When Olivia inherited her grandmother’s old cookbook, she expected flour-stained pages filled with soup recipes, stews, and desserts that had been passed down through generations. And that’s exactly what it was—except for one page.
Unlike the others, this recipe was written in sharp, deliberate handwriting. Its title was a single word: “Never.”
The instructions were strange. No measurements, no clear ingredients—just cryptic lines like “Stir until the shadows fall” and “Serve only to the one you wish to keep forever.” At the bottom, in her grandmother’s hand, was a warning: “Do not cook this. Ever.”
Olivia laughed at first. It had to be a joke, maybe something her grandmother scribbled for fun. But the mystery gnawed at her. Why include it in the cookbook at all if it wasn’t meant to be touched?
One stormy evening, restless and curious, Olivia decided to try it. She gathered what she could from the vague instructions, mixing herbs and spices she barely recognized, letting the pot simmer until a strange, sweet smell filled the kitchen.
When she finally tasted it, a wave of warmth rushed through her body—followed by a deep, unsettling chill. The lights flickered. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch longer than they should.
That night, Olivia dreamed of her grandmother. But it wasn’t the sweet old woman she remembered. Her grandmother’s face was stern, her voice harsh: “I told you never to make it. Now you’ll understand why.”
The next morning, Olivia’s phone rang. It was her estranged ex-boyfriend—the one who had left her months earlier. His voice was shaky. “I… I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I need to see you.”
Over the next few days, he appeared at her doorstep, begging for forgiveness, desperate to stay by her side. At first, Olivia was stunned—then flattered. Maybe the recipe had really worked?
But soon, she realized something was horribly wrong. He became obsessed. He stopped going to work, refused to leave her house, stared at her for hours without blinking. When she tried to ask him to leave, he clutched her arm so tightly it left bruises.
“This is where I belong,” he whispered. “Forever.”
Olivia panicked. She grabbed the cookbook, flipping back to the cursed recipe. At the very bottom, hidden beneath the fold of the page, she saw words she hadn’t noticed before: “What is bound cannot be undone.”
Her hands shook as she slammed the book shut.
Her grandmother’s warning had been real. The recipe wasn’t just a meal—it was a binding. And now, Olivia was trapped with its consequences.
To this day, the cookbook still sits on her shelf. She hasn’t touched it again. But sometimes, when the night grows quiet, she swears she can hear the faint sound of pages turning on their own—waiting for the next person foolish enough to read them.
