Library

It is late in the day, and you are at the town's Grand Library. The storm outside caused a power cut about an hour ago plummeting the library into near darkness. You and a few others helped the librarians light the candles the library keeps for these situations and put them into the old candelabras, wall sconces, and table holders scattered through the three storey building. You finished this task five minutes ago and are now enjoying a deserved break on the library sofas. Lounging on the cushioned leather seat, you admire how the candlelight makes the intricate stonework and sculptures around you more dramatic.

The orange glow dances across everything,turning the flickering shadows into twisted shapes. You yawn. Not wanting to fall asleep in a public place, you decide to get up and wander through the aisles of books. You run your fingertips across the spines of the books neatly stacked on the shelves as you pass them. Each book has a different feel. Some are hard and smooth, others are soft and bend in the middle as pressure is applied. There are ones with velvet covers, both soft and rough depending on how the grain sits when your finger brushes them. Others have cold leather protecting them. There are a few with coarse cotton covers, but the majority are covered in the smooth gloss finish of modern books.

After what feels like an hour of exploring, you wonder which aisle you are in. The shadows make it difficult to read the sign at the end. The wind and rain continue to rattle the windows around the room. You hope the storms settles soon, so you can go home. As much as you love the library, you don’t want to be stuck there all night with strangers. You step out from the aisle you were in as lightning flashes across the sky. In the brief white light, you see a woman in a long dress standing to your right. Near darkness takes over the library again and the person is gone. You investigate the aisle next to you, but the woman is not there either. Sweat forms on your forehead and under your arms. You tell yourself it must have been a trick of the light.

You look around you. No one else seems to have noticed anything. In fact, none of them have moved much at all since the lightning. You decide to find a book your friend recommended to you the other day. It should be in the History aisle. You grab the nearest candelabra - a two-pronged one - and head towards the far left corner of the library.

As you approach the aisles on that side of the library, you hold the candelabra up to the signs tacked onto the end of each one so you can read them. Your path takes you to the west wall, which is also filled with bookcases. You turn the corner of one of the parallel aisles and see a man leaning against the bookcases on the wall and smoking a pipe. You watch the smoke rise and twist in the air. The man looks up at you startled, then disappears.

Your breath catches in your chest, causing a sudden sharp pain. Your mouth is dry and your lips feel even drier. Your hands tremble and hot wax from the candles drips onto your hand. You yell out and drop the candelabra. Not wanting to start a fire, you quickly stamp out the small flames now on the floor while you scratch the burning liquid off of your skin.

A bright light grows from the west wall. It is pale and makes that area of the room feel cold. Goosebumps run up and down your body. You turn to the source of the pulsing light and see it emanating from the middle bookcase on that wall.

Although you would prefer to run, you feel the light drawing you in like a moth. Your whole body feels heavy as you move towards the bookcase and place your outstretched hand onto its shelves. You push against the unit and a whirring, mechanical noise sounds from behind the wall. The bookcase shudders and moves aside, revealing a dark passage and a set of stone steps leading down.