I loved this post. I read it and tried to put it out of my mind…and it haunted me all night. All. Night. I couldn’t put it out of my mind and finally I had to go and re-read it. Then reblog it. Be warned though, spoilers ahead.
I started to read it and it immediately caught my interest. That phrase: “I do not believe in magic.” was genius because it created interest. I knew that something was going to happen to Montgomery that would challenge that belief and I wanted to find out what it was.
Then the description of the book. I was there. I could actually smell the old books and feel the pressure in the room. I could believe I had been in a room like that. And when he mentioned that he was going to open the door…well, I’m in terrified anticipation for what happens next. I really hope, he’ll post a part two to this because….well, I need closure.
Sheer genius. That writing caught my interest like a fist and I’m still wondering what on earth is going to happen when he opens that door…yikes.
My name is Montgomery Vale, and I do not believe in magic.
I repeat myself: I do not believe in magic.
I do not believe in magic, and therefore nothing I am about to write can be true. I am an old man, asleep in my bed, and the night’s ill humours are clearly affecting my dreams. I write to calm my nerves, to simply record the events of recent hours. For if I am sane—if any of this has truly happened—I must leave warning for others.
I write because I may be insane, for surely none of this can have happened.
I write because the door must not be opened.
It seems ages ago that I found the book, but it can scarcely have been more than a day. I found it in my own library, on the floor by the fireplace. It was a massive tome, five…
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