‘Tringgggg’, rang the alarm. John woke up with a start. It was 6 AM, and time to get ready. He had planned to reach office early and finish by 5, so that he could devote the evening to uncle Tom’s house. Tom, who was John’s father’s younger brother, had recently passed away. He had bequeathed his house to his nephew. That day, one week after the last rites, the nephew planned to visit the uncle’s house to gauge how many things needed to be transferred to his home.

Tom was not married and had few friends. John and his parents were the only ones he could call his own. The uncle-nephew bond was strong, almost like a son to his loving father. In Tom, John found someone whom he could trust and confide in. Whenever his parents had a fight, he would go to his uncle’s house to stay until his parents reached a truce. At other times, Tom would read stories to John.

John missed his uncle terribly. He had lost more than an uncle – he had lost a friend. 

Once John was done with work, he drove down to Tom’s home. Before his death, the uncle had requested his nephew to take special care of his books, and to never allow them to be sold to the scrap dealer. Tom was protective of his books and was determined to ensure they did not end up in the shredding machine. John felt a duty towards honouring his uncle’s last wish.

John reached by 5.45 and scanned the house. There were two beds, a couple of chairs, a dining table, fridge, washing machine, and Television set. All these items now belonged to John. He knew that his home did not have the space to accommodate them all. But he was not worried, as he had enough time to decide what to do with them. 

He was more concerned about the books. 

John entered the library that Tom had put together over four decades. It housed a vast collection, roughly seven thousand in number. They were neatly arranged topic-wise – politics, literature, sports, mathematics, physics and chemistry. John started examining one book from each category, starting with Mathematics. He found ‘The Man Who Knew Infinity”, a biography of Srinivasa Ramanujan, the great Indian Mathematician, by Robert Kanigel.

As he sifted through the pages, reading bits and pieces of the text, he saw a piece of paper on Page 245 jutting out. Curious, he opened it. Upon deeper inspection, he learned that it was written in 1926, exactly one hundred years ago. 

John was amazed. He had actually unearthed a letter from exactly one hundred years ago. He wondered about the contents – who was it addressed to, who wrote it, and what did it say? Although it was none of his business, John’s curiousity got the better of him. He opened it gently, making sure it did not tear, and started reading. It began thus:

Dear John, ……

When he saw his name, John froze. What a coincidence to find a one-hundred-year-old letter addressed to his namesake. But he was more curious as to what the letter said, and continued reading. 

As John read the letter, cold sweat gathered on his face. He felt goosebumps form on his hand that had begun to shiver. John almost dropped the paper.

This is what it said:

Dear John,

I know that Tom is no more, and that he has willed his house to you. Please accept my condolences. 

I warn you: never go into the attic inside Tom’s house, because if you do, your parents and you will not live for more than a week.

Your concerned admirer.

What could this mean? And if it were true, it did not make sense. How could a letter written long ago predict events after one hundred years? The math was impossible. John was spooked.