by Alexa Grave
I pause, a retort caught in my throat – not what I expected him to say. The student, frozen in mid-page turn, flashes across my vision. And the students found dead. No, all the weirdness is in my head.
“Really? Do you want me to consider you a crazy person before you attempt to ask me out?” The words are a false heap of chatter, accusing him of what I fear about myself. He doesn’t deserve such rudeness, and I’m about to apologize, until he does.
“Sorry, sorry. My nerves got the best of me then.” He moves to touch my arm, but I pull back before his fingers brush my skin. I can’t have a reminder of how good his warmth felt – it won’t help me turn him down.
“I’ll be back.” I leave Sean with that longing look in his eye and head to the second floor.
Creepy. The word echoes, growing louder.
Row upon row of books loom on the second floor, the stacks like marching soldiers. At any moment they’ll unsheathe tiny swords hidden in their spines.
Get a hold of yourself, Leda. Paper, ink, and glue can’t do a damned thing to harm me. My friends, my companions, words come to life off the page – no more. This is not Game of Thrones.
The second floor is deserted, except of course for the books, hundreds looking down on me with hungry eyes, pleading for me to read them.
I reach for a book left open on one of the desks, abandoned. Before I touch the pages, I see the water spots. Yet another sad survivor of the flood.
I glance around, making sure the reader who left it here isn’t on her way back from the bathroom. No one. I sigh in relief, afraid to see the stare of the student from last night. And the crazy eyes.
This is foolish. I’m acting foolish. Nerves, like Sean said – I’m just putting off the inevitable talk with him.
I pick up the book, and the world falls away. Off-white surrounds me, black lettering etched in the floor and walls, and water stains splotched across the landscape.
Throb, throb, throb. A pulse, stronger than my own blood rushing in my ears, beats around me. Unseen hands push me, then pull, the throbbing sound crescendoing with every jolt. Static electricity crackles across my skin, touching each nerve. I trip over my own feet, stumbling.
I flail to brace myself on the walls, to place my hands on the enormous words, but they ripple, like a turning page. The book’s heartbeat thuds in my mind, digs for my soul. I fall to my knees, but even the floor turns to waves, and I feel nothing beneath my hands but the beating and tiny shocks stinging my fingertips. Tossed about like a dinghy on rough seas, I topple to my side.
No, this isn’t happening. I’m hallucinating, having a panic attack over my meeting with Sean.
The heart throbs louder, killing my thoughts.
The words on the floor stick to my skin like tiny suction cups, pain stinging me with every beat. Slowly, my energy drains. I can’t struggle any more, rolling about on the rippling floor. A pressure in my chest builds until my body is pounding along with the sound around me.
This is real, as real as the night I spent in Sean’s arms. Not another Stephen King novel, though it feels like something he’d write about.
I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to release the book I’m holding in my world. If I’m no longer touching it, maybe I’ll wake up, like the girl did last night.
No use. The vicious words still surround me; the beat pushes against my body, strangling my insides.
Trapped.
“Help!” The pounding drowns my shout, but I hope someone, anyone hears me. I steady myself and find the energy to stand, knees wobbly, fear burning in my stomach like acid.
I won’t let it suck me in, keep me here. This is not how I want to get lost in a book, not how I want my life to end. I attempt to walk. Feet unsteady from the sight of the roiling words under me, from the pushing and pulling, I trip and fall again.
More suction cups lick at my skin, sapping my strength, devouring my endurance. The pressure in my chest doubles. Heart attack like that one victim?
No more. Stop this!
I lash out, hoping to catch the book unaware and rip the page with my nails. Instead I hit solid, human flesh.
“Whoa, Leda. Calm down.” Sean’s voice.
The world filters back, carpet underneath me, stacks of books towering toward me. Soldiers; yes, soldiers, ones that want to storm me as if I were Helm’s Deep or King’s Landing.
Sean grasps my upper arms, refusing to let go, even after I struck him. “What happened? You’ve been gone a half hour, and I found you standing here, as still as one of those performers pretending to be a statue.” The smile, the shyness, all of it’s gone, replaced by worry, a tremor in his voice.
The book lies at my feet, face down, front and back covers daring me to spout off the craziness I experienced. No one will believe me – I’ll be discounted like the student who caused the flood. A librarian who spent too much time with her books and not enough with other human beings. Maybe they’d be right.
Sean waits, patiently, quietly, clinging to me.
I inhale deeply. Madhouse or not, I can’t let this happen to anyone else. I point at the book.
He lets go of me and reaches to pick it up.
“No. Don’t touch it.” I grab his hand before he’s lost in the pages. “It... it sucked me in. I was literally in the book. And I think it was feeding off of me.” Now I wait for the condescending response, for his dismissal and cold shoulder.
Sean shifts his gaze between me and the book.
“I know it sounds crazy, but you said yourself that you felt something creepy...”
He squeezes my hand. “I believe you.” He licks his lips. “And I remember why I never wanted to come here. The first time I did, I somehow lost an hour. And I knew I hadn’t fallen asleep. That’s all I remember, and that’s even trying to slip away from me, like something is clouding the memory.”
