MALEVOLENCE

It wasn't a long time ago that he remembered the sunny days and the relaxed feelings he had associated with them. Lazy days in the park, sipping a beer and watching the world unfold around him. He had been content back then, at peace with the world generally. Life had been good, he had his wife Angel and his two children, a boy and a girl. He had his career, sure it was nothing too exciting, an accountant for a local firm but he had pulled in decent money, enough to make their lives comfortable, at least. They had been happy, not wondrously ecstatically happy like in the movies - they had experienced some arguments, some disagreements - the planets hadn't always been perfectly aligned and occasionally he had felt as if he'd wanted to walk off on his own, away from it all.. but he thought any married man might occasionally feel that way - it didn't mean he'd ever seriously considered doing it. He had loved his wife and of course, his children. They had become his world and he had been glad of that. Until he found that book

It was one of those lazy days, a Sunday actually and he had slipped away for an hour or so, left Angel with the kids and strolled into the little town nearby. There wasn't a lot there, a couple of cafes, a hardware store, a grocery store, all the normal places but the one standout for Johnny was the book store, situated on the corner. It was one of those old-fashioned places, dusty and aged with wooden stepladders to help you reach the top shelves. Like a little library, in fact, and Johnny had always loved libraries. He loved the feel of them, the quiet, the sanctuary. More like a church to him than a place of reading. On this particular Sunday, he had opened the door of the shop ( a little bell rang) and greeted the owner, Robert. He hadn't been looking for anything special, maybe a new novel to read at night in bed but Robert had called him over to the back towards his stockroom where he took in and sorted his latest books, he sold both new and used and covered a wide range of subject matter.

"Hey Johnny" he called "you have to see this!". He led the way into the back, where there were piles and piles of cardboard boxes, heavy and packed full of books. Some of the boxes had writing scrawled on them but it looked illegible to Johnny, the sort of scrawl that you might make when you knew that only you would need to be able to read and understand what it said.

"You know the old man who lived in the big house up by the farm? The one the kids called Gandalf?"

Johnny nodded, he knew who he was referring to. He was a tall man, eighty years old at least, with a long grey beard and whenever Johnny had seen him he'd always been dressed in a long black coat, whatever the weather. Johnny had spotted him in the grocers every now and then and wondered where else he went but apart from that he had kept himself to himself, as far as Johnny could tell

"He died. Must have been recent, although he's rarely seen in town, as you know, so I'm not sure exactly when he passed. Apparently, he had a sister, don't think they've seen each other in years but she found explicit instructions left by the old man. I don't think he had a will, so I guess that was his version of one. In it, he told her to donate all his old books to us here, in the bookstore. It's crazy the things I'm finding. Books I've never heard of, dusty old hardbacks. Most of them are worthless, I suppose but I'm hoping there's a rare gem hidden here somewhere" he started rummaging through one of the boxes close to him. Dust flew into the air, "I swear some of these boxes haven't been touched for twenty years or more!"

Johnny was intrigued, he had always loved books, they held certain magic the way they could take him into a trance-like state, transporting him to new and strange worlds. He had felt that way ever since he had first read "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" and all about the land of Narnia - after that, he had been a believer in the magic contained within the pages of a good book. He peered into the box closest to him. They were hardbacks, black, purple and green covers. He picked up the first, the title was engraved with gold lettering on the otherwise blank green cover. "A Time of Change" was the title. Johnny leafed through the pages, trying to skim-read but he couldn't really grasp what it was about. He put it down and picked up another "A Forgotten Past" was the name of this one and again upon skimming through he didn't see much that grabbed his attention. He wasn't sure if they were novels or biographies or even some kind of study material. It wasn't clear from the writing style or the content

"Oh here's one for you!" exclaimed Robert, beckoning him over. He lifted up a large green book, showing what he had found. This one was clearly titled in thick black lettering and Johnny felt a shiver run through him as he read " The way of Johnny, Part II"

"What the hell? Where's Part I?" joked Johnny, trying to deny the unsettled feeling that was forming within himself.

