After each page Cindy turned, the more drawn into her story she was. It was as if vines wrapped around her and pulled her closer and closer each flip of a page. Finally Cindy’s eye lids grew heavy and she drifted of to a deep sleep. Cindy dreamed sweet dreams until she woke up with a start. Vines had begun to sprout from her novel. They had wrapped around her small thin wrists, immobilizing her arms. Although she screamed at the top of her lungs, her words seemed to be swallowed up by the book. It was dead silence to anyone around. The fat green vines, which were approaching her chest quickly, were tight and strong. There was no escaping this creeping plant. Cindy’s mind was racing. Flashes of her fondest memories skimmed through her mind. She pretended to go to sleep, for the last time. With what she thought to be her last breath, the vines had simply disappeared. Cindy gasped. She breathed easy for the first in what she thought was forever. There was no more time to be happy. She stumbled to her feet, grabbed the book and launched out the widow with a grunt. She collapsed back on to her bed because she was exhausted. Exhausted in every way. Her mind, her lungs, her body. As tired as she was there was no way she was going to go back to sleep. In the back off her mind she heard the librarian’s mumbled words. “Beware. Beware of the book.”