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June 22, 2005

Volume 2, Issue 22

You found exactly the book you need for your paper, in the used bookstore downtown.

But when you get it home and look closer, you notice that there's an unusual inscription in it.

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Michele: Dancing With Myself


Hope this makes studying easier,


The inscription was inside the Economics text which Jared “borrowed” from his roommate Pat.

Jared sighed, feeling both resigned and envious. He had futilely chased Jenn in freshman year, but she had the unattainable, standoffish attitude that gorgeous girls instantly acquired towards Jared.

He wondered briefly what the inscription meant and began reading.

Ten pages in, something fell into Jared’s lap; a Polaroid of Jenn, wearing nothing but a rose tattoo and posed in a way that made Jared squirm.

“Oh, Jennifer,” he whispered. Feeling wicked and vindictive, he headed for the bathroom.

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Tanya: Finals

Shelly and I spent all day Saturday in the medical library, working on our final paper for Human Development Psych. The one book we really needed had been stolen, but I found a used copy downtown and returned to our dorm.

"I think you got the wrong book, Amy," I heard Shelly yell, as I finished brewing the coffee. I looked out and she was pulling the dustjacket off. "The real cover doesn't say 'Ritalin Nation' on it... This one's called 'Don't Panic.'"

"Shit. It must be a different psychology book. Open it and see if we can use it."

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Stacy: Random Curses

He dropped the book as if it were a live thing, scrambled backwards until he slammed into his desk. The book fell flat on the floor, and the words continued to blaze from the page.

Heart pounding, breath coming in shallow gasps, he inched forward as the glow faded to something readable.

"...imeacht gan teacht ort..."

Unable to stop himself, he reached out to touch the fast fading glow. A blur of images passed before his eyes. Then darkness. He tried to scream but heard no sound. He tried to move and could not feel his body.

Stupid used bookstore.

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Ted: Breaking the Curse

The bookseller sidled up to her, a huge dusty tome in both hands.

"The answers you seek are within."

"Could you be a little more dramatic, please? Like this place doesn't give me the wiggins already."

She took the book from him and staggered to the lounge, where Terry was waiting.

Her companion whispered, "Is that it?"

"I hope, finally. We can stop running around and get our asses back to Boston."

The Rules Of Baseball, by Abner Doubleday, lay before them. This should get her an A in Leisure Science, and maybe get the team a championship this year.

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From the Comments: Jim Parkinson

Academy to Missing Persons Chief Detective in just two years.

It started on his first case as a beat cop. He bought an old novel to take his mind off work. When he got it home, he noticed strange numbers on the inside cover in handwriting similar to his own. GPS coordinates. That's where he found the shallow grave.

Cookbooks, home repair…it always worked the same. It didn’t work with runaways, but if it was a kidnapping or murder the system was infallible.

Until the day the coordinates were for his own house. They found his body a week later.

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