"The Book Cellar"
By
Max Booth III


   April walked out to her mailbox filled with anticipation, the last two deliveries were stranger than the first.

     The past two weeks were possibly the weirdest, oddest, scariest two weeks she had ever endured.  It all began on the first of February.  April Silcoe had just come home from her nephew’s Bar Mitzvah and it was rather late in the night.  Pina Coladas fresh on her breath, she flipped the light switch on in her bedroom.  Right away she noticed her king sized bed and the rose petals sprinkled on top of it.  The petals spelt out two words;

    TOGETHER SOON. 

    As you can imagine, that scared April a great deal.  Who could have done such a thing?  She had never had a serious relationship; just one night stands at college parties mostly.  Had she slept with somebody there who actually had real feelings for her?  Maybe she should give this poor guy a chance.  April had always wondered what having a boyfriend was like. 

    But still … somebody had broken into her house and left a rather frightening message behind that you usually see in horror movies.  She was glad it wasn’t written in blood, especially her blood.  She thought about calling the police, but then thought otherwise.  What if it wasn’t even real?  Not a physical image, but only a mental picture.  Something the Pina Coladas had conjured up.  Plus she didn’t know if she would get in trouble if the police found out she had driven home drunk.  So, she brushed the rose petals off the bed and fell down hard onto the mattress and drifted off to sleep.  She never noticed the eyes looking at her through the cracks in the closet door.

    Her life went on without incident for two whole days.  That was when she got a letter in the mail with a white oriental mask painted on the stamp.  It was the strangest stamp April had ever laid eyes on.  Inside the envelope there was only a simple red bookmark, and nothing more.  There was no return address.

    A week later she had gotten another letter with the same ominous stamp stuck to the top right hand corner.  This time it contained something a little more then a bookmark.  Money.  Five dollar bills and two freshly washed quarters.  April couldn’t believe it, either.  She debated over spending it or keeping it as a souvenir.  The thought of calling the police hadn’t crossed her mind since the rose petals.  April just figured it was one of her girlfriends messing with her.  Maybe Amanda or Lori.  Probably Amanda.  She was the sort to pull this kind of thing.  April smiled and stuffed the envelope and money into her jean pocket.  She never noticed the old sedan parked across the street, nor the man inside it, staring at her.

    Around the time of that second letter April began receiving prank phone calls.  Just loud, obnoxious breathing on the other line.  She assumed it was Amanda still.  Anybody could breathe like that.  Even she could.

    Then a third object arrived in the mail, and it wasn’t a letter.  A brown package delivered by UPS.  Inside the box?  A rotten peach with a repulsive odor.  As soon as April touched it the peach fell apart and she discovered a second object inside.  A chocolate heart.  April thought it was disgusting, but she thought the heart was sort of sweet.  But still … she seemed to have some kind of stalker on her hands.  A real twisted freak.  But a sweet, twisted freak, April thought.

    No more letters or packages had come since the peach, but the phone calls were still frequently arriving.  It made April feel special, that someone could actually like her this much.  She was kind of disappointed when the letters stopped.  But April had a feeling, (a feeling she had everyday), that today that mailbox would contain more then bills.  And today, (Valentine’s Day), that feeling was right.

    That familiar stamp brightened in April’s eyes as she tore the seal.  Inside was something smaller then the red bookmark.  A tiny, square card.  There was nothing on the back, but on the front was the following in black, bold print;
THE BOOK CELLAR
MON-FRI 10-7
SAT 12-8
CLOSED SUNDAYS
1981 HILLTOP VALLEY


    She ran in her house and grabbed her car keys.  April was half way down the road not even a minute after reading the little white business card.  She didn’t seem to notice that the street number was the same year she was born.  She went double the speed limit with a smile of fear and eyes of excitement.  This was it!  She was going to meet her mysterious stalker!  She couldn’t have been more eager.

    The place was easy enough to find.  It was in a strip mall.  A barber’s, a Dollar General, a Little Caesar’s, and at the very end a brown windowless building with a straightforward sign reading; THE BOOK CELLAR.  Below those words was that mask from the stamps.  Somebody had clearly took their time while painting that, it was such a beautiful piece of artwork.  April wondered what this place was.  The most obvious answer would be a book store, but what would her stalker have to do with one of those? 

    The strip mall was pretty much empty, except for a couple kids on bicycles and a construction crew at the opposite end.  A bulldozer was digging up some sun baked concrete and the children were trying to pull off some tricks, but were unsuccessful.  One of them started lighting off firecrackers and throwing them at his companions.  Apparently it was some sort of crazy game of throw and dodge.  April ignored them and quickly moved her red heels towards the front door. 

