𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔟𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔰 , 𝔯𝔢-𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢

────୨ৎ────

This is based on the Netflix children's movie, Nightbooks

꒰ 🥥 ꒱ؘ ࿔ ࿐ *:･ﾟᴄʜᴀʀᴇᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ  *:･ﾟ࿐ ࿔꒰ 🥥 ꒱ؘ

ˋ°•*⁀➷

𝖒𝖋𝖈 :

“How very dare you! “

Monica, 16

𝖒𝖒𝖈 :

Zephyr 17

“ Calm down, princess, it’ll only hurt a little. “

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Copyright © 2026 Charlotte Fickbohm. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or using any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The events and characters depicted in this book are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

────୨ৎ────

୨୧ - Monica pov , ✮ - Zephyr pov ,

────୨ৎ────

𝗼𝗻𝗲

Anger gripped me from all sides, coming in dark clouds of bright red and dark blood. The now odious

stench of popcorn and birthday cake mingled in the air. The room around me was messy; the

previously joyous movie posters that I had hung up were now torn to shreds, ripped and hanging off

the wall in strips.

My throat felt coarse and dry, and my freshly straightened hair was now frizzy from digging my nails

into my scalp, restlessly pulling. The stream of tears was now dried on my cheeks.

Stuffing the last of the dark black notebooks covered with drawings of faceless creatures and bloody

prints into my bag, I aggressively zipped my backpack up. I swung my door open, pausing when I

heard the low ring of my parents' voices.

“I don’t want this to be something she constantly thinks about,” my mother's voice was soft and

quiet, not wanting me to hear.

“It would help if she could just be… I don’t know… a little more normal?”

My teeth met my bottom lip as my fingers curled around my doorframe. I pushed myself out of my

torn-up room, not bothering to shut the door. I glanced behind me toward the hallway that connected

to the living room, where my parents were speaking in hushed voices that I tuned out, willing myself

not to cry anymore.

Turning my back to face the hall, I crept toward the apartment door that now sat just a few feet in

front of me. My fingers softly curled around the golden doorknob. Glancing behind me one last time, I

slipped out, shutting the door gently behind me.

The air around me felt colder as I stepped out of my apartment. The hairs on my arm stood up

straight, and goosebumps coated my body. My footsteps echoed around me as my slow pace

turned into a fast walk toward the elevator.

My finger pressed into the down arrow, and automatically there was a dinging noise as the doors slid

open smoothly. I stepped inside; the cold air turned somewhat damp and humid. I pressed the

button with a large ‘B’ on it, which stood for the boiler room. Standing up, I let out a long exhale.

I’m going to destroy them. I’m going to burn the stupid books and stories and never write again. Just

the thought of seeing the paper go up in flames sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. Gosh, to see

the burning pile of rubble and—

The elevator doors haven’t closed yet. I looked up, confusion coating my face as I pressed the

button again, harder this time.

Nothing happened.

Anger flared up in me again suddenly, and I slammed my hand into the button that closed the door.

Finally, I heard a dinging sound, and the doors closed. Butterflies took hold in my stomach. I glanced

around me, stepping back to lean against the metal wall.

Before I could form another thought, the elevator shook violently, and the clanging sound of

machinery echoed in the air. Abruptly, the shaking stopped, jolting me upright, and the doors slid

open. The ding was a gentle sound, contrasting with the previous shaking.

The bottom floor looked different than I remembered. The lights were dim, hardly even on. They

flickered slightly, and the air was even cooler. As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, it shut behind

me, but it felt as if I had been locked away from the rest of the world.

My shoes clacked hard against the floor, the sound of a low buzzing and flickering lights, paired with

my own heavy breathing, was the only thing I could hear in the dark hallway.

The warm glow of a TV and a wide-open apartment door caught my attention. My brows furrowed in

confusion as I glanced behind me. Didn’t I press the button to the boiler room?

It was what was on the television that made me hesitant to walk back to the elevator doors. I

recognized the voices immediately. *The Lost Boys* was something I never failed to recognize. My

favorite scene was playing too: an untouched plate of pumpkin pie sat alongside a silver fork on a

wooden stand, and it felt almost as if every detail was made for me.

All I could see was the TV stand, which the screen rested on, and the stand beside it, holding my

favorite kind of dessert. The thought of walking in crossed my mind, but I quickly turned toward the

boiler room, reminding myself why I was there.

I can’t remember what exactly pulled me back into the apartment,

If it was the warm glow of the TV,

or the freshly baked pumpkin pie melting in my mouth.

However, I do remember my feet dragging across the wooden floor, an unspoken force luring me

inside the apartment.

The world was spinning, suddenly coming closer and closer to my head.

────୨ৎ────

𝘁𝘄𝗼

Suffocating. The walls around me were trapping me in as I finally awoke from my slumber.

I started to panic.

The padding benaeth me was hardly comfortable. A folded blanket with golden flower patterns,

something you’d see out of the 90’s. Or maybe 70’s.

My eyes wander, The ceiling is low to my head, and I only have enough space to fit my body, its was

like a coffin. The walls had old looking flowers on them and an assortment of patterns. To the left of

me there are two handles that rest on a door like structure. I turn, sitting up and bumping my head.

My fingers latch around the handles, I tug the opposite way and it rather ungracefully shutters open.

The room I see now has dark shiny wooden floors, the wall covered in diffrent diamond shapes

and flowers and patterns. There was the head of a roaring lion sitting on the wall above a old wooden

looking dresser. In the middle was a wide rug that looked hand made, white and green swirls coated

the fabric. There was a window with silky see through curtains, a small chandelir rested on the

ceiling.

I am sitting in a bunkbed like structure, exept the bottom bunk had wooden walls around it painted

white, the wood felt like it needed to be sanded down, and I probably already had spliters in my

fingers.

Cautiosly, I step out of the bunk, my light, oak colored clogs slid onto the dark wooden floor. I look

around. The hissing sound hit my ears almost as soon as I was about to step further out from the

bottom bunk.

the sound came from above me, and I looked up, slowly standing up and twisting my body to peer

on the top bunk. A small, hairless cat sat there, shoulders hunched and a curious look on its face. My

eyes widen in amazement.

“Look how pretty you are,” I coo, “what a mishchevious little thing-”

Abruptly, the cat raises on its hind legs, springing at me with open claws. Its suddenly on my face,

claws gripping around my head roughly. I panic, pain seering through me as its sharp nails dig into

my scalp. I twist and turn around, hands curled around the animal’s body as I tug and pull, until finally

I manage to get it off; and it spins in the air and lands on the floor.

Panting, I watch as its head snaps up towards me, snarling as it reveals its set of teeth. I step

Backwards, my heel is digging into some kind of toy.