The room was surprisingly like he had left it last, or what he imagined he had left it as. Mostly because after passing out during the magical binding he had stayed away from it as much as possible. The circle now just looked like a bunch of runes and weird shapes burnt into the wooden floor.

  The ghost girl didn’t say anything or try to go near any of the walls or bookshelves that lines the left side of the room. Bennie looked around, noting the desk still looked as regal as he had thought during those mad moments. He turned his back to that side of the room and studied what was clearly a too small room to his left.

  The wall had bookshelves in it that would have made most bookies from his world drool with unkempt lust. In the middle of the wall was a fireplace that also somehow looked to shallow and despite everything, looked entirely unused. Like those fireplaces he always saw in reality TV shows when people were running around mansions.

  Deciding to start from the middle and move towards the far end he went to the fireplace to see if there was anything strange about it he couldn’t see from afar. Mostly he noted that whoever had used the study was rather bland, a single vase stood on top of the mantle, and judging from the small opening at the top was never used, not even for a lone flower.

  “Hmm, how is it that there are paintings in almost every hallway, but this office is seemingly undecorated?” He asked into the room, not expecting a reply.

  The ghost girl made a hmpf sound, before replying, “Oh you noticed those? I put them up as time went by. A lot of the adventurers had riches on them that I have no idea how they kept them. But they all came spilling out eventually.”

  He turned on the spot raising his right eyebrow, “Did that perhaps happen when the adventurers died?”

  “Probably, I never much cared to see what they were doing. I just made sure they didn’t ruin my mansion.” Before he could ask another question she floated/turned away from him, heading towards the wall behind the desk.

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  Shelving that entire conversation for later, he picked up the vase, expecting a large part of the wall to open. Except, all it revealed was a slight ring of dust under it. Placing it back, he moved to the bookshelf to his right and started reading the titles. Hoping to find something that grabbed his attention.

  Of course, most of it flew entirely over his head as the books talked about histories, war tactics, accounts from travellers, and even a few books about magic. He picked those up, quickly leafed through them, and then placed them back on the shelf. Feeling like his eyes were spinning in impossible circles, with runes swirling through his head.

  He continued until the bookshelf ended at the only window in the room. He turned back and started down the other side, which he knew would be most likely to have something in it. As it was against the wall he felt would most certainly be hiding the room they were looking for.

  But on this side he found the books even more boring, most only having reports of events that would be entirely outdated now. If what the ghost girl had told him was true. He was about to give up when he noticed a mustard yellow book that was quite thin wedged in between two other rather thick, brown books.

  Honestly he would have normally missed it, as it was also on the bottom most shelf. Eye level with his knees, if he wasn’t actively searching for something he may never have found it.

  The book had no title on the spine, being too thin for that, but it did have big flourishing letters on the front. Brushing off the dust that was on the edges he read it out loud.

  “The true art of making soup. A guide to otherworldly cooking.” The ghost girl came floating close as he read the title. Uninterested in everything on the desk.

  The book in his hands was clearly not what he was looking for, but now that he had bent and picked he may as well flip it open.

  Bennie would say for years to come that this was probably one of the wisest decisions he had ever made on a whim.

  Which is contradictory, because whims are very rarely, if ever, wise.

  Written in plain script, on the first page of the book, was a simple line, with instructions to read it out loud.

  Open Says A Me

  To be read aloud by the owner of this mansion.

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  Author daily question: ....

  So if I eventually get comments this is where you all can find answers! Feel free to ask me ANY questions in the comments and I will choose a few to answer...

  My favourite colour has become Purple, forest green, and orange-ish