The Fragrance of an Old Book

It's a typical Monday morning in the old two-story house of Belmontes in Project 6, Quezon City.

The oldest child among the siblings sits like a blob in her usual spot in the living room. She's reading the 87th Edition of The Conspiracy Magazine, published on January 6, 2084. That's five years ago, but still worth something to look at. It's hard to come to the latest magazines nowadays. You're lucky if you can get an edition for the last two years – before the air got worse, of course.

Linda's eyes drooped helplessly while she inspects the item like some who's just passing the time in a cheap bookshop. The cover showed gory pictures of the previous war ten years ago. She flips through the pages, looking for something interesting, anything that can spark enthusiasm. Nothing. It's all the usual shit you see in the newspaper every month. The page that she landed on, where several pictures of children in a sort of a hospital setting, reads:
No one thought it could happen again. We thought we've figured it out, that history could lead us to a better future. But perhaps it did because we're now seeing the next step in human evolution.

Ok. That's it! Linda is beyond bored. She closed the magazine and walked towards her room. She's probably going to sleep for the rest of the afternoon.

After the loud slam of the door, the little head of a 6-year-old boy poked out of his room.
It's time.

Little Edmund loved the scent of books, and his siblings are annoyed by that.

He would take the old book at the bottom of his dad's little shelf, which is placed exactly at the center of the house. The stand serves as a partition between the kitchen and the living room; you could see or sense the presence of whoever is there. Edmund would pick the oldest book at the bottom section, and he would marvel at the unique beauty of ragged papers.

Something is fascinating with the smell of old books for little Edmund, especially this one -- even though the pages are already tearing apart and turning into dusty papyrus scrolls. The older, the better.

"Edmund, stop that; your father will be here soon!" His mother often scolded him when he was caught smelling the book, eyes closed and all, like an elated man who just finished in bed.

But there's nothing really sexual about the act. He's just a little kid who wants to get away from all of it: the intermittent sound of gunshots, the awful feeling of being crushed by this claustrophobic mansion, the monotony of their routine, and worst of all, the lifelessness of everything.

One night, Edmund could've sworn that he was alone in the living room. Everyone was in their room, and his father was still at work. But then…

"I know what you're doing." A voice came out of nowhere. Edmund's father, Jack, suddenly appeared at the corner of the living room door. Edmund was startled and immediately put the book back in its place.

"I was just sniffing the book," answered Edmund in defense, "I wasn't doing anything. I—I swear!"

With a calm, frosty voice, he said, "I know, son. Just don't do it too often." A chilling pause. "Or there will be consequences. You know that, right?"

"Yes, Papa. I'm sorry," the kid said, lowering his head to somewhat show an impression of remorse.
"Ok now. Go to your room and finish your homework."

And so he did, knowing full well that something terrible will happen.

Still, he took one last glance at the precious item, longing to touch its rough pages, craving for its intoxicating fragrance, just little sniffs here and there. In this colorless world, nothing mattered more than that fleeting moment of euphoria as he traces the history with his nose.

That incident happened a week ago, yet, Edmund was back again at the crime scene, stealing a moment at the center of the house. He tried really hard to obey his father, but…

Well, he's not necessarily scared of his father because he never really punished his five kids. Edmund just doesn't want to disappoint his father.

"I'm disappointed in you, Edmund." Hearing those heart-wrenching words is even worse than being locked in the basement or being whacked crazy.

He shot a wary look around the house before sitting at the front of the wooden shelf. No one is in the living room and kitchen. They're all asleep. He can hear Linda's muffled snore from the door closest to him. He listened carefully to ensure that they're in a deep sleep before continuing with his plan.

He sat there for about ten minutes, maybe twenty, he didn't know. He sat there in the dark without moving a muscle. He's like a trained assassin who's about to strangle someone. He listened patiently, waiting for the opportunity to attack.

In fact, he knows what he's doing. He devised a method to avoid the creaking floor. He knows everyone's pattern of sleep. He knows that Linda will wake-up at around 1:20 to go to the bathroom, so he has to be careful about that. He knows that his father just took a sleeping pill before he went to bed. He knows that if he's going to commit this crime, the perfect time to do so is right now, three hours after bedtime.

He's done it for several months now. He got caught twice and suffered the "consequences." But now he's back, more cunning than ever, more surgical than his previous operations, skills now sharper because of multiple tries and failures.
But why was he willing to go to such lengths just to smell an old book? His siblings will never know the answer because they're too afraid to try, too shallow to even comprehend what's happening. They don't even have any idea what Edmund is capable of.
Or perhaps they're not at all interested. They already have fascinating abilities. Why would they need books, anyway?
Linda can move things with her mind; Kevin can climb walls like a lizard; Jacob can make her arms and legs longer. Roger can float for hours. His siblings have really cool "quirks," as his parents call it.

At some point, Edmund envied them because he wanted to do cool stuff too. He tried to climb the ceiling or move the cups with his eyes. Because if he can do those things, maybe this place wouldn't be as horrible as it is.
That's until he discovered something more remarkable about himself – and some of its downsides.

The sound of gunshots brought him back to the darkroom. He waited again, half-expecting that any of the six doors would open at any moment. He prepared to bolt to his room at any sign of movement. The coast is clear. Thanks to his years of night excursions and adrenaline rush, the little kid developed an incredible sensitivity to sound, which already saved him a couple of times.

But all things considered, he also knew that a single gunshot is not enough to wake them up. So, he still waited until the moment died down.

Ten minutes passed… fifteen… thirty…

Sometimes, Edmund would wonder why his siblings look so bored all the time, even with all the cool things they can do. Especially Linda, who can practically juggle several objects without touching them. Edmund can think of a thousand things to do with such power because he's far more creative and imaginative.

Well, they did those things already, and they had fun. But Edmund was still not around at the time. When the child wanted to play, the four quirky teenagers were already reduced to the tired-looking humans they are today.

Maybe they just wanted to go outside, like when Roger tried to open the large metal door. Everyone looked so frightened that day, even his parents, who couldn't do anything to stop Roger. Thankfully, Linda stopped him before he could click open the last latch.

The perfect moment came. Or at least, from Edmund's experience, it is the most ideal time for the kind of mission he's about to do.

The waiting is over.

Ever so slowly and inch by inch, he carefully slid the old book out from the shelf. Wedged by two larger books -- an encyclopedia and a dictionary – he put a piece of cloth between them to avoid unwanted noise.

And then, like an addict, he took a deep, long breath and went straight into the rabbit hole.

Edmund was clutching an old Bible when Jack found him that morning, lying on the floor unconscious. He immediately shouted to call his wife for help. They need to prepare the necessary medicines before their poor child reaches the seven plagues.