    The first thing she noticed once inside was the wonderful smell.  It smelt of peaches.  Not rotten either.  Fresh!  April took in a big whiff and looked around.  There were two rooms.  The first one there was a desk and a couple fish tanks.  The room next to it was filled with tall, mountain-like shelves over packed with hard backed books.

    The old man sitting at the desk and working away on a typewriter looked up at April and smiled.  His gray beard and black slick hair made him look younger then what he was.  He pushed his clear glasses up his nose with his right index finger and welcomed her.  “Howdy,” he said, “welcome to the Book Cellar!  That’s C-E-L-L-A-R not S-E-L-L-E-R.  It’s a nice play on words, isn’t it?  I thought of the name myself.”
   
    April looked at the man strangely.  “Welcome!” he said again.  He was sweating profusely.  “This is the greatest book store in all of Portage.  We have every genre; horror, suspense, humor, romance, you name it, we got it!  If you need any help whatsoever feel free to ask me.  The name’s Frank.  Or … if you’d like to just browse around first, go right on ahead.  I hope you enjoy your visit at the Cellar.”

    “Um … well, I got this card in the mail and --”

    “Let me see?”

    April showed him the card and said it must have been a mailing mistake, and because of that he said he would sell her a book for half price.  “It’s the least I can do,” he said.  He told her each book would only cost her $5.50.

    April wasn’t really a big fan of reading, but knowing when to take advantage of a deal she happily agreed and went into the book room to roam around.  The clickety-clacking of the typewriter continued to echo the building.  She noticed that all of the books were about the same size, maybe three hundred pages each, at the most.  All of them had the same hard, vermillion painted cover.  She didn’t really pay attention to the titles.  After about five minutes of staring off aimlessly she reached randomly at a book and brought it towards her.  The title was carved in neat, gold print; A BREEZE OF APRIL, VOL. 655. 

    Odd, she thought, out of all the books here I pick the one that has my name in it.  But … it says volume six hundred and fifty-five…  So that means …

    April picked another book; A BREEZE OF APRIL, VOL. 798.

    Weird, she thought.  Coincidence?

    She opened the book up at a random page and began reading the beginning of chapter 23 in Vol. 798.

    … Today April went to a job interview out in the Windy City.  She didn’t think her old Nova was going to make the hour and a half trip, but surprisingly it arrived in Chicago without any problems.  It took April about fifteen minutes of circling around the Fashion Bug building to find a suitable parking space that wasn’t illegal.  When she stepped her red stilettos out onto the hot July sidewalk …

    April dropped the book in her hands and let it tumble to the carpet floor.  She grabbed another volume (Vol. 122) and began reading.

    … April just wanted to have a tea party with her father, but he was too busy reading over a plea bargain for a major case.  April didn’t fully understand the meaning of ‘work’ yet, so this naturally caused her to be upset.  So, when her father took a bathroom break, she snuck into daddy’s office and slid all of the files on his desk into the dangerous paper shredder.  This minor form of destruction greatly pleased April.  That is until her father caught her in the act and spanked her.  But that wasn’t all he did to poor little April dear.  This would be the third time John Silcoe molested his daughter, and it wouldn’t be the last …

    She grabbed another book with a different title.  APRIL RAIN: AN EROTIC ANTHOLOGY OF SEXUAL ENCOUNTERS VOL. 3.  She hesitantly opened the book.

    … It was at Lexi’s party when April met Henry.  They didn’t know each other until they had a couple drinks in them, though.  They were introduced by the host of the party and were immediately fond of each other.  They carried their pointless conversation upstairs to an empty bedroom with a blue sheeted bed, where they both lay on.  As they kissed, Henry unbuttoned Aprils white shirt.  His drunken side got frustrated and ripped the shirt off whole, along with the bra.  He rubbed his hands against her smooth, round …

    April slammed the book in shock and her faced blushed in embarrassment.  She couldn’t even remember knowing a man named Henry.  Could all her sexual experiences really fill up three whole books?  She looked up to discover six more volumes of April Rain.  That was it.  April noticed that the clickety-clacking had evaporated so she stormed back into the main room.

    Frank was still sitting in his chair, now with his arms crossed and staring straight at April.  “Hello, April dear.”

    “What … the … fuck … is … going … on …?”

    “I take it you read some of my books, or should I say your books?”

    “What is going on?!” April screamed.

    “Alright, well, I guess I should start from the beginning if this is going to make any bit of sense to you, shouldn’t I?  Go ahead and take a seat.”  April slowly sat down on a chair across from Frank’s desk.  “That’s a good girl.  Now, let’s see.  This might take awhile, for I haven’t thought about this far back in ages.  I guess I can always just grab volume one of A Breeze of April, but I really don’t feel like reading in this dark light.  My eyes aren’t so good nowadays, you know?  I’m turning into an old man.  I hate it. 
   
