Mysterious Disappearance of Local Book Collector Raises Questions

Stacktember prompt: A Vanishing __________

November 5, 2023

By: Lena Starlight, Staff Reporter, Plymouth Chronicle

Authorities are investigating the puzzling disappearance of Eliot Greene, a well-known local antiquarian and rare book collector. Greene, 34, was last seen five days ago by neighbors, returning to his downtown apartment building with a new area rug under his arm. His absence was reported by a close friend after repeated attempts to contact him went unanswered.

According to those familiar with Greene, he was an avid collector of rare and arcane books, often delving into obscure volumes written in ancient languages. He was particularly excited about his latest acquisition: a leather-bound codex of unknown origin, reportedly obtained from colleague, Burt Benneton, owner of The Camden Folio in Down East Maine.

Authorities have not confirmed any signs of foul play, but those who knew Greene say his behavior had become increasingly erratic in the weeks leading up to his disappearance. Neighbors reported strange moans coming from his apartment late at night during the tail end of last month, noting that he had become reclusive, refusing to answer his door. His landlord disclosed a rash of complaints filed by the same neighbors regarding unsettling cooking smells at odd hours the last few weeks — which was at odds with Greene’s reputation as an otherwise exemplary neighbor.

When investigators entered Greene’s residence earlier this week, they found his apartment undisturbed, but with a strange odor the team had at first surmised to be a gas leak. No valuables appeared to be missing, but one item stood out among the library: Greene’s newest acquisition, the leather-bound book left open on his desk. The book, which local historians have been unable to identify, was entirely blank — its pages devoid of text or ink markings to analyze, with conflicting scratches at odd intersecting angles.

After Greene’s apartment was confirmed safe from noxious fumes, it was discovered to be otherwise untouched, leaving investigators baffled by the lack of clues. The antiquarian’s personal effects — including his phone and wallet — were found intact. There were no signs of struggle, no fingerprints or DNA evidence that might point to an abduction. Despite this, Greene’s absence has left a haunting void for those who knew him.

“Eliot had a passion for lost stories,” said one colleague, who wished to remain anonymous. “But now it feels like he’s become one himself.”

Greene’s disappearance is the latest in a string of local mysteries involving collectors of rare and esoteric items. Over the past decade, several other antiquities enthusiasts have also vanished under similarly strange circumstances, fueling speculation that Greene’s fate may be connected to a broader pattern.

Police are urging anyone with information to come forward, though so far, leads have been scarce. Meanwhile, Greene’s friends and fellow collectors remain hopeful for answers, even as the mystery deepens.

Anyone with information is encouraged to contact local authorities. Until then, the fate of Eliot Greene — and the strange blank book left behind — remains unsolved.

***

Having slipped up the fire escape and into an unlocked window, the small figure in black jeans and a hoodie hesitated at the squeak of a floorboard beneath a sneakered foot. They looked around and exhaled at the undisturbed silence within Eliot Greene’s apartment. Slowly they poured the rest of their body over the cold radiator.

He’d said no cameras, no alarms, they reminded themself. But it wouldn’t be the first time the old man had been wrong. Standing upright the figure was no more than a smattering of inches over five feet. They pulled at the stretchy cuffs around their wrists and surveyed the room.

It still reeked of something odd — the article had been right. It was an old, mold-and-sulfur stench. The figure pulled the strings of their hood tighter and adjusted their disposable covid mask up higher on their nose. There was one more thing the article mentioned that they wanted to check.

They kneeled down beside the small modular sofa and coffee table and lifted a corner of the ugly area rug. It didn’t seem like there had been significant traffic around the carpet, the aged pine floorboards looked identical to the rest of the room. They removed the table and began rolling Greene’s final purchase aside.

They’d peeled the carpet back about a third of the way when they stood up, something triggering a decision to kick the roll of wool with their sneaker instead of their hands.

Surprise, surprise. A smear of now-brown matting clotted the back of the wool carpet and the soft pine. They rolled the carpet against the far wall.

A circle of blood and curved snaking script — intensely delicate in some places, splattered and manic in others — lay exposed to the humid air. A little cliché, they thought, unzipping their hoodie, but leaving the mask.

Long hair tumbled down to their shoulders and they fanned themself with a gloved hand. They remembered their childhood when a mid-November night required extra layers, but now any scant Halloween costume could be survived without a turtleneck or jacket in the New England air.

They tapped a finger to the old brown blood on the floor. Totally dry. After taking a few photos they moved to the desk and found the book mentioned by both the article and their employer, Burt Benneton. They caressed the cracked leather spine with a latex finger and flipped to a random empty page. A long-forgotten metal implement had been pressed to parchment to leave an indentation in the fibers, but no ink. It was of no interest to the thief, but the old man would drop five figures on this easy fetch.

Tucking the book in a canvas messenger bag, they quickly cased the rest of the apartment before returning to the open window. As they did, the toe of their sneaker bumped into the radiator hard enough to make them stop. They clapped a hand down to the cast iron fins and heard it before they felt it: A sizzle.

The radiator wasn’t cold, it was burning hot. It quickly seared the latex into cracks over their burning flesh and made them scream in surprise. They fell backward into the center of the circle, their ass and the canvas bag each making a thud of their own. They scrambled backward further, clutching their hand to their chest and hissing breath quickly in and out to regain control.

Something hit the back of their head. They looked behind them — nothing was there. They looked down, hand curled under their chin at their chest. They had reached the far side of the circle of blood.

“What the fuck?” With their teeth they ripped the latex glove off of their good hand and slapped at the air at the edge of the sigil. It stopped hard, like a bug hitting the side of a jar.

They screamed until they couldn’t. Their throat constricted and they grabbed at their neck with both hands. A dark cloud began to hiss into the room from the nearby radiator and small yellow-red lights began to twinkle in the thief’s vision like fireflies.

“I believe you have something of mine,” the voice was cold. The thief’s eyes widened and the choking noises in their throat grew harsher. They shook their head from side to side, the black cloud growing around them, eating up the room.

The fireflies joined together to form two glowing eyes in front of the thief as the capillaries in their own eyes began to burst in sharp pangs.

“My book please, then you may come with me,” from the cloud emerged the shape of a helmet, forming around the glowing eyes.

The thief, on the verge of death, had the presence of mind to slap their good hand at their side, scrambling to find the book and free it from the waxed cotton bag. The pressure in their head had nearly edged out consciousness as they kicked the book to the figure in the suit of armor, fully-formed before them in the humid apartment air.

“Many thanks, traveler. This is meant for someone else.”

The metal feet of the suit of armor clanged across the floor loudly as the buzz grew around them. Each step sparked like more fireflies, shedding heat in the small apartment as the plate armor took form beneath the helm. The demon placed the book lovingly back on the desk. Creaking, the soldier turned their head to find the thief crawling on their belly back across the seal toward the window, pulling themself by their elbows.

“Now, now. I said you’re coming with me.”

The buzzing grew into a roaring choir of trumpets in the thief’s ears, rattling what was left of their brain as the soldier reached out a gauntlet and plucked them from the floor.