It began with a single misplaced book, its spine bent awkwardly between volumes that had nothing to do with its subject matter. The librarian, Clara Winthrop, couldn’t ignore it; the book didn’t belong in the History section, nor anywhere on the fourth floor. She plucked it free—a tattered, unremarkable thing—and opened to the first page. Scrawled in the margins were notes, frantic and looping, that seemed to shift under her gaze. "Do not file this where it belongs," one read. Another, near a coffee stain, said, "It starts in the silence of closing time." Her hands trembled. She wasn’t sure why she flipped to the last page, but when she did, she found her own name written there, followed by the exact time on the clock behind her.

Clara opens the book, reading the starting line.

"you wanna be one of them? yeah."

Her brow furrowed as she read the opening line: "You wanna be one of them? Yeah?" She flipped back to the front, thinking maybe she'd missed a foreword or prologue, but there was nothing—just that peculiar question on the first page. It tickled something in her memory, some song she’d heard in passing, and her confusion deepened. Why was a book starting with lyrics from Kid Cudi’s Mr. Rager? And why did it feel like the book was asking her, personally?

Clara flipped to the next page, heart thumping louder than she cared to admit. "I think I've seen this film before," it read in tidy serif print. She blinked, her pulse stuttering. That line wasn’t a lyric—was it? She couldn't place it, but it stirred the same eerie familiarity as the first. Suddenly, her own monotony felt suffocating, like she was trapped in a loop of dusty book spines and her endless playlists, her life dissolving into snippets of songs she’d once loved.

She turned the page again. "Now I'm in exile, seeing you out."

Her breath hitched. This time she knew. Taylor Swift. The words leapt off the paper, bleeding into her mind like a long-forgotten thought, tangled with the melancholy melody she could now hear as though it were playing through the library’s intercom. She dropped the book, her chair scraping the floor as she stumbled back. The walls around her seemed to warp, shifting into shadowy voids stitched together by lyrics and lines, half-remembered and all too familiar.

Was she imagining it? Or had she wasted so much time burying herself in other people’s words that her own mind had started to crack? It felt as though the book was consuming her, swallowing her whole for the crime of being too still, too quiet, too unremarkable. The life she’d tried to escape through music and novels was suddenly staring back at her, alive and unforgiving.

Clara backed away from the book as if it had snapped at her fingers, her breath shallow and uneven. The library, normally her sanctuary, suddenly felt alien. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed louder, like a swarm of insects burrowing into her ears. Every creak of the old wooden shelves echoed unnaturally, mocking her with the sound of a world just slightly out of tune.

She tried to shake the feeling, forcing herself to focus. "You're overthinking," she whispered, a mantra she’d repeated countless times when her imagination threatened to spiral. But as her gaze flicked back to the book lying open on the desk, she realized the page had turned on its own.

“Is it me? Am I the problem?”

The words stared back at her, innocuous yet intimate, as though the book had plucked the question straight from her own thoughts. Clara clutched the edge of the desk to steady herself. That line wasn’t from a song, was it? She couldn’t tell anymore. Everything was blending together—her music, the novels she devoured, the dialogue she replayed in her head during sleepless nights.

She snatched the book, meaning to slam it shut, but her hands betrayed her. Instead, her fingers flipped through the pages with feverish urgency. Line after line leapt out at her:

"I'm just a notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song."
"Help, I have done it again."
"Where do you go when you're lonely?"
"If you could see me now, you’d hate what I’ve become."

The words weren’t just lyrics—they were confessions, echoes of her own quiet despair. They followed her as she staggered to the nearest bookshelf, hoping for an anchor in something solid, something real. But the books surrounding her seemed to tremble, their spines stretching and warping as if they, too, had begun to sing.

The library grew colder, the air charged with a static hum. Clara’s vision blurred, and for a moment, she swore she saw figures flickering between the shelves, shadowy and indistinct. One figure paused, staring directly at her, its lips moving silently. She couldn’t hear the words, but she knew they were for her.

Fleeing felt futile, but Clara bolted anyway, her shoes pounding against the carpet as the walls seemed to close in around her. The music followed, every lyric she'd ever loved or lost herself in echoing in her ears, relentless and accusatory.

“You wanna be one of them? Yeah?”

The first line she’d read returned, mocking her, taunting her. She clamped her hands over her ears, trying to drown it out, but the words weren’t coming from the library anymore. They were inside her head, growing louder with each step she took.

Clara stumbled into the break room and slammed the door shut, her chest heaving. The silence was deafening, but it didn’t last. The radio on the counter clicked on by itself, its dial spinning as static gave way to the familiar, haunting chords of Mr. Rager.

