There isn’t a good way to say this. I’ll be brief, this ought to reach someone. I’m Mandy, and my friend died unhappily today. So very unhappily, and that’s a huge problem. People have no idea what’s happening, but I do. There is a curse. It was a joke we made as kids, me, him and Molly. We were only being clever and self absorbed. How could we know?
Molly died first, a few years ago. Leprosy. It was October 22nd, 2012. That hurricane should have been called Molly, not Sandy. She was a narcissistic bitch. We all were. We made curses if we left this world unhappily. Hers was that the sky would cry over her. Very rich.
I knew when the hurricane came, and Tommy must have too, that it had something to do with the curses. We never brought it up. It sounded too crazy.
I frantically looked for that pact everywhere. I was the one holding it when we were kids, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. I forgot about it until Tommy died and books started being weird. Every book had pages missing. _Every_ book. No records of the missing pages were found anywhere, even in people’s minds. You could remember stuff about them, just not the content of the missing pages. Classics, plays, constitutions, scientific books, you name it. And holly books. Muslims went crazy, they lost a dozen pages.
Tommy was an irresponsible brick with no idea of the huge repercussions of his curse. And so am I. If anyone knew about my curse, I’m dead.
I’ve found the pact today. Our dark black prints lay ominously on the bottom of the page; fuck, we were idiots.
I have a plan, but it will nee
NO, TOMMY, PLEASE! NO, THE PACT IS NOT A BOOK, IT’S ONLY ONE PAGE! WHY IS IT MISSING MY CURSE?! WE WROTE ALL THREE OF THEM, I HAVE TO BURN IT BEFORE I DIE. THAT’S THE ONLY WAY. I BEG YOU, JUST GIVE ME THIS ONE, I HAVE TO BUR