She stood up slowly, her back cracking and aching from the long crawl. She stood now in a room, no larger than a guest room with floor-to-ceiling shelves brimming with leather bound books. And on a dais in the center of the room sat an old tome, larger than any dictionary she had ever seen.

With each step she felt more intrigued by the book. It was calling to her, it begged to be read. She reached out a hand to the book and felt the weight of the knowledge it contained. Slowly she opened the enormous book and felt something wash over her.

The book was filled with a scrawling and scratchy script in a language she was unfamiliar with. There were charts, crudely drawn pictures, symbols all begging to be interpreted. She couldn’t read it but she couldn’t stop staring. Page after page, hour after hour. She would have read for an eternity, had she not been interrupted.

She turned with a gasp and saw nothing. She was alone.

Then she heard the voice.