She didn’t remember turning the radio on. She didn’t remember anything but the book. And now, it felt as if the book remembered her.

Clara huddled in the corner of the break room, knees drawn to her chest, as the radio hissed and crackled. The familiar chords faded, replaced by silence so oppressive it made her ears ring. She wanted to scream, to tear herself free from whatever was happening, but the air seemed to press against her throat, heavy and unmoving.

Then, softly, the next song began. Her stomach dropped.

"All this time..."

The voice was slow and deliberate, its tone tinged with something far colder than nostalgia. It wasn’t just a song anymore; it felt personal, directed, a lullaby meant to unthread her sanity.

"I never learned to read your mind (never learned to read my mind)."

The walls around her shimmered like heat waves, the paint peeling away to reveal layers of text—pages and pages of lyrics and phrases, crawling like veins across the room. Her name appeared, over and over again, buried within the lines as though the library itself had cataloged her soul.

"I couldn't turn things around (you never turned things around)."

A shadow passed in front of her, indistinct and shifting, but its presence was suffocating. Clara’s breath hitched as it knelt before her, its face obscured, its lips moving in perfect sync with the words pouring from the radio.

"’Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)."

The shadow stopped singing, its head tilting as if waiting for her to respond. The room dimmed further, the text on the walls now pulsating faintly, like a heartbeat. Clara wanted to speak, to plead, to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, the figure reached out, its hand hovering just inches from her face, and whispered the final line in a voice that sounded like hers and not hers all at once:

"I gave so many signs."

And then everything went black.

A few days later, the library stood eerily quiet beneath a gray sky, the kind of overcast that promised rain but withheld it. By evening, flames erupted from the building, licking at the walls and pouring thick black smoke into the night. The fire consumed everything—shelves, books, desks—all reduced to ash before the fire department could arrive.

Among the ruins, they found Clara Winthrop. She was curled in the same corner of the break room, her body untouched by the fire’s rage yet lifeless, as though she had simply chosen to lie down and fade away. No accelerants were found, no sign of how the fire had started. The security cameras showed nothing but empty halls before the flames appeared.

The official report would label it an accident—an electrical fault, they’d say. But the whispers spread. Staff recalled how Clara had seemed distant in her final days, how her eyes darted to empty spaces as though someone—or something—was there.

And then there were the survivors who swore they could still hear faint whispers in the air when they passed the charred ruins, the ghost of a melody entwined with crackling static:

"All this time, I never learned to read your mind... I gave so many signs."

No one dared to rebuild on the site. It became a scar in the town, a hushed reminder of Clara Winthrop and the haunting silence she left behind.

Sylia sat on her chair, legs crossed, staring out the window. It was rainy, quiet, peaceful… perfect for reading. People around her were doing just that, reading. She was meant to be supervising, simply making sure nothing got out of hand. What were they expecting to happen? Sylia chuckled to herself, they probably just needed her to shush people. Though, what if something else happened? A cat got in! A cat, that try’s to climb a shelf, knocking it over and scrambling for cover, fleeing the scene. Maybe the books are falling, hitting the lanterns and people below. Then a person is now hurt, they’re sent to the hospital. Maybe the library expect she would follow them, trying to make sure they are all right. Then she could meet the doctors there, and one of them might find the nervous 17 year old she is to be entertaining. She can become friends with them, they could go on to be more than friends… Sylia! She mentally scolded herself, getting up to pace the perfectly peaceful library.

