Work Text:
Fuck.
Stella shut the door to her room in a panic, heart pounding against her ribs, threatening to beat out of her chest. Her back hit the door, her already heaving breaths masking the shock-waves the impact sent through her body, winding her instantly. Radio clutched tightly in her hand, she glanced back down at it, sure of what she was expecting to hear more of.
“Man I wonder how her friends feel after that shit.”
“Friends? Imagine staying friends with the girl who got you killed!”
She hesitated momentarily, staring with wide eyes, lump in her throat. She moved her thumb to open the line, but God , she couldn’t will her fingers to do it, to say anything to defend herself. They were right after all- they were right about all of it.
Her friends died and it had been her fault.
She moved over to the table where the book sat, a layer of dust covering the top, untouched for months. Stella had tried everything to get rid of it, burning it, tearing the pages, moving it to somewhere she couldn’t see it, but it always came back, reappearing on her desk the next morning in perfect condition. The sight of it was haunting, the memories it brought back from those terrible few nights in October.
She loosened her grip on the radio, though the sound of it hitting the floor didn’t register. Slowly, as though weren’t controlling it, her hand reached out to touch the book, flipping it open to the first page.
‘Harold. Tommy.’
The pages were still there, written in blood that had now set with her friends’ futures. They’d stayed since they were written, a harsh reminder of what her simple mistake had done. She flipped the page with her fingers.
‘The Big Toe. Auggie.’
That had been the first confirmation that the book had done something terrible, and she remembered it all too vividly. The way she screamed herself hoarse to get him to stop, his cries of panic from the other end of the radio. The silence that followed, a bone-chilling quiet, despite her frantic calling. That day, she’d lost one of her best friends, the only remains of him being the scratches under his bed.
She turned the page again.
‘The Red Spot. Ruth.’
She’d first seen Sarah that day, a pale face in the mirror instead of her reflection. How ironic it was now, that they’d thought that Sarah was the monster the entire time, that she was the cause of all the deaths and the misery, when really, it had been Stella all along. How Ruth forgave her, she had no idea.
How any of them forgave her, for that matter. How anyone could ever trust her ever again.
‘The Pale Lady. Chuck.’
‘The Jangly Man. Ramón.’
‘The Story of Sarah Bellows.’
‘The Resurrection.’
Her hands gripped around the last page, scrunching up the paper in her fist, tearing it away from the spine. She threw it to the floor, hands grasping at more and more pages, ripping them from the book one by one. Ramón. Chuck. Ruth. Auggie. Tommy.
She let out a frustrated scream, launching the book across the room, a loud thump bouncing off the walls of her bedroom. She sank down against the desk, hitting the floor, knees bent, arms holding herself up. A sob broke past her lips, those nights replaying, no matter how hard she tried to stop them.
‘Do you know what you have done? You shouldn’t have taken the book. You made her angry.’
“I know,” Stella whimpered, arms moving to push herself further against the desk. It was as though LouLou was there, her breath on Stella’s neck, words sending chills down her spine. She could almost make out the other girl’s face, though it seemed to have some form of filter over it, blurred lines between her reality and the flashback. This book, the book that she’d selfishly brought out of the house for the sake of her own curiosity, had killed her friends. The same book had brought them back into word just as harshly as they’d been taken from it, forgiving in the moment, grateful to be alive, but no doubt angered later on. That book had taken everything from them.
Stella had taken everything from them.
It was the crackle of the radio that brought her back, a reminder that the people she’d killed weren’t really gone, but were just mad at her instead. Incredibly mad. Sure, her friends never said it, but they never needed to- Tommy voiced what they were all thinking.
“You literally killed this kid and you expect him not to be pissed off?”
With a shaky exhale, Stella looked up, hands frantically trying to wipe the tears from her face. The book she’d thrown to the end of the room was no longer there.
When she craned her head to see behind her, Sarah’s Book sat back on Stella’s desk where it belonged.