1 The Tracking

He stared at the red hard covered book. The book was huge. It would take four hands like Stephen's to hold it. The book seemed new but it somehow felt like it hadn't been touched once in hindered years. He picked it from the old rusted trunk. The book was heavy to hold but Stephen was strong. He won the state wrestling championship three times in a row. He sat on the dusty floor of his attic. It was rare for people to visit the old and abandoned articles that Stephen collected. Yes, they were abandoned. He would collect theses old pieces of junk from flea markets, junk yards or anywhere else you can imagine. This rusty trunk was new to his collection. He found it the last day from the mansion that was abandoned years ago. Why? No one knows.

As he opened the book a sudden cold breeze passed, even though there were no windows. The book cracked like an old door as the heavy cover was turned. He knew that books never crack like that but it seemed as if it was talking to him. Telling him to back off. He didn't. He could not. The was tempting for him to hold onto no matter what. He could not understand the language of the two words written of the first page. The next page had photographs pasted on it like in a photo album. He saw pictured of a new born child. The infant was happy. Exhilarating. His parents looked at him lovingly and affectionately. Stephen never had parents. I mean he had once but they died when he was eight. He never saw those people in the photographs in his life but they seemed somewhat familiar. Anyways, continued. He saw the child growing up through the pictures. He saw him having is first molars, learning how to drive a bike. Stephen could sense it, something was very familiar about this family of three. Especially the boy.

Everybody was happy with the ongoing glee but lasts forever. The Boy saw his parents lay in coffins. Dead. Now he knew, Stephen had seen them before. Yes, they were his parents. His mind was racing now. Who clicked these pictures? Where had these come from? He suddenly felt insecure as if someone was watching him. As if someone was behind him. He checked but attic was cold and empty. He went through the book. Seeing his life in the photographs made him shiver. He saw his pictures of going to the foster home, having pepperoni pizza for the first time, winning the wrestling matches.

The last three pictures frightened him. He saw himself going through the red book. He was terrified. A hell lot of things were going on his mind - who clicked them? Who is that person that he never noticed in his entire life? Then a sudden cold gust of wind brought an envelope swinging with it which sat on his lap. It was titled - 'The last one ever'. He took a deep breath and quickly opened it. He saw himself, lying on the dusty floor of the attic, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Blood everywhere, on his body, his clothes. The floor was no longer dusty, it was red with blood. Terrified. He was indeed terrified. Sweat trickled down his forehead. He was cold as Ice and pale as a ghost. He looked behind him again. Still no one. Suddenly the book flew aways from his hands and went inside the rust old trunk. The trunk shut close. Stephen rushed to it and tried to open it but in vain. Suddenly every article in the attic started moving towards him. He tried to escape but the exits were blocked. He ran towards the corner but he stopped and heard the thomping sound. He turned back. He saw the rust old trunk storming towards him. Then jumped up high so suddenly that he couldn't even see it. Last thing he saw was the old trunk falling. Towards him.