Post by DavidMc on Sept 19, 2006 1:50:22 GMT -6
The Little Book Of Alfonso Moreno.
Alfonso Moreno discovered the little book in a second hand shop along the coast. He had been struggling with his thesis on the ‘sacrificial rites of early Man’ and much of the reading material that Professor Delgado had recommended seemed stilted and out of date. But two minutes thumbing through the little book was enough to convince Alfonso that he had found a new vital and interesting source for his research. Although the book was in poor condition, Alfonso didn’t hesitate in handing over his five euro note.
On returning to his lodgings Alfonso settled down to read. Much of the material was undoubtedly fascinating but also deeply disturbing. Alfonso sometimes wondered why he had chosen such a grim topic for his anthropological doctorate, but the macabre had always held held a fascination for him; even as a small boy he had been held transfixed by his uncle Victor’s tales of the Spanish Inquisition.
But he was also excited and inspired by what he had read. So once he had finished reading Alfonso dashed to his computer and began work immediately. The little book propped by his side. The words just seemed to write themselves, as hour after hour he typed. Eventually however his eyes began to tire and glancing at the icon on his computer discovered it was 2.20am. Time to retire to his bed and continue his work in the morning.
As he was about to turn off the computer, he heard what sounded like a voice coming from near by. Alfonso yawned, shaking his head dismissing the notion and continued to log off. But no, there it was again and this time a little louder!
“Help me!” This time the voice was unmistakable.
Alfonso sprang from his chair “Who’s there!”
“Help me!”
Spinning round Alfonso realised the voice was coming from the little book. But that was absurd books didn’t talk! He must be far more tired than he had realised. Now he was hallucinating!
“HELP ME!!” Now the voice almost filled the room!
A shiver ran down Alfonso’s spine and thrusting out his hand he swiped the book, sending it spinning across the floor.
“What is it! What do you want? Who are you?” Wailed Alfonso, voice trembling.
The book began to slide across the floor towards him. “Help me I am very weak, my pages are coming away from my spine. I need your help”
Alfonso knew he had descended into a state of complete madness, but in spite of himself found himself answering.
“I’m an Anthropology student not a bookbinder!”
And with that he kicked the book across the room and dashed next door to his bedroom, and with trembling fingers bolted the door behind him. For what seemed like an eternity he tossed and turned in his bed trying to rationalalise what had taken place, but eventually despite himself, sleep began to overtake him, and immediately found himself descending into another nightmare.
He was being pulled along in a cart tied to a stake. The road was stony and Alfonso felt the vibration jarring his body. In the near distance he could see the fire and the masked Man holding a rope in his hands. As the cart drew nearer he knew with utter certainty and dread that he was about to die. This was no dream. His death was but moments away….
Sometime later Professor Delgado knocked at the lodging house where his favorite student was living. It had been four days since he had heard from Alfonso, and he had promised to deliver his thesis two days ago.
Entering the house Señora Martinez explained that her lodger had not been seen for almost a week. “and his rent was due yesterday.”
A thought suddenly struck the Professor and he asked “he is not in his room?” It was such an obvious question the professor immediately felt foolish asking it.
“I Señor do not enter my tenants rooms”
“Of course not Señora” the professor added quickly. “I did not mean to imply.. it’s just that Alfonso could be ill..”
Señora Martinez nodded her head. “Of course Professor, perhaps you are right, we should check..”
The lodging house had no elevator and by the time they arrived outside Alfonso’s door on the third floor Señora Martinez who smoked was wheezing heavily. The Profesor knocked on the solid door but only silence greeted him. Turning the brass door knob the door opened into the room.
Entering the room there was no sign of any disturbance but their was a faint waft in the air. Moving towards the bedroom the professor turned the handle but the door remained firm.
“But Professor this cannot be? This door locks only from the inside” Señora Martinez exclaimed
They stared at each other, both instantly realising the gravity of the situation. The Professor pushed his considerable frame against the door, grunting, and with increased momentum the wood started to splinter and suddenly it gave way completely hurtling the professor into the room and against the foot of the bed. Immediately something solid dropped to the floor. Lowering his eyes Professor Delgado watched in horror as the head of Alfonso Moreno rolled towards him.
Later it would be recalled that the screams of Señora Martinez could be heard for a quarter of a mile in all directions.
Lifting his eyes, face set in a rictus of horror, Profesor Delgado gazed upon the charred remains of Alfonso Moreno, and lying next to them a little book in pristine condition but with a streak of blood along its spine.
