The Mysterious Little Black Book

Ever since I can remember I have been fascinated by pencil and paper. I was exposed to stationary at an early age because moms would take their kids with them whenever they went shopping. Department stores had stationary sections with stacks of paper and pencils that I was enchanted with, not yet understanding the power of the written word. Growing up I never thought much about writing until high school where writing was forced upon me and all the other students for book reports and essays.

The one good thing I learned from school I got by accident. I was the lazy student that the teachers always said, “He’s smart, he just doesn’t apply himself.”

Being a schemer of sorts back then and not wanting to spend my junior and senior years studying and struggling to get just enough credits to graduate, my lazy side came up with a plan, “Load up on easy credits your first two years, then you can party and work your last two.” It turned out to be harder than I thought, and I almost overloaded myself doing it, but it paid off. While looking for the easiest way to get credits I chose typing class, and as it turned out I was surprisingly rather good at it, though I could never beat those girls at the speed contests. The class was so easy I took Typing II the next year and further honed my skills.

I always disliked English class, so I did the minimum to pass and was not interested in the mechanics of the English language. I became a voracious reader and was buying paperbacks for 35 cents to satisfy my craving for the written word. At this point, I discovered Edgar Rice Burroughs and proper English. I spent a lot of time in the dictionary looking up the words he used, but I loved it. By chance, my next-door neighbor had a near-complete set of hardback books by him, mostly about Tarzan. His writing captivated me. Imagine his talent describing an ape man swinging through the trees book after book, it was like magic.

Fast forward to when my family was grown and I was retired. I still have that “enchanted” feeling in the stationary aisle as I stroll through looking at all the pens and paper. Who would have thought the kid in high school that disliked English class now writes for fun? I have published over 70 articles and now my first book is on Amazon. Being almost completely untrained, I think my accomplishments in this field are pretty amazing. I surmise that sentence structure just came naturally to me because I read so many books. I consider myself incredibly lucky learning to write the way I did, and I already have a substantial pension to live on. Though, I always wonder where my writing would have taken me had I started earlier in life.

The Old Bookstore

I love old bookstores and being around books in general, but there is nothing more satisfying than discovering an old run-down used bookstore and browsing through forgotten treasures. I was out of town visiting relatives, did my usual hunt for a local used bookstore, and found one across town. It was a classic building and looked as if it should have been in a Gothic movie. The paint was peeling from neglect, the porch boards were loose, and the windows noticeably needed to be replaced, as they were series of small panes that were separated by thin wooden slats and you could see the caulking had fallen out of several of them.

It was my perfect place to hunt. The books were stacked in the windows so high it was impossible to see through them. The door looked ancient and, in the window, there was an “open” sign which seemed a little out of place, being so new. I grabbed the handle, gave it a turn, and the door opened easily, but with a long creaking hinge sound as it swung inwards, just like in every scary movie I had ever watched. A familiar musty smell of old books came wafting towards me as I stepped inside.

As the door closed behind me, an unsettling feeling washed over me, but I had no idea why. Sitting at a small desk, cluttered with piles of books of all kinds, sat a little old lady covered by a shawl reading a book. She wore glasses and used a desk lamp for more light. She must have been hard of hearing because she did not acknowledge my presence, then without even looking up at me she said in a faint voice, “Look around and if you find a book bring it to me.”

The writer in me was screaming to get busy shuffling through the books because there were thousands of them packed tightly with no particular order in mind. The place was considerably bigger than it had looked from the outside. The aisles were narrow with bookshelves, stacks of books and boxes littered the floor, and I had to be careful not to knock them over. There was a mixture of hard bound books and paperbacks, but which I got did not matter to me, I just wanted a good book to read. I was open to any genre, but the book had to be well written. To ascertain that quality, I would read a few pages before buying it.

I made two selections and found my way back to the little old lady at the desk who seemingly had not move at all, still engrossed in her book. I set my selections down in the small, only clear spot on the desk and without looking up or giving me a chance to speak she said, “Two dollars please.”

“I think they are worth more than that, let me give you five dollars.”

