Not Today, Satan

Billie often wondered what would have happened that drizzly, August night if she had just ignored the damp, little book that glistened under the lamppost instead of veering off her path, like a magpie drawn to a shiny trinket. She had finally closed up shop and was preoccupied with a most pressing matter; whether to pick up a late dinner or head to the comfort of her small flat and muster enough creativity to scrounge up a decent dinner from the remnants of her fridge. She had just decided on stopping at a pub along her route when something sparkled out of the corner of her eye.

The street was eerily quiet and the crisp wind stilled. She should have known. She should have taken that noticeable change of atmosphere as a warning, a sign from the Universe that said, “Move along! Nothing to see here.” But Billie had always been a curious person. Perhaps she was so deprived of any kind of excitement in her life that a foreign object on the ground was the most thrilling thing to capture her attention. Her tired feet protested at the extra steps and her stomach growled at the lack of food, but once Billie Mae made up her mind there was no turning back.

Bending, Billie picked up the plain, black, leather-bound, book no larger than her hand. She turned it over admiring its antique look. Flipping through the crinkled pages revealed that the notebook was blank, with no name or address connecting it to anyone. Brushing off the moisture, she straightened. Finders keepers, she decided. Flipping through once more, mostly for something to do with her hands, she paused when she noticed writing on one of the pages in the centre of the book; writing that she hadn’t noticed the first time. She scanned through the pages again, making sure that she hadn’t imagined the scribblings.

Billie blanched. In the very centre of the notebook, written in beautiful, cursive writing was her name. Her entire name, which, not exactly a common one, was unmistakably hers.

Billie Mae Bryne.

The book made a splat as it hit the ground, tumbling out of her sweaty hands. Billie looked up and down the deserted street, feeling the eerie, little tingle at the base of her neck. What was this-A prank? She knew that Nicholas was away for the weekend, hence the late-night shift she had just covered. Nick was the only one who would even think of a prank so imaginative. She bent over once again to pick up the book.

On the previously blank, leather cover now displayed a title in silver writing reading, “The Night Billie Mae died.”

Bille’s body shook violently as she struggled to keep the liquid acid from dispelling from her insides. A surge of emotion caused her to impulsively chuck the notebook into the dark park beyond the sidewalk.

She sprinted to her flat a few blocks away, hardly caring that the few strangers she passed observed her in alarm. She didn’t stop until the locks clanked and her back was pressed firmly against the door, her lungs wheezing slightly. Chester, her faithful tabby, hopped off his favourite chair, stretched out his back, and trotted over to Billie, caring only that his human was home at last.

When her breathing slowed, and with the comfort of Chester rubbing against her leg, Billie slipped off her shoes and made her way to the chair Chester had previously occupied. She plopped onto the seat, with Chester jumping on her lap not a moment after. She reached for her phone.

9:15 pm.

With her appetite dissipated, she reached to the left to click on the lamp sitting on the distressed table beside her. Her hand froze as the warm, orange light illuminated the shadowed flat. On the table, sitting on top of the pile of books that Billie deemed “to be read,” was the little black book.

Billie shot to her feet, disrupting Chester who had finally settled.

She shook, but not from fear like before, but from anger.

Consumed with rage, Billie dialled up Nicholas. Her foot tapped impatiently on the laminate floor.

“Hello?” came the boyish voice after the sixth ring, hardly audible over the loud music in the background.

“Is this you, Nick?” Billie demanded.

“Billie? Yeah it’s me...did you mean to call me?”

“No,” Billie ground out, “This stupid book! Are you pranking me? It’s not funny….I….” Tears started accumulating in her eyes, but she blinked them away, deciding that she was just overworked and overtired.

“Billie, are you crying?” Nicholas was shouting over the music, “What’s wrong? Did something happen at the shop?”

Billie knew that Nicholas wasn’t this good of an actor. Having fallen victim to his pranks before, she also knew that he couldn’t hold in the gloating for long.

“I….” she started, “I’m fine, nevermind. Sorry, enjoy your night.”

She ended the call, cutting off Nicholas’ confused questions on the other end of the line.

Billie picked up the book hesitantly. The title remained unchanged and she gulped down the lump forming in her throat. Collapsing back into the chair, she opened the demon book once more. The same, elegant cursive now filled its pages. She began to read.

August 23, 2013

9:23 pm

Billie Mae sat in the worn, dusty armchair and began to read the mysterious notebook she first discovered discarded on the sidewalk beside the park. Fear caused the hair on her arms to stand as she slowly realized that she was reading what was happening in her life, in real-time. She wanted to throw the book again, to tear her eyes away from the page but, like a terrible car wreck, she couldn’t look away. She continued.

A cry escaped past her lips.

Billie Mae cried out, her mind unwilling to accept the impossible. That this was the day she would die. If she had paid more attention, she would have realized that, besides her trusted feline, she was not the only "living" soul in the apartment. If she turned around, she would notice the dark, cloaked figure standing behind her, waiting for her like a cat patiently waited for the mouse.

Chester’s fur began to ruffle, then raise as he stared at something behind Billie.

Even her cat, who was hissing angrily, could see the figure. The cloaked being knew that all she had to do was turn around and she was his. Billie Mae felt a strong urge to turn toward the door and supposed figure, like a powerful wave of nausea urging you to be sick. All she had to do was turn around. Turn around and it would all be over. It was time. She knew that her time was up, that she-

Billie closed the book with a loud thump.

“No,” Billie said aloud. Her voice was firm and confident.

She discarded the mysterious book unceremoniously, picked up her frightened cat, strutted over to her bedroom and closed the door behind her without a single glance toward the door. Billie Mae Bryne hated being told what to do.