Chapter 1 – Beautiful Hills

  The small house is located in front of a lake, surrounded by large green trees.

  When I get out of my truck, I feel the smell of the woods fill my lungs and I hear the birds singing a beautiful melody.

  Bob, like me, is incredibly excited about our new home. The animal runs frantically around the yard, showing a happiness that he hasn't had since Anna passed away.

  After packing my belongings, I stop to observe my new home, and realize that this is a great place to enjoy the rest of my life.

  A year has passed since I was diagnosed with this damn disease. Fortunately, the last few months have been calm. The pain has eased, it comes back once or twice a week, however, compared to before, I am much better! I believe that living in a place like Beautiful Hills did me good. The people of this small town know each other, unlike residents of metropolitan centers, there is a feeling of mutual respect among its inhabitants, something that rarely happens in large cities.

  I spend most of my days following the same routine. Something about these everyday activities calms me, eases my morbid thoughts.

  Every day, I sit in front of the lake and watch its crystal clear water ripple. I feel the light serenity of the morning, and relax amidst the nature that surrounds me. Sometimes I try to fish, I confess that I'm not as good as I'd like, or this lake has few fish, however, the activity that calms me down the most, as always, is still reading. When I sit in front of the lake and read a good book in the morning, with my dog ??lying next to me, I feel my problems fade away as I turn the pages.

  I've read more books in these months than I have in years. The place where I get good books? The city library. There, inside, I met the librarian, who has been working in this role for years, Mr. Wesley.

  Now that I've rediscovered my passion for reading, I visit Wesley every weekend to drop off the books I have and pick up new ones. I always have nice conversations with my new friend, after all, Wesley is an avid reader. He always has good books to recommend.

  I've been living this minimalist way for almost a year, I confess it's better than I expected. I don't see any changes in my life, and that is good, it is what I wanted, peace, I believe that I have finally managed to find it in this small town. The only thing that bothers me now are the negative thoughts, which rarely pop into my mind. Dark conceptions about my future, about the pain getting worse, about the monster growing within me.

  It's the end of June and winter has just arrived, with its arrival the pain has gotten worse, every day, my body hurts, I confess that even walking has become a burden. It took a little over a year for the cancer to make its presence unbearable, however, I believe I should just ignore it and continue with my life until the end. Well this isn't the end. Tomorrow I'm going to see my friend Wesley, his conversations always cheer me up.

  I arrive at the large building. The library is easily the largest building in the whole city, its Gothic architecture makes it stand out even more from the rest of the buildings. Like a piece that doesn't fit in with the others, every time I see it, it's as if I've gone back in time, to a time when technology wasn't prevalent, an ancient time, a time of castles and dungeons, books and scrolls.

  The library's interior is as beautiful as its exterior. In the large room, completely covered in wood, there are several bookshelves circling the center where the tables are located. The whole place shines, Wesley always keeps it as clean as possible. Today, apparently, there are more people than usual. In my previous visits, I always saw old men wandering the aisles, or the occasional young man reading a fantasy book. Unfortunately, the movement is minimal, nowadays, people prefer to read on the internet. I never understood how it works, but I know that e-books are popular because they can be read in the comfort of your home or on a long trip. However, paper books will always be, for me, the ideal method of reading a book, the ancestral way of experiencing literature.

  I approach the reception desk, the only place that has any kind of current technology in the form of a computer on the counter. Wesley, as always, is wearing his white button-down and beige pants. He is talking to a young man, and from his sour look, I can tell that this conversation is bothering him. I decide not to interfere, I just hope that the young man leaves without causing any problems. He is probably a biker, his appearance certainly indicates this, a black leather jacket, ripped blue jeans, chains on his wrist and a snake-shaped ring, the typical figure of a biker.

  I can hear bits of the conversation, apparently this young man is looking for a book called “From Alpha to Omega” or “The Infinite Cycle”, maybe it was two books or a series, anyway, I don't know such a work. Wesley also appears to be unaware of this mysterious book, he says there is no such work available in the catalog of this establishment, however, the young man insists asking my friend to look more calmly. After five minutes of pestering him, the young man leaves, apologizing for making my friend waste his precious time.

