It was
horribly late, later than any person should be anywhere, let alone a library. I
had consciously lost track of time, as I so often do. The library was the one
safe place I had.
At school I
was bullied and picked on every day. It was like a moth to a flame, no matter
where I hid, they always found me. Home was no safe haven either. My father is
a drunkard who manages the hotel where he, my three sisters, and I live. My
mother is dead; she been dead for fourteen years. My three older sisters are
not friendly. Each one has her own hotel room. They verbally abuse me, and the
hordes of suspicious men that come and go all hours of the night are just as
nice. I remember the first time I came to this library, when it became my safe
place. I was fleeing from the bullies, desperately trying to avoid a beating, I
hid in the library door way; they ran past without noticing me. I breathed a
heavy sigh of relief. When I came to realize I was in the library, I decided to
stop a read a while. As I weaved in and out between the rows of books, my pulse
began to steady. When I picked a book and casually flopped into a bean bag, I
became so relaxed I dozed off right there. That was as relaxed as I have ever
been. I haven’t stopped visiting since.
My father’s
drunken rage is what brought me here tonight. The kind old librarian has always
been very understanding, and she’s the one who allow me to spend most of my
nights locked in here, among all these wonderful books. I have no knowledge of
the actual time; there is no clock in the history section. I place my Russian
history book on the table having finished it, and grown weary of the subject. I
desired something a little less practical. I was hungry for something mystical,
fantastical, and utterly make-believe. The fastest way to satisfy my craving
for fiction was to cut through the horror section.
I found
myself staring down the long row of horror novels and scary stories. Though the
lights were dimmed, I could still see the crossing aisle that split the horror
section and the rest of the library. Though it was late and the lights were
low, I wasn’t afraid. After all, I am the only one here.
I began
walking down the aisle at my own leisurely pace. When I reached the beginning
of the “B” authors, I heard a noise. A very strange noise. It sounded like
deep, heaving breaths. I whirled around; no one was there, but I could still
hear the heavy, human breaths. I tried to shake it off, and continued on. As I
crossed into the “C’s”, I felt this horrid chill run down the length of my back.
It was like a solid chunk of un-melted ice was slowly creeping down my spine.
It made me shudder because it felt so real. I began to quicken my pace ever so
slightly. I had made it halfway through the “E’s”, when I stopped dead in my
tracks. I had a feeling, a terrifying, eerie feeling; I was being watched. I
could feel them, eyes staring at me; looking me up and down, examining me. I
turned my head to the right, and between the shelves, I could just make out a
dark figure, and a pair of bright blue eyes, staring directly at me. I rub my
eyes. When I opened them, the eyes weren’t there. I shook my head, desperately trying to rid my
mind of this… this hallucination. I pushed on at a hurried pace. I walked on,
and as I did, I could hear an echo. It filled my ears and resonated through the
entire room. I glanced around me. I was in the “F’s”. I continued walking. As I
walked, the echo grew louder, as if it was all around me. Thinking it was my own footsteps were the cause
of this creepy echo I stopped, but the echo of footsteps didn’t.
I could feel
my breath catch in my throat, rendering me unable to speak, unable to scream.
There was something… or someone locked in here with me. Without a second
thought I began to run down the remainder of the section. Past the “H’s” and
“I’s”, the “J’s” and “K’s”, the “O’s” and “P’s”. I stopped somewhere in the
“S’s” to catch my breath. Mere seconds later, a horrible, blood curdling shriek
of terror split the air. I began sprinting down the aisle, toward the split
between the section, where the “T’s” end and the “U’s” begin. I sprinted
blindly, only knowing I had to get away from whoever was in here.
As I turned
the corner at the end of the “T”s”, my chest was pierced by a knife. I could
feel it bury deep into my flesh. I feverishly grabbed at the hilt of the knife,
trying to pull it out, but he wouldn’t let me. I could feel the wet ooze of
blood trickling from my wounds, the sharp edges of the blade pierce my heart. Then
I looked up into the devilish smile and bright blue eyes of the nameless face
wielding it.