I fall into his chest and he wraps his arms around me. My tears trickle slowly. No, I can’t resist a man who has his nose in a book, nor one who believes what I say, no matter if it sounds like utter gibberish.
“It’s like they’re alive. All I could hear was its heartbeat.” The press of Sean’s arms and the warmth of his body soothe me, the throbbing sound fading from my mind.
Soon, I barely remember the pounding or the ripples of the pages, the sucking. A type of amnesia settles in, only small bits of memory remaining.
The books’ defense mechanism.
No, I can’t forget all of it. Must keep everyone else safe.
“Do you smell that?” Sean releases me, looking around.
I wipe the tears from my eyes and sniff the air. “Smoke.”
He nods and darts between the stacks.
I follow, tentatively. The books gaze down at me, threatening to topple, to fall over and bury me, break all my bones. Soldiers waiting for the right time to brandish their knives. Razor-sharp edges of paper.
Sean turns a corner, disappearing, and I run to catch up, not wanting to be alone. I breathe easier once I emerge from the stacks, but not for long. The smoke stings my nostrils.
Before us, the girl from last night kneels next to a pile of burning books, a box of matches in her hand. She whirls around to face us. “I have to. I have to do this. Please don’t stop me.” She trembles, dropping a match.
I snatch the box from her. “I won’t.” My hand is steady now, and I dig out a match and strike it. “I’ll help.”
Sean grabs a match as well, ducks into the bathroom, and emerges with some paper towels. “This’ll make things go quicker.”
I take the makeshift torch and hesitate a moment, amazed at how one minute I’d never imagined I’d harm a book, and the next feeling the compulsion to burn them all. Goodbye, friends. I run down the stacks, lighting any book I can. The soldiers cower now, knowing their enemy has a weapon they can’t defend against. Their heartbeats quicken.
This may not work, though, unless the entire library burns down, or the sprinkler system kicks in and soaks every book
here. I light up the curtains, then find Sean and the girl, and tug both of them into the stairwell.
The fire alarm comes to life, the loud piercing squeal digging into my brain. Better than the books draining my soul.
Won’t stop what I started. I head down the stairs. “The basement, quickly. The journals will go up fast.”
They follow. The basement is empty. We light up as many newspapers and journals as we can before the smoke becomes overpowering.
I double over coughing, knowing there isn’t much else I can do. We abandon the matches to the blaze. All three of us reach the emergency exit and push our way out.
“We should head to the front of the library, make sure we’re with everyone else.” Sean tugs at my sleeve.
The girl trundles behind us, unresponsive.
Fran sees us coming and rushes up to me. “Are you okay?”
I nod. Yes, now I am, the smell of the burning books a healing balm.
“I don’t know what happened, how this could have started.” Her voice sounds distant, far away, coming from another world. “And for some reason the sprinkler system hasn’t kicked in. Someone must have disabled it.” The corner of her mouth twitches, and she lets out a long breath, her entire body relaxing, as if a grip that holds her finally releases.
The girl sits down on the lawn, wraps her arms around her knees, and rocks back and forth. Her eyes remain fixed on the blaze now consuming the library.
Sean bends toward my ear. “Do you hear that? I think they’re screaming.”
Screams, yes, screams. They beg to be saved and curse their killers. The wails touch my ears, then disappear from my mind mere moments after I hear them.
Like in my dream, but thankfully, I’m not burning with them.
I wrap my arms around Sean’s waist and rest my head on his chest. “I think I’m ready to give you that chance.”
After all, Jane Eyre managed to find love after Rochester’s house burned to the ground.
~~~~~
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Also by Alexa Grave
Fortunes of Fate Series
Dreams in Shadow
Love Fades
Other Titles
“Kindled Morphogenesis” in the anthology Modern Magic: Tales of Fantasy and Horror.
“A Little Bit of Magic” in the anthology Hazard Yet Forward.
Dancing in the Wind: A Short Story
Fractured Fairies: Immortal Woes & Ode to Buses and Libraries
Tales of Chyraine: Two Short Stories
Hell Hath No Fury
About the Author
Alexa Grave loves to tell stories – it just so happens her characters occasionally take her on an unexpected ride. Most of what she writes is dark fantasy, but she enjoys her attempts at the humorous side of things. It’s not odd to find romance in her fantasy as well.
She has an M.F.A. in Writing Popular Fiction, and she is a member of Broad Universe.
Alexa’s life isn’t filled with writing alone. In her spare time, she enjoys gaming. And she has a supportive husband just as addicted to gaming as she is. Reading and thinking up large, impossible projects to work on top her list of fun things to do as well.
Most importantly, she has two beautiful daughters who don’t give her much spare time to do any of the above.
Connect with Alexa Grave Online
Author Website: http://www.alexagrave.com
Born to Write Blog: http://blog.alexagrave.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AlexaGrave
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/AlexaGrave
Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/alexagrave
Table of Contents
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Also by Alexa Grave
About the Author
Connect with Alexa Grave Online