This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Morpheusismybrother on 2024-11-17 14:45:03+00:00.
When we were little, my brother and I spent a lot of time with our nana. She was always full of joy and laughter, baking for us, giving us an endless amount of sweets, singing, crafting and cooking together with us. We had the most amazing times with her. My granddad had died before my brother and I were ever conceived and nana never married again. I’m not sure she ever even dated anyone. Not for lack of opportunity though, my nana was a beautiful, elegant lady. She truly always looked effortlessly stunning and will forever be my role model.
Since our parents had to work a lot and most likely also wanted to enjoy some time without their unruly twins, we spent weekends and most of our summers with nana in her cottage. A beautiful little house, with a thatched roof and flower pots in the windows, surrounded by a huge garden with all kinds of flowers, herbs, fruits, vegetables and trees. Nana grew everything there. She even had chickens. For us city kids, that garden and the cottage were a playground.
What we enjoyed most though, were her stories! When it was cold, the three of us would built a blanket fort in front of the fire place and huddle together with hot chocolate and biscuits, while nana read from her big, red, leatherboound book. The stories revolved around princesses and princes, fairies, gnomes and all kinds of fantastical beings. Also, they always had a happy ending. No matter what trouble the protagonists (suspiciously often a pair of twins, a boy and a girl), would find their way out of it and live happily ever after.
Two years ago, our beloved nana fell sick and even though the doctors tried everything, they couldn’t do anything. Her life had reached it’s end and my amazing nana died. Our whole family was distraught, I think I’ve never seen my mum in more pain. In that moment I, a grown woman, understood for the first time, that my nana was also my mother’s mother. After nana was gone, none of us spoke for a week. It was too much.
We kept her cottage and gave her chickens to a trusted neighbour, but couldn’t bear to set foot in the garden or the house for a year. Nana’s absence ripped our hearts open every single time we tried.
Three weeks ago, I decided to give it another try. Especially since I’m thinking about having my own children soon with my fiancé. I really wanted to see, if I could find nana’s story book and share these magical stories with my own kids. I met him right around the time nana died and he has comforted me so much. I don’t know, how I would’ve made it through without him.
I arrived at the house, opened the garden gate and felt that familiar pang of sadness. I will never get used to her being gone. I made my way to the garden, biting back tears and into the house. The door creaked in the way it always had, as did the floor boards and I avoided the worst offenders, as if nothing ever happend. I started looking for the book and found it very easily. It lay on the kitchen counter, a letter on top of it. I was sure we didn’t place it there, after we left last time and I was also pretty sure that I was the first to come back. Yet, in the moment I thought nothing of it. I looked at the letter and saw my name on the envelope, in Nana’s cursive. I could’ve sworn the ink still looked wet.
"My darling granddaughter,
If you’re reading this, I’m gone and you’re looking for my book and I’m glad you are, I have a sinking feeling you’ll need it. Please take it with you and keep it safe, so it in turn can keep you and our family safe. There are a few things you should know though and I should have told you all of this before I went away. I regret not doing that, but I never wanted to acknowledge the reality that one day, I would have to leave you behind. Trust that I did my best to stay. This book is special and powerful. If you start reading, always read to the end, never leave anything out and never change it’s words when you say them aloud. It’s also very important that nobody but you ever reads from this book. It chooses who it belongs to and for now it chose you. Trust me, it doesn’t like to be shared. Make sure you do as I said, everything else you’ll ever need to know will be in the book, just follow it’s rules. If you break them, there will be unpredictable consequences. Make sure to always follow its advice. The book has always been a great asset to me, you could even call it a friend."
I was taken aback. This was definitely Nana’s handwriting, but it didn’t make sense at all. It sounded like she was being deeply sincere, but it seemed so odd. How would a book keep me safe and why could I not share it? Also how on earth would a book choose an owner? It seemed a bit batty, but regardless I took the book, carrying it out of the house, tightly pressed to my chest. The leather smelled like Nana’s perfume and it felt warm to the touch. Holding it was strangely comforting. Nana had always worried about us a lot. Over the years, she has gifted us numerous talismans, one a pretty silver necklace with an “E”-shaped pendant I used to wear a lot, but took off after she died. It reminded me too much of her.
When I came home my fiancé was still out and I contemplated reading a little but then just put the book away. I decided to heed the letter’s warnings, so I tucked the book into my sock drawer. I felt I had to keep it a secret, because if I told him, my fiancé surely would want to look. That couldn’t happen. I also had this strange sense, that he could never know about the book. The next day we were invited to dinner at a friend’s place, but I feigned a headache and encouraged him to go alone. I needed to read. Alone. My heart pounding in my chest, I took the book out from underneath my socks. Holding it felt instantly comfortable, just like last time. Gingerly I then placed it on the kitchen table, sat down in front of it and opened it. The first page was blank, then came the title, I brushed past all that, right into the text on page 1. The first words read: “Good afternoon, Ella” she read, with her heart pounding in anticipatory curiosity. She was wondering what she would find in this book her Nana left her."
The words were there, printed on the page. I glanced up and said to myself, “what the actual fuck is this?” I looked down again, still there. It wasn’t like the words were appearing there. It looked like they had always been on this page, but how? It even called me by my name! Frantically I tried to remember, if there had been an Ella before me in our family. Was it coincidence? I then remembered that I would have to read until the end and I was scared that I couldn’t make it, before my fiancé came home. I still had this uneasy certainty, that he shouldn’t know about this. I did make it tough, just in time for him to return, the text in the book stopped and I shoved it back into its hiding place.
For the next few days I felt uneasy, almost like someone was standing behind me. I swear, I did feel someone breathe into my neck a few times, only there was nobody there. Luckily I was with my fiancé most of the time, so I couldn’t think myself into a frenzy.
A week ago, I finally got a chance to look at the book again. This time it gave me instructions.
"Basic ways to keep yourself protected
To protect yourself from Fae, make sure you have iron at hand. It needs to be without impurities and can be wielded to fight them off. It is also advisable, to have salt and silver at the ready, in case ghosts, werewolves or other unsavoury guests show up in your house. Before you let anyone enter your house, get them to touch the aforementioned metals, to test their humanity. This also works for vampires. Make sure to regularly cleanse the house with sage. For other useful herbal remedies, turn to page 33"
It feels like a fever dream, I’ve followed the instructions to a t and the feeling of being watched disappeared. The sense of relief was so great, that I wonder, if there had been an underlying fear for much longer than just these past two weeks. Could there really be something watching me?
Though the book is surely a very strange thing, reading it is strangely comforting. Or it was. Until I opened it this morning. There was only one sentence, bold and red.
“Run or he will hurt you!”
The text hasn’t changed since this morning, but it keeps getting darker and more distorted, almost like the ink is running, almost like letters written in fresh blood. I have no idea where to run to or who I’m supposed to run from. What do I do?