Ennis perched on the threadbare seat and gripped the old book tight. He could feel the leather writhe under his fingers, hear it whispering to him in the indifferent silence of the train carriage. Uncertainty assailed him. Was he sweating, mumbling? Gods he was hungry. Would anyone ask?
A young woman approached him, eyeing the heavy tome.
“That’s an odd book. What’s it about?”
Ennis smiled. “Would you like to have a read? I warn you: you won’t be able to put it down.” He handed it over, and his heart lifted.
It felt good to pass the curse on.
Author’s note: I like to speculate on what might happen if clichés were literally true.