The Archivist's Last Room

Room 7 of the municipal archive was never catalogued. Archivist Seo assumed it had always been a supply closet until she found a door handle made of bone.

Inside: one shelf, one book, no dust. The title page read: THIS VOLUME CONTAINS EXACTLY AS MANY PAGES AS YOU HAVE DAYS LEFT.

She brought a lighter. Every archivist knew that fire was sometimes the kindest form of preservation.

The book burned quickly and left behind exactly one page, fireproof. It said: NOW THE DAYS ARE YOURS.