“Two dollars will be fine, young man.”

Knowing she would not take more money, I gave her the two dollars, picked up my books, and headed towards the door.

“Just a minute, young man, I have something for you. I must close the store in two weeks, and I have a special book to give you. I don’t want it to be thrown away when all of the other books go to the dump.”

I was stunned to think that the store would be demolished and the books would end up going to waste. It shook me to my being thinking about the sacrilege involved in such a thing. She handed me a book, but it was not an ordinary book, it was a little black book.

“Please take this and give it a home in your desk drawer. There is a small amount of writing in it, if you care to add any of your own, it would be your business. Be incredibly careful with it because it is very fragile and over 100 years old.”

I was speechless for a moment, but since she seemed so kind, I picked up the little black book and added it to my treasures that I had paid for.

“Thank you very much.”

I waited for a reply but there was none. She went right back to reading her book, completely ignoring me. I left with a weird sensation in my bones that was unexplainable. Granted, the old bookstore was on the creepy side, but I have been in bookstores like that before and they have never felt like this.

I drove back to my brother’s home, went inside, and told him about the books I had picked up at the creepy old bookstore I had stumbled across. He was sitting in his recliner reading the paper when he looked up at me and said, “What?”

“I said, I just bought some books from that creepy old bookstore over on South Street.”

Disbelief came across his face and my brother insisted, “That’s not possible.”

“Why? I was just there.”

“That bookstore burned down two years ago and the owner, a little old lady, was inside but the fired department didn’t get her out in time. They found her sitting at her desk.”

Good to Be Home

I had goose bumps over my entire body after hearing the story but chose not to pursue any more conversation about the store. I made an excuse to leave, drove the three hours to get back home, and thought about what had just happened. I knew I did not imagine the bookstore because I still had the books I had bought in my hands. It all became surreal with an unknown meaning.

It was quite late when I got home, so I placed my new reading books on my nightstand and dropped the little black book into my desk drawer, just as the little old lady had suggested. I did it like I was following instructions. I climbed into bed, but I could not fall asleep. This was not unusual for me, but I know myself, so I was persistent. Eventually I fell asleep, though I tossed and turned all night. Morning finally came and I settled in with a cup of coffee and the morning paper. Reading the news was not as pleasant as it used to be because the paper seems to dwell on bad news. Shootings, floods, and war overseas had become the norm and was really depressing if you paid close attention to any of it.

I decided to get to work on some writing projects I had started, so I went into my office, fired up the computers, then went for a walk to freshen up my senses. I use two computers with large monitors to make it easier on my eyes. The first computer to write on and the second one for research. It ‘works for me’, as they say. It was warmer than usual for this time of the year and I had worked up a sweat on my walk, so I took a shower when I arrived back home.

I got dressed in lounge wear, got a second cup of coffee, the nectar of the Gods, and went into my office where I then checked my emails. There was the usual assortment of jokes from friends and some queries for writing projects. I was about to delete the rest when an email caught my eye. The email was addressed from someone with a “Do Not Reply” message attached to it. I normally delete those immediately, but for some reason I opened this one. There was no subject line and in the body of the unsigned email there were five words, “Enjoy your little black book.” I almost jumped out of my chair and the goose bumps had returned tenfold. I pushed back my chair and stared at my desk drawer almost afraid to open it.

It Had to Be the Little Black Book

The little black book was still in the drawer exactly where I had placed it. I was never a believer in the supernatural, so I picked it up for a closer look. Because it was so fragile, I was very careful as I opened to the first page. It read, “You have been gifted this little black book because you have a good heart, you are generous, and always do what is right. Continue with your writing. You will know when the time is right to pass the book on to someone else.”

Then I took a quick glance at my spam folder and there was an email from a book publisher. I clicked on it and it read, “I am responding to a manuscript you sent two years ago by the date on it. As I was cleaning my office to throw out unused items, it fell out of a box of trash onto my desk. I picked it up and read it. My company will offer an advance of $20,000.00 for publishing and movie rights.”

William O’Neal Stringer