Alfonso Moreno discovered the little book in a second hand shop along the coast. He had been struggling with his thesis on the ‘sacrificial rites of early Man’ and much of the reading material that Professor Delgado had recommended seemed stilted and out of date. But two minutes thumbing through the little book was enough to convince Alfonso that he had found a new vital and interesting source for his research. Although the book was in poor condition, Alfonso didn’t hesitate in handing over his five euro note.
On returning to his lodgings Alfonso settled down to read. Much of the material was undoubtedly fascinating but also deeply disturbing. Alfonso sometimes wondered why he had chosen such a grim topic for his anthropological doctorate, but the macabre had always held held a fascination for him; even as a small boy he had been held transfixed by his uncle Victor’s tales of the Spanish Inquisition.
But he was also excited and inspired by what he had read. So once he had finished reading Alfonso dashed to his computer and began work immediately. The little book propped by his side. The words just seemed to write themselves, as hour after hour he typed. Eventually however his eyes began to tire and glancing at the icon on his computer discovered it was 2.20am. Time to retire to his bed and continue his work in the morning.
As he was about to turn off the computer, he heard what sounded like a voice coming from near by. Alfonso yawned, shaking his head dismissing the notion and continued to log off. But no, there it was again and this time a little louder!
“Help me!” This time the voice was unmistakable.
Alfonso sprang from his chair “Who’s there!”
“Help me!”
Spinning round Alfonso realised the voice was coming from the little book. But that was absurd books didn’t talk! He must be far more tired than he had realised. Now he was hallucinating!
“HELP ME!!” Now the voice almost filled the room!
A shiver ran down Alfonso’s spine and thrusting out his hand he swiped the book, sending it spinning across the floor.
“What is it! What do you want? Who are you?” Wailed Alfonso, voice trembling.
The book began to slide across the floor towards him. “Help me I am very weak, my pages are coming away from my spine. I need your help”
Alfonso knew he had descended into a state of complete madness, but in spite of himself found himself answering.
“I’m an Anthropology student not a bookbinder!”
And with that he kicked the book across the room and dashed next door to his bedroom, and with trembling fingers bolted the door behind him. For what seemed like an eternity he tossed and turned in his bed trying to rationalalise what had taken place, but eventually despite himself, sleep began to overtake him, and immediately found himself descending into another nightmare.
He was being pulled along in a cart tied to a stake. The road was stony and Alfonso felt the vibration jarring his body. In the near distance he could see the fire and the masked Man holding a rope in his hands. As the cart drew nearer he knew with utter certainty and dread that he was about to die. This was no dream. His death was but moments away….
Sometime later Professor Delgado knocked at the lodging house where his favorite student was living. It had been four days since he had heard from Alfonso, and he had promised to deliver his thesis two days ago.
Entering the house Señora Martinez explained that her lodger had not been seen for almost a week. “and his rent was due yesterday.”
A thought suddenly struck the Professor and he asked “he is not in his room?” It was such an obvious question the professor immediately felt foolish asking it.
“I Señor do not enter my tenants rooms”
“Of course not Señora” the professor added quickly. “I did not mean to imply.. it’s just that Alfonso could be ill..”
Señora Martinez nodded her head. “Of course Professor, perhaps you are right, we should check..”
The lodging house had no elevator and by the time they arrived outside Alfonso’s door on the third floor Señora Martinez who smoked was wheezing heavily. The Profesor knocked on the solid door but only silence greeted him. Turning the brass door knob the door opened into the room.
Entering the room there was no sign of any disturbance but their was a faint waft in the air. Moving towards the bedroom the professor turned the handle but the door remained firm.
“But Professor this cannot be? This door locks only from the inside” Señora Martinez exclaimed
They stared at each other, both instantly realising the gravity of the situation. The Professor pushed his considerable frame against the door, grunting, and with increased momentum the wood started to splinter and suddenly it gave way completely hurtling the professor into the room and against the foot of the bed. Immediately something solid dropped to the floor. Lowering his eyes Professor Delgado watched in horror as the head of Alfonso Moreno rolled towards him.
Later it would be recalled that the screams of Señora Martinez could be heard for a quarter of a mile in all directions.
Lifting his eyes, face set in a rictus of horror, Profesor Delgado gazed upon the charred remains of Alfonso Moreno, and lying next to them a little book in pristine condition but with a streak of blood along its spine.
