara stepped inside her house and walked to her room. She changed into a simple white camisole and slipped under her blanket. Leaving the light on, Mara opened the book. She flipped through the pages, losing herself within them. Soon, Mara had fallen asleep. As she slept, a thorn-covered vine had begun to grow from the open book. It wrapped around her neck, the thorns digging into her skin. The vine tightened, as if it had a mind of its own. It sawed a thin line through Mara’s neck. Blood poured out, dying her sheets a deep red. Mara woke, choking on blood. She opened her mouth and blood dripped out. Air could no longer reach her lungs. Mara ceased moving. The vine cut through her neck, severing her head from her body.
At the library, Mr. Linden reshelved books. The book Mara had borrowed appeared on the shelf before him. He picked it up and flipped to the last page.
“The vine cut through her neck, severing her head from her body,” Mr. Linden read. “Yet another life lost to this curse.”
Mr. Linden shut the book, dust flying in his face. Just as he was about to place the book back on the shelf, a hand wrapped around his neck. Mr. Linden was shoved against the shelf. He turned around and saw Mara. Her eyes were bulging and her mouth was crusted with dried blood. She let out an inhuman laugh. Mr. Linden screamed. Mara ripped at his flesh with her nails, now growing into long claws.
Mr. Linden’s blood poured out not as red, but as a rotten black caused by one hundred and forty seven years of taking care of this library. Mara licked up his blood as if it would miraculously bring her back to life. Mr. Linden struggled to escape, but Mara ripped his throat out with razor-sharp teeth. Mr. Linden’s neck poured out more rotted blood. Mara spit out his flesh and watched Mr. Linden’s body until the blood had dried out.
•••••
“And with that final act, Mara’s body collapsed into dust. Her mortal form had reached its final state. From ashes to ashes and into legend once again,” said a young woman. “Thank you, Mx. Damon. This book is perfect! I’ll take it.”
“Of course, darling. These books deserve a loving home after so long,” Alex Linden said. They adjusted their name tag reading Alex Damon.
The young woman stepped outside and closed the door to the bookstore, not noticing the peeling yellow on the door revealing blood red. She walked down the stone path, past the twenty-second stone with a crack and the missing eighteenth stone. The young woman walked right in between the two ivy-covered petrified oaks. She waltzed right down Fawn Road, book in hand and not a care in the world. Alex watched the girl take The Cursed Library by Alexander Linden with her and laughed. They laughed as history repeated itself, but this time the owner of the property was not the puppet. They were the one who told the story. They wrote the next chapter.
Alex opened a new Google Doc and began to write.
“Down an empty Fawn Road, between two petrified oak trees covered in ivy, lay a small path of stones. No curse laid within these stones but instead the books. One of these was about to begin the next book in a series that had been written for years.”