In the Soft Cover, the smell of coffee mingled with the dust of the pages and the silence of the forenoon. Lena lifted the blind, wiped down the counter and switched on the old receipt printer. The machine always coughed and then issued first a single blank swish, as if trying to remember something. Usually, after a while, there was a short piece of advice that no one had programmed, but everyone had learned to listen to it. The advice was sometimes funny and effective. "Move the fern to the left" once saved a shop window from the sun that was burning the spines of books. "Brew tea for the customer in the blue jacket" made a shy student dare to ask for a volume of poetry. Even "Close your eyes for a moment" hit the spot when a heavy encyclopaedia fell from the shelf and passed her foot by the thickness of a fingernail. On this day, the printer choked for longer than usual, then spit out the sentence: 'Don't open the green book'. Lena burst out laughing nervously as she had nothing green on her shelves except a notebook for orders. At the same moment, a courier knocked on the door and handed her a parcel with no sender, just a postmark and tomorrow's date. Inside lay a book in a bottle-green cloth cover, girded with a red ribbon, cooler and heavier than it should have been. Mr George, a retired motorist who still remembered the street gas lanterns, came in for coffee. "You're dreaming something awake here today, girl". - he muttered, looking at the package. Mika, an architecture student, was making a drawing of a shelf and every now and then glanced at the ribbon, as if guided by an invisible line. Lena put the book on the counter and the printer produced another swatch, silent for a moment, then written in a single, strangely even script: "If you open it, someone will come back; if you don't, someone will disappear." The words hit her like a draught; she had a silly association with her brother, who hadn't called in months. She brewed herself a cup of tea to warm it, but the kettle whistled a second earlier than the touch of the flame should have triggered it. The sound of a tram braking came from the street, even though there was a long gap on the timetable. In the shop, the lights trembled and went out only in one corner, where the guidebooks stand. Lena slid her fingers under the ribbon and it twitched as if it had a pulse. The paper from the printer rustled once more and a word slid out, from which the skin on the back of her neck grew chilly: 'Now'. The cover rustled like a shell, the air smelled of wet woods, and the spine of the book moved about a hair's thickness. Someone, or something, knocked from inside the page. The bell above the door chimed without a breeze, and all the clocks in the shop stood at the same minute.