  I approach my friend who greets me with a smile on his face, and we both greet each other with a firm handshake.

  — Good to see you here. So, have you finished reading the ones you picked up? — Wesley says enthusiastically.

  — I finished. — I say, as I place the three books, which I had under my arm, on the counter.

  — What about the pain? Is it still there? — Asks my friend, he obviously knew about my condition.

  — Same as always, they keep bothering me… — I say, and then stop. My illness is not a subject I like to discuss with people, especially with Wesley.

  — Ah! It must be the winter cold. Yesterday it was almost zero degrees in the early hours of the morning. — Wesley says, obviously trying to change the subject. He is concerned, and fortunately, he respects my wish not to talk about this monster that torments me.

  — Really, this damn cold leaves anyone with weakened health. — I say, taking the bait. — Who was that? — I ask, while my friend registers the books I just gave him.

  — That biker? I have no idea! — Wesley says. Finishing registering the books, he leans over from the chair he is sitting in and whispers to me. — I've never seen him in the city before… which is very strange, how could someone from outside know about the book… — My friend, stops abruptly. The book? So does that mean there is a book? — So there is a book. — I say to Wesley, as he settles into his chair.

  — I can't hide it from you, after all, you are a trusted resident of our community. I think I can tell you about our treasure. — Says my friend, adjusting his bottle-bottom glasses. He always does that when he starts to tell a story. — This book is one of this city’s treasures. It has been in the library since its foundation, and just by looking at it superficially, you can deduce that it is extremely old. Rumor has it that it was written by the natives, or perhaps, by the first settlers of this land, or perhaps, it is a lost tome by some eccentric philosopher. Truly, this book is the greatest mystery that this small community has. It is a unique copy that can only be found here, in Beautiful Hills. — I confess that knowing about such a secret makes me happy.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  — Incredible... I never could have imagined that such a rare book would be hidden around here. — I swallow hard, unable to contain my excitement and immediately ask. — May I read it?

  — It's just an old book, a fantasy created by someone in the past, full of guesswork. Its old pages contain nothing relevant. — My friend says with a mocking tone.

  — Come on! I just want to know why there's so much mystery! — I force it a little and my friend rolls his eyes. Probably, he is thinking; “Why make such a fuss over such a futile book.”

  — Okay! Okay! — Wesley says, getting up from his chair. — Come on, I'll get it for you! — I start following him, I can't wait to see this mystery unfold.

  I follow Wesley through the library, we pass by some bookshelves until we reach a wooden door, I can't tell if it's new or old, its appearance indicates that it's extremely old, however, this library was built using archaic architecture, it's impossible to know if anything inside these walls are new or old.

  I follow Wesley through the library, we pass by some bookshelves until we reach a wooden door, I can't tell if it's new or old, its appearance indicates that it's extremely old, however, this library was built using archaic architecture, for this reason, it's impossible to know if anything inside these walls are new or old.

  Wesley pulls a set of keys from his pocket, and after a while, he opens the door.

  — There are so many keys that sometimes I get lost. — My friend says with a slight smile. He walks into the small room, and I follow him.

  The room is a small cubicle, with just a shelf opposite the entrance. There are some books in it, just by looking at them anyone can tell that they are old, because their covers are faded and their paper are yellowed. From the titles I can see that there are several literary genres, probably in their first editions. The only book that is incredibly older than the others is the central book.

  — Is this the mysterious book? — I say to Wesley, pointing to the book in the center. He gives a slight smile.

  — Noticeable, isn't it? Yes, this is the book. — Says my friend, picking up the volume. He looks at it for a while, and then hands it to me.

  — Thank you. — I say, taking the tome. When I touch it, a strange feeling comes over me, I don't know how to specify this feeling, what I can say is; that this felling resembles a soft call.

  — One day I tried to read this one, I only read the beginning, you know I'm not a big fan of fantasy, I prefer to read something more direct. You'll see, this book is just a cluster of fantastic, unnecessarily complex worlds. The part that bothered me the most was the new age nonsense that made no sense at all. — His analysis was already obvious, Wesley hates books like that. Based on what he said, I think that this book is probably an occult Grimoire, or a combination of occult concepts mixed with fantasy.