    “Ahh, sorry there, April.  Kind of got carried away for a moment.  Okay, from the beginning.  Back in the year 1981 I had a wife named Helen and two beautiful children named Harper and Giovanni.  They were my joy.  I raised them right.  Of course times were rough; I was an unpublished author and Beatrix was a lawyer’s secretary.  But we were a happy family altogether.  We always stuck together.  Well, one day comes when we all on a road trip out to San Diego.  That semi must have been in an awful big hurry, let me tell ya.  I was the only survivor, besides the drunken trucker responsible for the whole fiasco.

    “I was mighty lonely after that, to say the least.  Nobody would want to be my companion, my friend.  I thought I would be doomed forever.  The day of the trial against the truck driver I brought my journal along.  I also brought a snub nose pistol that I got at a pawn shop.  I hid the gun in the bushes outside and went in the courthouse.  As the trial progressed I wrote in my journal I knew that this guy would get off Scott free.  It was just a gut feeling I had.  I wrote how I had a plan that when he exited the courthouse I was going to open his body for of holes, and my snub nose was going to be the opener.  But then I saw someone in the audience that made my eyes brightened.  A woman of long, blonde hair and blue eyes.  Her stomach was beautifully humongous.  I knew right then that she was pregnant.  Pregnant with you, April.  At that very moment I knew that my life was going to serve a purpose.  I knew that I wasn’t going to waste it by blowing away some shmo and spending twenty to life in a federal state prison.  That very second of my epiphany I opened my journal to a blank page and began writing of your mother’s beauty.  And that was how A Breeze of April, Vol. 1 started.

    “Ever since that day in the courthouse I’ve loved you, April.  Not your mother, but her belly.  What was inside of her.  I just knew you were going to accomplish great things in your lifetime.  I never laid eyes off of you, April.  The only time was to sleep maybe.  Or polish up my Book Cellar.  But other then that I never stopped watching you.  I never stopped writing about you.  Writing your life.  Writing the greatest biography ever to be written in the history of Mankind.  Everything you ever did I recorded it.  Every thought that I thought you had, I jotted it down.  Everything that you thought no one knew about, I knew about.  The books know about it, too.  Don’t worry, though; I’ve always refused to sell any of my -- your -- books.  I can’t sell until my -- your -- story is over. 
   
    “And that, April, is why I called you down here on this fine evening.”

    April had listened the whole time.  Listened to every word carefully, and the only conclusion she could come up with was that this guy was psychotic.  April had thoughts of running for it but before her brain could make up her mind, Frank had a snub nose pistol pointed at her. 

    “So … what do you say, care to help end this story?”

    April ran into the book room, (it was closer than the front door), and hid behind a shelf, squatting down and peeking through hardbacks.  Frank peered through each shelf; his hand gripped the snub nose tightly. 

    “Oh, come on out, April!  Every story has to end, and yours is over.  Can’t you see that?  I bet this would be made into a movie.  Who would you like to play your character?  How about that Lindsay Lohan?  You would like that, wouldn’t you?  I know you would.  I know your thoughts, April.  I know your lifestyle.  So trust me, I know when your time has come.  All I’m asking is for you to let me shoot you in the head!  Or the heart.  Whatever one you feel most comfortable with.”

    Little did Frank know was April had already sneaked right past him.  He wasn’t lying when he said his eyes weren’t too good nowadays.  April had a chance to run out of the Book Cellar, but the typewriter in the main room caught her attention.  She read the paper inside of this mechanical device;

    … April walked into the Book Cellar with a distrustful face, she was very frightened of this unknown man she presumed to be a stalker.  She showed the owner of the Book Cellar a business card she had received in the mail …

    “Jesus Christ,” April choked out.  That was a bad move on her part, for Frank had heard her and was already on his way back to the main room.

    He raised his gun.  “This is the way it has to be, you understand, right?”

    April dived to the ground a split second before Frank fired.  The bullet blew away some of the dry wall above the desk.  April furiously got to her feet and jumped at her stalker, knocking him and the snub nose to the floor.  April was quick and swift as she picked up the gun and brought it down on Frank’s skull.  She repeated this act two more times, each one he squealed in pain.  April stuck the muzzle to his temple and was about to squeeze the trigger when Frank shouted for her to stop.

    “Just stop!  Please, just wait, okay?  Just let me do one more thing real fast, please?  Just let me write a little, I promise it won’t take me too long.  I have something really important to document.  This is your first kill!  I’m so excited for you; this is such a critical milestone to accomplish.  So … what do you say; will you let an old chum type out a few more sentences before you end his life?”

    April lowered the gun.  She was still flattered that somebody could actually care about her this much.  So, she had an old thought just then;

 

Maybe I should give this poor guy a chance?