The Book of The Mad Monk

The story of an old rediscovered book

A sharp crash awoke a man from his sleep. Bumps and bangs of the night are nothing abnormal, pipes cool and wind whistles on windows but something strange was happening. The night was silent save for that sound of a crash. The man, Mr Robinson, could sense something. This was not the first night it had happened. It had begun with a book- a rare volume- the author of which was long dead. That the tome had survived at all was nothing short of a miracle, for the story behind it was nothing short of shocking.

Legend held of a monk who worked alone on an island off the coast of Scotland. There had once been a whole monastery full of monks there on his island, all set in their tasks to copy out the scriptures, creating bibles for the heathen population. A causeway linked the island to the mainland, but it was only usable at low tide, and never visible for the dark waters always remained at least a foot and a half above the path itself. Few would dare to cross as the journey was long and mistiming it would lead to death as the sea came back and swept away any unfortunate souls who were trying to cross. On each side of the path was a steep drop, leading some to claim that the island was designed by God to be cut off from the rest of the world. The choppy waters and the powerful currents surrounding it certainly made it seem so, and the difference in height from the side of the island to the sea at all points except for the path made it inaccessible by boat. The monks may have been the only ones to know the safe way across. It is said that one day the monks were making a journey from their home into the town for an annual week of preaching in the towns nearby. The day was calm and the path was safe for their passage and so as soon as the tide was falling, they set out. All but one left the monastery. A young convert who had joined recently was left at the monastery as a child. Nobody knew how he had got there because no monk had brought him and no villager was able to make the journey. He had remained there his whole life never saying a word but always writing. A certain darkness in his eyes and a certain shape of his face uncharacteristic of the area set him apart from the others even further. The Abbot had never examined his writings before, assuming them to be the only thing he had been taught- the scriptures, however he chose to look at them the day before that year’s journey. It is unknown what he saw, but the young monk was not allowed to follow with them that year. It is said that as they were visible from the shore and even able to wave to the townspeople who had gathered to greet them that the disaster struck. The blue sky turned dark and with it the sea. Crashes and bangs accompanied lightning storms that crackled in the distance and there are some reports of a red glow on the horizon and screams from the bodies of the monks in the water. The young monk, it is said, had prayed on that day that no man should ever know what he had written, but not to the God the monks prayed to for that was not the God he worshipped.

These were mere legends, of course, the fantasies of villagers in days long past. There was no way to know what had really happened. The reports of the monks being washed ashore in the following days were mostly confirmed, and it was the general consensus that an eclipse had happened around that time, but there was no way that anybody could possibly know anything about a mad monk who had remained on the island at that point. The small island hadn’t even appeared on many maps until modern day, perhaps because of the currents which meant that sailing close to it was a dangerous task, and its small size meant that it hardly mattered whether or not it was chronicled as existing or not. Recently, however, things had changed. The newfound ability of man to fly and to gather data quicker than ever before had rediscovered the island. It became something of a geological marvel for a few short weeks but the most interesting part of the stories concerned the legend. The monastery was a large structure, circular in design with many rooms- this was thought unusual by the archaeologists who first examined it since monks are well known for their willingness to make do with small spaces rather than a desire for excess. This led to speculation about who built the monastery since the island was so inaccessible and the materials would have been so hard to obtain and the design was not traditional for monks. Then was found the secret chamber. Underneath the central courtyard was found a small room with no obvious way in or out. Inside was a single skeleton in monk’s robes, atop something large and bound with leather. On the walls were scratchings which might have looked like writing were it not that they bore no resemblance to any alphabet previously known. The leather bound block, it transpired, was a book and on its cover more symbols- if that’s what they were- were pressed into the leather to form a pattern. Inside it was blank.

Mr Robinson had now gained possession of this large, blank book.

Author's Note

I was going to write more, but I fell asleep and then couldn't remember where I was going with it, luckily it sort of works without any more being added.