The book didn't close.
That was the first thing Ken noticed when the projection ended. There were no more images, no more sounds, no crackling, no whispering—yet the air still felt heavy, as if the memories wouldn't let go of the room.
Ken sat. Still. His eyes were open, but they weren't really looking at anything.
Courtney was the first to break the silence—but not in her usual way.
"Hey…" she said softly, almost cautiously. "If I were to tell a joke now, it would be really bad timing, wouldn't it?"
Ken's lips barely moved. "Probably."
"Too bad," Courtney shrugged. "I'm the best at that."
That half-smile, that little sarcastic edge, was the first thing that didn't come from the book, and yet it reached Ken.
It didn't heal him. It didn't erase the past. But it gave him a handle.
Norman watched the book as it was written.
The pages were blank. Completely. Not faded, not faded—as if nothing had ever been on them. And yet… Norman knew it was a lie.
"This… is no coincidence," he finally said. "This book doesn't remember. It's listening."
Martin leaned closer. "Okay, so we have a book that's peeping, a past that won't be forgotten, and a faceless horror that's knocking. Tell me this isn't the beginning of a bad horror movie."
"Martin," Courtney said automatically, then paused for a moment. "… now I'm exceptionally grateful to be here."
Martin blinked. "Was that… a compliment?"
"Don't get used to it," Courtney added, then sat down next to Ken. Not too close. Not intrusively. Just enough so Ken knew he wasn't alone.
The Library and the Hidden Book.
The next day Norman didn't go to high school.
He went to the town library.
The library in Blithe Hollow was old. Too old. The shelves held not just books, but things that had been kept quiet. Norman could feel it. And for hours he couldn't find anything.
Until Martin got bored.
"Hey, what's this stupid shelf?" he asked, leaning against one of the sections by accident.
The shelf moved.
Not spectacularly. It didn't creak. It just slid aside with a soft, dry click, revealing a narrow niche behind it.
"…well, I did that right away," Martin said quickly.
Norman didn't answer. He was already in the niche.
There was the book. Not the same as Ken's—but related. Thicker. Older. There was no title on the cover. Just a scratch. As if someone had tried to scrape it off.
The Rules of the Faceless Being (Norman's Recognition)
Norman didn't read aloud.
Not right away.
He understood first.
The creature:
1. Not a ghost.
Not dead. Never lived as a human.
2. Not attached to a place.
Appears in houses, but not born there.
3. Attracted to silence.
Appears to children who are alone, awake, while others are sleeping.
4. Doesn't attack immediately.
Listens. Tests. Waits to be noticed.
5. Animals sense it first.
Dogs don't bark at it for long. They freeze.
6. Has no face because it has no identity. If it had a name, it would take shape.
That's why it's dangerous.
The book gave it a partial name.
Not a full one. Just this:
"The Gue…"
The ink broke.
"Guest," Norman whispered. "He won't stay. He won't move in. He'll just… show up."
When Norman returned and told him all this, Ken listened. He didn't interrupt. He didn't argue.
"So," Courtney finally said, "if I understand correctly… when you were a kid, there was a faceless monster that watched you, but it didn't take you, it didn't hurt you, it was just there."
"Yes," Ken said softly.
Courtney smiled. "Now listen. If something like that didn't take you when you were eight and defenseless… then now that you're an adult, with a nervous, stupid taxi driver, a too-smart guy, and a beautiful, sarcastic woman by your side… what do you think your chances are?"
Ken looked up at her. "You were just… talking about yourself?"
"Absolutely," Courtney grinned. "Someone has to keep your soul inside you. And if that's the case, I'm pretty good at it."
Ken laughed at first… softly.
Short.
But real.
And the book—it didn't move.
As if it was watching.
And waiting.