"Haha, maybe it's here somewhere" replied Robert, rummaging further through the box. After a few moments he gave up "Nope, there's no Part I - not here anyway". He passed the book to Johnny, who took it in his hands, it felt very heavy. "You can have that" he smiled "a gift to one of my loyal customers"

Johnny wasn't very sure he wanted it but he didn't want to be rude, so he took the book. "Well, thanks! Maybe I'll learn my way, finally" and they both grinned, although to Johnny the grin felt hollow and forced. There was something odd about this, even Robert looked different, he was usually such a mellow and calm guy but he had a fever about him now like he was pulling energy from these boxes, or maybe the energy was pushing its way into him

"I'd better get going," Johnny told him "Wifey will be wondering where I've got to" although he knew she wouldn't, not yet anyway. He just wanted to get out of there, the air felt stale, maybe it was the dust from the old books but he didn't like it - it felt suffocating

"Sure, sure," said Robert, looking distracted as he leafed through another of the books. "Tell her Hi, from me" he added absentmindedly, absorbed in the book he held in his hands

"Will do" Johnny agreed, as he opened the door to the store, heard the little bell ring and walked out into the fresher air outside. His head was buzzing, he needed a walk

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At 3 am in the morning, he woke up sweating. His wife lay still beside him, breathing peacefully. His own breathing, however, was short and ragged. There had been a dream, a castle, some fighting and shouting.. it was hazy already but he could feel it, the intensity. He had been running up stone steps, deep in the dank and dark castle. He wasn't sure if he had been chasing or was being chased but the urgency had been very apparent. He'd had a weapon of sorts, or was it a stick? (staff, his mind called to him from nowhere) and he'd been chanting strange words (incantation, his mind called again). He pulled himself from under the covers and slipped out of the bedroom. He made his way to his study, the place he liked to be alone, to contemplate, when he wasn't busy with his accounting for clients. The book was lying there on the chair, where he had left it earlier. He lifted it so he could sit down and instantly the dream came flooding back to him. He was standing there, in his study, yet he felt as if he existed in another world, one of his youthful imaginations. The feeling was exhilarating, so real and full of that nervous anticipation that you get when something completely unknown is unfolding, a dream becoming a reality

He held the book in his hands and wondered and stood there for a long time like that. Finally, he seemed to reach a decision, somewhere deep in his subconscious, for he sat down, placed the book on the desk in front of him and began to read, leafing through the pristine, well-preserved yet fragile pages. He didn't think anyone had ever read this book before. In some strange way, he felt as if no one would be able to read it. It was meant for him and him alone. Time disappeared as he read through page after page, never pausing between the end of one and the beginning of the next but absorbing and devouring every word. The words weren't logical, they told of a strange, uncomfortable and downright fantastical narrative at times but there was also no doubt in his mind that every single word was true.. and had always been true

He fell asleep sometime in the early morning and after that every night he would wait for his wife to fall asleep and come to his study and continue reading. Gradually, the book became normal to him. The strange words and ideas contained within became his own. As he read and read and read he realised that he should easily have finished the book by now, yet seemingly the more he read, the more there was left to read. Am I going crazy? he asked himself and truthfully he didn't know the answer but it was too late to worry now anyway - he was hooked. He couldn't have stopped reading if he wanted to

The first change in him that he had become consciously aware of was when he had made breakfast for the kids one morning, preparing them for school. They were being noisy, as usual, and he had his own workday to get ready for so without any conscious thought he had muttered under his breath and the toast he was making had appeared instantly, perfectly browned. He hadn't remembered putting it in the toaster, that was the odd thing. He was rushed so he didn't think much of it but it soon became apparent that he didn't always have to take steps that reality required anymore. He could go from A to C without needing B. He thought of things and they happened. Not always, but often. He noticed that he couldn't make things happen from thin air - he had to prepare them, stage 1 or "A" as he liked to call it but then once that was done he could bypass the tedious and time-consuming stage 2 or "B" and get right to the required result "C". He found this fascinating, of course, and rightly should have been scared out of his wits but the book had entered his consciousness so deeply that he didn't see anything unusual with this. In fact, he had started to believe that this was normal and the human condition of overcomplicating processes was the abnormality