  — Reading something different is always good, Wesley! — I say. I've been trying to get my friend to change his thinking about fantasy, unfortunately, I haven't been successful yet.

  — I prefer to stick with my classics, thanks! — Says Wesley, when it comes to literature, he really is inflexible.

  I begin to analyze the tome in my hands. Just by picking it up, I realize how robust it is. Based on its weight, I deduce that it is two or three times as voluminous as the King James Bible. Engraved on its hardcover, made of leather painted black, is a drawing of a snake biting its own tail. The inscriptions “From Alpha to Omega” are drawn in Greek symbols in the center of the serpent. Strange letters, unlike any alphabet old or new, surround the inscriptions in the center. Below the animal, painted in dark red, is the inscription “The Infinite Cycle”, in English. On the rest of the black cover, stars are drawn in strange patterns.

  On the back cover, there is a drawing of a galaxy painted in oil, this engraving is wonderful, the details obtained by the simple brushstrokes are surreal. In addition to the feeling of beauty that this art conveys, a twinge of mystery runs through me as I observe it, it is as if I were staring at a lost painting by Van Gogh. Reluctantly, I turn my gaze away from this illustration, and continue to inspect this mystery.

  The book has no flaps, but its spine appears to contain a name. Unfortunately, the ink had deteriorated over time. Strangely, the rest of the book is intact. I can only identify a few blurred letters, which are: Fr… d… h… H… el.

  I don't see anything that indicates what the book contains inside, there isn't even a synopsis or abbreviation of events.

  — So, what do you think? — My friend asks. His words bring me out of the strange trance caused by the mysterious book.

  — It's very interesting, when I get home I'll read it. — I say to Wesley, he nods positively and we quickly leave the room.

  I register my new acquisition along with some other mystery books that I have been wanting to read. I spend the rest of the afternoon reading other books that interested me, but the unknown content of the obscure tome always lingers in my thoughts.

  When the pain starts to bother me, I decide to go back home. When I get home, I quickly notice that Bob is… strange, he cries when he sees me and crawls into his little house. Maybe he's like this because I left him alone this afternoon? I don't know, I always keep him well fed and take the best care of him, his behavior is certainly strange to say the least.

  After my nightly chores, I take my medicine and go to bed, I will start reading the mysterious book in the morning.

  I wake up abruptly in the dark of dawn, my body trembling, my eyes watering, what had happened? The dream, no, the nightmare I had was something inexplicable, inconceivable even to the most imaginative minds. I had already read countless horror and fantasy stories in my work as an editor, but this dream terrified the depths of my being.

  I have to record what I have seen while I can still remember it. I open the desk next to my bed and take out the diary where I've been recording the progress of my illness, turn on the light in the room and start writing:

  “I am floating in the midst of an ancient darkness, there is a mist permeating the environment. Such mist forms, images, faces, that begin to dance around my paralyzed body. For hours I remain trapped in this trance, watching these horrendous aspects unfold before me. As time passes, the mist dissipates, and the faces dissolve into the abyss. The faces fade away, and in the end all that remains is emptiness, unchanging darkness.”

  It's already morning, the sun has just risen, and the pencil trembles in my hand, I had finished recording this strange experience. After a few minutes of reflection, I close my diary and put it in the drawer, when I do, I see the mysterious tome, when my eyes find it, the feeling that it calls me appears. Without thinking, I reach out my hand and pick it up.

  I head to my resting place. I sit in the old rocking chair and watch the blue lake in front of me, as cold sweat begins to run down my face. I look away to the trees, this morning is colder than usual, I adjust my coat and let out a long sigh, when I realize that I am only trying to avoid the inevitable. I take the mysterious tome from my lap, I feel that there are answers inside, my attraction to the unknown content reaches its peak, and even though I am terrified, I take a deep breath and open it. As the pages are read, the terror I feel is replaced by an insatiable hunger for knowledge.