The Overnight Librarian

Prologue

She's going to ask for Stephen King.

I watch the woman as she paces back and forth in the horror section. She'll pick up one Anne Rice, then put it back in a different spot. I look away, knowing I'll have to reshelf those later. She's a young twenty-something, who always walks in close to closing and habitually returns her books late.

Some people are too predictable.

I just started at West Grove Public library less than two weeks ago. The past librarian retired, she looked teary eyed when she left and said this place was more special to her than the home she built from the ground up. I just thought she was crazy.

She was an eccentric woman who wore strangely colored dresses, weird hats and neon pants suits to ward off "creatures of the night. She gave me a strange list of tasks to complete from morning until evening: leaving goldfish in the front garden, a strict schedule for reshelfing books, leaving three flashlights and cookies on the table by the nonfiction section before I go, among other odd tasks.

Every morning the cookies were gone, and the flashlights put back in the wrong place.

Alexis Strauss checks out with The Last Stand, mumbling about how she had to get to the liquor store for a bottle of wine before they closed.

After she goes, I lock the glass doors behind her. I'm the last one here after hours; my assistant leaves at six P.M., and it's usually very quiet.

The old librarian — Mildred — left behind some records and a record player. While I'm reshelfing, I like to listen to The Beatles, or Billy Joel, or another record she left behind. Tonight I sing along to The Beatles while organizing everything that was returned after my assistant left. The cart makes a squeaking noise since one wheel is busted.

I keep a plate of six Chips Ahoy cookies out each night after reshelfing, next to the milk I kept in the break room fridge and put the cart back in its place by the front desk.

But tonight . . . Something feels different.

The music skips on the record player.

As I start going back towards the front desk, a book on the floor caught my attention. It's title was blurred, but the book is thick and dusty. Where would this go? I open it up but as soon as I do, a strong wind comes out of it and I immediately drop it on the floor. The record keeps skipping, and a golden yellow glow roars from the book.

The wind is too strong to ignore, and as I lose my grip on the cart, I could feel myself being sucked in towards it. My scream echoes around the library, and as I'm sucked slowly inside the book, it shuts behind me and shakes upon the floor.