The Book of the Strange

My name is Shen Yan.

By the time you open this booklet, I may already be dead.

Three days ago, an old booklet appeared out of nowhere beside my pillow. Four words were written on its cover: The Book of Occult Evidence.

The first page bore my name and the date of my death: three days from now.

Beginning on the second page, fragments of “rules” started to appear: “Do not answer knocks at midnight.” “Anyone wearing red must not enter the room.” “If the figure in the mirror moves before you…”

The fragments were incomplete, like a puzzle torn to pieces.

All I could do was piece them together before the next knock came.

Because the booklet told me one truth:

There are no gods in this world, only ghosts. And I’ve survived this long not through luck, but through occult evidence.

With rules as my blade and logic as my proof,

disprove the paranormal, and live; prove the paranormal, and command it; prove the Dao, and become a god.

But the booklet didn’t tell me one last thing:

The person who wrote it was the previous “me.”