Late one fog-bound night, a man goes in search of a book to help him sleep. He finds a book he doesn’t remember. Did he inherit it?

It has no title. No author.

It’s written in Latin, in an unknown but legible hand.

And once he begins to read it, he can’t stop returning to it each night.

He was a happy family man. A little bored, but happy.

But what is he now?

Margaret Irwin’s *The Book* first appeared in *The London Mercury* in 1930—a quietly chilling study of possession, hidden knowledge, and the horrors that live on our own shelves.

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