A used book is all fun and games until the previous owner’s notes start talking to you.

It all started at the Book Culture on 112th, as many things tend to do. 

Picture this. A maze of bookshelves, piled high. Chappell Roan played faintly over the speakers. I went up to the desk after an embarrassingly long time of scouring the shelves (for an English major, I had a disappointingly hard time navigating the alphabetized selection) and asked for Plato’s Republic. 

“Is this for a class?” The person at the desk asked.

“Yes”

“Is used okay?”

“Of course!”

And there it was. The book. I felt a shiver travel down my spine when I touched it—like there was some power that I did not have the ability to understand—but I dismissed the feeling and walked out of the store, stack of newly-bought used books in hand. I remember the childlike glee I felt, letting the excitement over a new semester wash over me. I was eager to start my new classes and expand my knowledge. Little did I know that everything would soon change.

I happily sat down to do my readings. Books V-VI of Republic. Okay, I can do this. I flipped through the book to discover that it had been annotated by its previous owner. No biggie, maybe it’ll be helpful! As I began to read, however, I realized the previous owner’s notes were not so much educational as they were funny. Snarky, even. I found myself distracted from Plato by their witty comments. I felt like they really spoke to me in a way no one had been able to before. 

Pg. 94: More of this nature BS

Pg. 122: The Giver? She’s a feminist

Pg. 130: Why is this giving Divergent

I was giggling, kicking my feet, even. Who was this mysterious stranger who had so much to say about the ideal city? You know what, it WAS giving Divergent. I DID want to tell Socrates to just STFU. Who could understand my thoughts so well? I dove back into the text, eager to discover more and more messages. 

Pg. 148: Ok Socrates is kinda cooking now…

Pg. 160: Bro just make your point already

Pg. 166: I can see you

Wait… what?!

Pg. 168: I can’t wait to meet you

Pg. 172: You can’t escape

Okay… this was getting weird. How was this related to justice? I tore my eyes away from the book at last, bleary-eyed and tired. Maybe it was time for a study break. I got up and looked around only to discover that it had become dark outside. I knew it was winter and all but… I couldn’t have been reading for that long, right? I went to check the time, but found my clock flashing, stuck at 0:00. That’s fine, I guess. The power socket must have just surged without me noticing it. I walked to my door to find that it was locked. But I never lock my door… what was happening?

Suddenly, I heard faint laughter coming from behind me. I turned back to my desk in horror, where Plato, Republic (c. 375 BCE), trans. G.M.A. Grube (Hackett) began to glow. The cackling intensified, and everything began to shake. 

It’s giving…

I heard between peals of sinister laughter.

It’s giving…

It’s giving… auxiliaries…

Girl… be so fr… you won’t escape me

It’s giving… you’re mine

“NOOO,” I screamed, giving in as the noise and the co-opted AAVE drowned out everything else. “Why me?! I cried out. “Don’t blame me for what Plato did to you!”

But struggling was no use. There was no stopping whatever malevolent ex-student’s spirit had inhabited this book. All that was left was darkness. I felt myself being sucked into the book, felt as it closed, trapping me inside forever in the form of my own hastily scrawled annotations. 

….does this mean I’ll get out of my next paper?

Plato and his buddies via Flickr