The first sign of the trouble to come had been at a birthday party he had taken his son to. It was the usual chaos of cake, lemonade and screaming, over-excited children, so he had been standing around with the other parents, sipping his wine and munching on snacks, when he had heard one of the kids crying. "He took my present!" she wailed, pointing to an older boy. He realised the boy was her brother, teasing her as brothers do but before he could stop himself he had pushed his hand out towards the boy. There had been a rush of air between them and the boy had doubled over as the girl had slammed her fist into the boy's midriff. He dropped the present, a new doll and the girl picked it up off the floor, happy she had gotten it back

"She hit me!" the boy cried in astonishment and from the look on his face, Johnny could tell this was a hitherto unheard-of occurrence. The boy was shocked that the little sister he enjoyed bullying and teasing so much had somehow managed to fight back, winding him and making him drop the toy he had been tormenting her with. Johnny turned his back on the scene but his face coloured red as he tried to hide his involvement. He felt ashamed. He hadn't meant to react and interfere but it had come from a place deep within. He hoped he hadn't hurt the boy too badly, sure he was bullying the girl but that was what brothers did sometimes, he knew that. A proper parent would have gone over and calmly instructed the boy to give the doll back and stop teasing his sister, not to lash out with reactive, uncontrolled force. He turned back around and that's when he saw his own child staring at him. There was accusation there. Had he seen it? or was he simply aware that something had emanated from him? maybe their bond as father and son allowed him to feel the power that Johnny had harnessed and unleashed upon the boy. His son continued staring at him and Johnny could see fear on his face, which nearly broke his heart. He wanted to reach out but something stopped him. He felt a coldness creeping into his heart - that boy had deserved it hadn't he? He was a bully and Johnny didn't like bullies - never had. With new resolve, Johnny held his head up and he felt his own son shrink slightly before his eyes.

It was New Years' Eve when the real damage was done. Again they had been at a party, a more adult one this time but the children had been allowed to come. It was tough to find a babysitter and anyway all of their friends had kids of one age or another. There was dancing and drinking and everyone was having a good time until one of the guests had drank too much and started arguing with his partner. One thing led to another and pretty soon they were making a scene. Johnny felt his anger rising but he didn't do anything, the host (one of Johnny's closest friends) was trying to placate the couple and that's when things went bad. The drunken man had pushed his friend and Johnny had felt the force flow through him, powerless to prevent it. He had planted his feet and sliced down through the air with his hand. It was a slow, controlled movement but anyone watching would have noticed the intensity on Johnny's features and the glazed, faraway look in his eyes. The drunken man had wobbled, confused, and then collapsed as he slumped onto the ground

An ambulance was immediately called but when the paramedics finally arrived (it had been a busy night for them) they had declared the man already dead. The cause of death unknown, although it was suspected he had suffered a massive heart attack. The party had ended, unsurprisingly and as Johnny walked to his car with his wife and children he could see they were in a state of shock

"Daddy, what happened to that man?" asked his daughter, trying to hold onto him as they walked, obviously in need of comfort

"I don't know darling, he was ill, I expect," said Johnny, trying to protect her but his son spoke up, harsh and accusingly. "He wasn't ill. Someone did that to him. Someone killed him"

Johnny felt a wave of fear wash through him. Did the boy know?

"Don't be silly," said his wife, trying to reassure her daughter "don't listen to your brother. It was a heart attack, he must have been unwell"

The boy laughed then, which shocked Johnny more than anything. He looked at his son and he was horrified to see him grinning at him

"What do you think, Dad?"

