“Why should I?”
“I need you out of my thoughts, out of my head... Now!”
"You cannot control me anymore.”
“Get out! Now!”
I felt a wave of comfort wash over me. Like a huge weight being lifted off my shoulders. I sighed and sat down. It took me awhile, but I finally opened my eyes. A shadowy figure stood before me, but he flickered like a broken TV screen. Black and ominous, it resembled a human but looked like a silhouette. He lacked depth, like a cardboard cutout. He radiated anger and frustration, like an aura.
“You did this,” a voice boomed through the room. I fell back out of my chair and crawled back. It flickered forward, not even moving its legs. “This is what you wanted!”
Suddenly, slime poured from the figure, filling and spreading throughout the room like ink in water. He continued to flicker and advance, slowly inching towards me. I tried to speak and reason with the unknown monster, but no words would come out of my mouth.
Just as he reached me, a ray of sunlight fell through the window. It struck him like fire to paper. He ignited, and the fire crawled across him and the slime. More sunlight poured through the window, and he shrieked. The scream pierced my ears and head. Filling my mind and causing me to cup my ears, struggling to try and muffle the sound.
The monster exploded in a puff of smoke, and I lay on the ground attempting to recover myself. I brought my hands to my face, and saw they had blood on them. I reached back to my ears and found them to be bleeding.
I sat up and looked upon my room, which was now in a wreck. My bed was smashed in half along with my TV, which was thrown from its foundation. My chair was burned and smoldering. The slime had left, but everywhere was burned in some way. I crawled to my feet, still staggered and injured from the event.
My mind was now clear and free, and I was able to think without interruption now. I picked up a small book near my chair. Whatever my grandfather did to obtain this book… I flipped it over and read the title again. “Necronomicon,” I said out loud, as I turned to the page I was previously reading.
Ancient text filled most of it, but in plain English across the top read: “Manifesting Anger." I thought I would be furious that my grandfather gave me a book that almost killed me, but I didn’t feel anything.
My anger was gone, but it would return. Every time something happened that should have made me angry, it would appear again, watching from a distance.
I locked away the book, promising to myself that I would never read it again. A few years later, I was robbed. The thief mistakenly took the book.
A few years later, the book would once again find its way into markets (generally illegal ones,) repeating the cycle that had been going on since the Dark Ages. Just be careful, some things are not meant for this world.