The Good Book

“Dad, the attic needs to be cleared out before we can sell the house.”

My eldest son Peter. Successful, fit, beautiful wife, and two-point-five kids. He believes I’m too old to live on my own, and so he’s made the decision that I would be better off in an “assisted living home”. Or, as my grandson Jake calls it, the old person prison. Three square meals a day, a mandatory exercise period, and lights out at nine o’clock. Doesn’t sound like he’s too far off.

So here I am, my name’s Frank, climbing the steps to the attic. Should an old, frail, nursing-home-bound man be doing that on his own? If it doesn’t drip off the words enough, I’m being sarcastic. I’ve been avoiding the attic for a long time. There are lots of old memories there. Items that I’ve taken up there to forget about. Isn’t that what attics are for? That was my belief anyway.

Wait, what’s this? The second to last step up to the attic looks like it’s been removed, and put back – and rather quickly, because whoever put it back didn’t bother to nail it down all the way. Actually, now that I’m looking at it – it looks like I could just pull it up with my hands… Yup, I can – and I have. There’s an old, dusty, metal box in there. I’m going to grab it, and bring it up into the attic where there’s more light.

Ok, it’s definitely a metal box – but there’s no lock or anything. Just a strange inscription, written in a language I’m not familiar with.

“Cave Deus”

Looks like it hasn’t been opened in a while either. Seems stuck. I’m going to rummage around for something to pry it open with. Ok, I found one of my old metal files in a toolbox, a few more seconds and I should have it open. There. Its open. Funny, I suddenly have a feeling of paranoia – like I shouldn’t have opened the box. I mean, that’s silly right? Its in my attic, not in some ancient ruins somewhere. So unless Pandora herself comes from around the corner right now, I’m going to try to get passed this feeling, and then look inside the box.

It’s, a book. Actually, a dusty old copy of The Bible. The title is printed in bold, gold, writing on the front cover. The book, despite it’s container, looks to be in pristine condition. The soft, beautiful leather is a glossy black, and the page-edges are gold and seem to sparkle in the lamp-light. Something is compelling me to pick up the book, so I am – and it almost has a warm, glow about it – like it feels alive somehow. Which is crazy to even think.

“Is it so crazy?”

“… Who said that?” I’m looking around, but there’s no one here. Maybe I am going senile in my old age.

“No, my son. You are not.”

“Okay, seriously. Peter? Is that you? Stop playing tricks.” Wait, I hear Peter through the open window, it’s definitely not him, and the voice confirms it.

“I assure you, I am not your son Peter.”

“Show yourself?! I’m not kidding!” I’m getting ready to make a run for those stairs. I don’t know who is in this attic with me, but given that I unlocked it from the outside, they either broke in, or they’ve been in here a long time.

“Please Francis, don’t be alarmed. It is I, your lord, and I am speaking to you from the book you hold. The good, and only book.”

“Wait. What?” I’m losing it, I really am. Maybe I do need to go to that home. Maybe I’ve had episodes like this before, and Peter hasn’t told me. Maybe after it’s all over, I won’t remember.

“I assure you, you are sound of mind. I need you to help me, with a very special task, one that requires a mortal man to complete. The future of mankind as you know it depends on you, Francis.”

“Listen, no disrespect intended, but I’m not what you’d call – a believer. So, even if I entertain for a minute that you are who I think you are – I’m not sure why you’ve chosen me. Wouldn’t someone with a little more blind-faith be better suited to help you?”

“I’ve come to you, because of your lack of faith. To lead another one of my sheep to the flock, while enlisting your help to perform a great good for mankind.” I’m shocked, astounded, flabbergasted… I could choose any assortment of words to put here, and none of them would even begin to describe what I’m feeling.

“A great good?” What does that even mean? “What does that even mean?”

“For centuries I’ve been a myth, a story in a book, intangible. You Francis, are the answer. You are the one who will set me free.”

Me? I’m going to… free… God? “H… how? How am I going to free you? Aren’t you God? What can I do that you can’t?” I’m struggling to keep my thoughts straight, my brain hurts – I’m truly not sure what’s going on.

“Just hold the book in your hands. Both hands. Yes, like that.”

Its warm. The book feels almost alive. I… I believe. This must be happening…

“Clear your mind. I will do the rest. Open yourself to me.”

I feel… strange… almost like I’m fading… I… I can’t see anymore. I can’t feel the book in my hands…

“What’s happening to me?” I can’t feel anything anymore.

“It is done.” The voice suddenly stops. I don’t hear anything anymore. Its suddenly cold. Wait, someone is there.

“Hello? Are you there? I can’t move!”

“Of course you can’t Francis. You’ve free’d me. I am whole. I am here, and you have taken my place.”

“What!? No! Wait! Who are you? You aren’t God!”

“No, alas I am not. I am a powerful wizard however; trapped in that wretched book for what feels like an eternity, and now – I can finish what I started hundreds of years ago. The destruction of mankind!”

I can’t speak anymore. I can feel myself… a book… being placed back into the stair… its being sealed. Nails… a bang. Cold.