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3 am and Johnny was back in his study when he heard a noise. He looked around and his son was standing there behind him, watching.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked, surreptitiously closing the book in front of him

The boy remained silent, watching him. There was something in his eyes, curiosity sure but something else - was it greed he could see there? The boy slowly walked towards him and Johnny thought he could detect a slight smile behind the blank expression on his face. He didn't like that smile much, there was something sinister about it

"It's that book, isn't it?" the boy finally spoke "It's changed you. I know it was you that hurt those people"

Johnny was about to protest - he hadn't hurt them, had he? he had been protecting - but then he realised the truth. He had hurt them, the boy with a blow to the stomach and the man with something much more serious. Whether it was justified or not didn't detract from the fact that yes, he had inflicted hurt on those people

"Let me read it" demanded his son and Johnny felt fear flow through him then such as he had never before experienced in his life

"NO! Go back to bed! You've got school in the morning"

The boy didn't move, he simply held out his hands and waited. Johnny felt the book vibrate on his desk, it contained a new power now, one he had never felt before. Without hesitation, he picked it up and handed it to his son.

The boy sat down in the corner of his study and opened the book. Johnny saw a rush of elation cross his face as he starting reading the first words. Johnny wanted to get up and grab the book from his hands but he felt paralysed, all he could do was watch as his son ate up the words. It was morning when Johnny finally felt able to get up from his chair, he was shaking all over and he grabbed the book out of his sleeping son's hands and put it inside his desk drawer, which he carefully locked. He carried his son to his bed and lay him down before returning to his study. He had some thinking to do. He should destroy the book - he knew that - it had been awful to watch his son gripped by its power, made worse still because he had seen the boy's reverence towards it. The book and his son had seemed to feed off each other in a way that he had never experienced for himself. With him, the book had been a world for him to visit but watching his son read it had been like two forces combining to become one. It terrified him but at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of the book completely. He had learned too much from it, it had been his companion and his guide. No, instead he would keep it here under lock and key and be careful to lock his study door at all times. With that decided, he went to bed himself.

It must have been mid-afternoon when he woke. It was very quiet in the house. He looked in his children's bedrooms but they had gone to school. His wife was out somewhere, he assumed, they hadn't been getting along too well lately if he was perfectly honest with himself - a distance had grown between them - if he was so inclined he could trace the start of that distancing back to the day he had been given the book but he didn't want to think about that right now. He opened the door to his study. There, sitting in his chair was his son, with the book open on his lap. "Hi Dad," he said, looking up smiling. Johnny stood there open-mouthed. How had he gotten in here? and how had he retrieved the book from its locked drawer? The boy smiled, knowingly, and turned the book towards Johnny so he could read what was written on the front. In bold blood-red lettering there had appeared a completely new title "The Path Of Malevolence"

"I'm learning Dad" grinned the boy "just like you!"

Johnny fell to his knees at that point. The sense of evil in the room was palpable. What had he done? He'd brought this into his house, his life and now his own son was gripped in its power.

"Don't worry Dad" his son placed a hand on his shoulder as Johnny cried tears of frustration. "It was always this way. You just never knew it" He took the book with him and left Johnny crumpled there on his study floor

That was the beginning of the end for their family. A lot of disturbing things had happened since then and as Johnny now sat alone in the park he tried not to remember them. Only in his dreams did they come flooding back, he was unable to prevent them from returning and haunting him at night. The book and his son were long gone. His wife and daughter missing, presumed dead. The family home they had shared was no more - burnt to the ground one night in mysterious circumstances. Even the bookshop he had loved frequenting had shut down- he had seen the owner, Robert, on the day that it had closed and he had looked frightened, terrified in fact. He had rushed away from that shop as if he had never wanted to set eyes on it again. It was a bakery now, selling sweet treats and warming pies. Johnny never went in there. He never went anywhere anymore, only this park where he now lived, spending his days drinking and trying to forget.