Eve stared at the book in her lap but didn’t touch it. Marie took her seat again and clasped her hands together on her knees. There was something familiar and unsettling about this book that despite wanting to immensely, stopped her from removing from her presence altogether. Possibly flinging it across the room; anything to get it away from her. Marie stared at her mutely, waiting for her to open it. This was the book that sent shivers down Eve’s spine as a child. This was the book that sent a thrill of fear through her bones every time it was taken from the dresser in her parent’s bedroom. It was the bible that her parents brought with them to every visit that Eve had to pay, and pay she did. Even at her youngest she knew that when this book was brought out, she was going somewhere and she wasn’t going to like it.
“I learned a long time ago that I can learn nothing of value from this book. What makes you think it will make any difference now?” She asked, trying to keep the anger from permeating her voice.
Marie gestured towards the red ribbon that peaked out from between the pages. “Open it.” She said patiently.
Eve’s skin felt cold as she stared down at the black leather cover. She had never been allowed to look in this book. She had only ever seen it clutched in one of her parent’s hands, usually her mother’s, and she had never been allowed to touch it. She had never really had any curiosity for the thing; religion had never been a hobby of hers, but she did vaguely remember once when she had been urged to look for it. She had seen many other bibles in other families’ houses, but not as large and ornate as her parents. She wondered how it had differed. Maybe there were pictures that she could look at, or maybe the words were so big that they took up a page each. So she had been urged by a friend to sneak into her parent’s room at night and whisk it away to the safety of her bedroom so that she could look at it in peace. But when she tried to open their bedroom door, she found that it was locked. This had seemed odd to her as a five year old and frightened her. What if she needed them during the night? How would they get to her? She knew that they locked the doors of the house to protect them from bad men, but what were her parents afraid of? There was no one else in the house except for Eve.
And now she couldn’t recall who that friend was.
She glanced up at Marie who was staring at her intently. She sighed with exasperation and opened the book. She flipped through the first few pages in confusion. “What is this? I thought this was a bible.” She said.
“No.” Marie said calmly, “From the day you were born, your parents kept a journal. They brought it to every event and wrote down every detail about you in it.” Eve stared down at the pages in disbelief. There were at least a thousand pages in this book, all about her. She felt a hand gripping her wrist. Marie was leaning over and gazing at her. Her mouth felt dry. “You can stay in the room at the end of the hall on the second floor. Read it there.” Eve just looked at her until Marie gave her a small nod of encouragement. She rose slowly from her seat and left the room, holding the book in both her hands like a silver tray set with expensive china.
As she thought about it now, there was no reason for her to assume that this book had been a bible. No one had ever referred to it as one; there was no classic gold lettering on the front telling her so, no gilded pages. She had just assumed that it was a holy book given the nature of what her and her parents did. And all along it had been a journal of her life. Everything that made her ‘special’ and ‘different’ was in this book. Every detail of every ‘event’ was recorded within these pages. And maybe even a few things that Eve had missed over the years, things that she hadn’t even noticed about herself. And maybe this book could tell her why her mother was distant and why her father was so intolerant.
She opened the door to her room and walked straight to the bed. There was an unused small about the place and a horrid floral theme throughout the décor that made it feel like she had step back in time. She went the writing desk on the left hand side of the room and sat down, turning on the desk lamp; the room was on the east side of the house and despite the large windows didn’t have very much natural light. She ignored the cold shiver that racked her spine and opened the cover.
The first page was blank except for her parent’s individual signatures in the middle of the page. Her mother’s cursive feminine script and her father’s fluid neat hand. She paused to look at these for a minute, wondering just how long ago they had been written. The next page was written in her mother’s hand writing.
We begin this journal with the intention of recording the life of an extraordinary child. A child more receptive than any recorded previously. The reasons for this child’s abilities being so strong are yet to be discovered, but we intend to do just that. Already she has shown signs of remarkable control that is almost second nature to her. We have never seen anything like it before.
With this experiment we hope to change the face of science and the world’s relationship with the paranormal forever.
Her father had added a line at the bottom of the page.
As she is the first of her kind, we have named her Eve.