It's quiet in this library resting on Thach Ave. It's a sunny Sunday afternoon. A few people linger in the rows of books casing the walls. I'm sitting being the register letting my eyes drift across the book in front of me. I haven't read a single word in the last hour. My mind has been elsewhere. If I am being sincere, my mind has been floating around aimlessly since I landed in Auburn. That was over two years ago. I thought that if I up and moved from my small town in Tennessee my life would pick up with all the excitement I had when I was in college but to no avail. So today, like every day, I sit in this library and let my mind drift into its own stories beyond the pages I am holding. I look up and let my eyes drift across the library instead. There is a couple in the corner looking at the fantasy section, whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears. An older woman is seated by the magazines flipping through the newest addition to Reader's Digest. To my left, a younger man is sifting through a romance novel. I continue to look around until my eyes linger behind me where the darkest part of the library rests. There is one light that flickers over the history books that loom on the shelves. A few months ago, my boss, Melinda, put in a work order to fix the broken lights but maintenance never came. We've since learned to live with it as no one seems to be interested in that part of the library. I turn back to my book, still unable to comprehend the words written on the page. A few moments pass when I hear a cough come from behind me. Startled, I look up. No one is standing near the register. I did not see or hear anyone pass but I looked behind me anyway. I stare at the path lit up by the single light in the dark hallway but it's clear, not a person in sight. I turn back to my book but my mind is already racing. I feel a presence loom over me from behind the desk. The soft air that once flowed around me stops, seemingly cut off. I freeze. My muscles don't move an inch. I stop breathing and stare straight ahead, afraid to turn around. Within moments, I feel cold metal slide from the back of my skull, through my hair, and across my right temple until I feel it resting firmly on my cheek. Still frozen, I feel the shadow's hot breath stretch across the other side of my head, stopping at the tip of my ear. I feel my heart pounding in my chest, ringing through my ears. I am terrified to let any air escape my mouth. I feel the shadow take in a sharp breath, listening as they pull their lips apart. "I'm back," a male's voice travels over my ear. I feel the words travel down my neck. I no longer can keep the air trapped in my lungs and let the air slowly slip through my lips, my heart picking up speed. I don't know what to do. I'm terrified but still unable to move. My thoughts grow even more rampant. Whose back? Why me? What have I done? I can't begin to imagine the person I have pissed off enough to want to hurt me. Are they here to hurt me? I am too scared to turn my head. If I turn to the left, I might get a glimpse of the man's face and have an idea of who he might be. If I turned to the right, I could be face to face with his weapon of choice. Both options send shivers down my spine. Before I have the chance to decide, a different voice breaks out in front of me. "Excuse me," I jolt in my seat. The book I forgot was gripped in my hands lands with a thud on the floor. I blink a few times, taking deep breaths before I look up to see a young man staring back at me. The same young man that I saw roaming the romance section minutes before. "Um," he hesitates, scanning over my face. I know he can read the terror in my eyes. "I am ready to check out," he finishes as he sets a book on the counter. I take another deep breath and nod. I reach for the book and see that it's not a romance novel at all. He must have decided against what he was looking for, choosing a book on World History instead. As I scan the book, a realization hits me. He must have made his way to the back and grabbed this book in the dark corners of the library. Once he finishes his purchase, we say our goodbyes. I take a glance behind me. The history section is still lit by a single light just like before. The boy turns on his heels and as he reaches the exit he lets out a cough. The same cough I heard come from behind me moments before.

The handsome stranger hands me his book ready to check out, but I’m still lost in deep thought.

I open the book ready to stamp it.

“Miss, are you okay?” The stranger says with a voice that makes me wanna think about OTHER things.

It’s stupid really.

Sitting here in almost complete silence in this small library to keep myself sane, when it’s doing anything but that.

I miss going out with friends and dragging random strangers into the crazy mix. All of this is new and unusual. PLUS, it’s been a whole YEAR doing this.

How much longer do I need to lay on the low..?

Nahhh fuck this.

I close my eyes and slam the book back closed, “Listen kid, I’m ditching this job to do something better with my life. So if you have a problem take it up with someon- “

I open my eyes and I immediately stop talking when I see Xander standing in front of me with a stupid smirk on his face.

Fuck meeee. internal cough Anyway.

I realize I’m still in shock with my mouth hanging open when his smirk gets bigger.

“What exactly are you doing here Xander?” I feel confused and a little annoyed he fucked up my rant.

“I thought you would’ve missed me Percy.” His smirk turns into a cheesy shit-eating looking grin.

Pause Let me give some back info on my boy Xander here. Yes, he’s hot. Yes we fucked-on multiple occasions-. And yes he’s the reason I’m not out kicking the German mafias ass right now. Okay, let’s get back to what Xandy has to say to me.

I scoff, “In your dreams, I bet I do” I roll my eyes.

“Persephone”, his voice gets a little deeper than the last time I heard it. I look back at him scared he’s here to give me bad news. “Keep up that attitude and I’ll give you a better reason for your eyes to roll back.”

HOLD THE FRONT DOOR, SAY WHAT!??!

I dont let my utter shock and shyness show because I look him deadass in his eyes, stick my tongue out, and roll them again.

A sexy laugh comes out of his mouth and he begins to walk around the desk I’m standing at, but I’m not an idiot so I run.

“GOOD CATCHING UP, BUT I HAVE TO FEED MY FISH. BYEEEE!” I scream as I’m running out the front door of the building I was considering setting on fire just 30 minutes ago.

Thinking I’m safe and sound, I start walking to the sidewalk when a figure next to me catches my attention. They reach for my shoulder and I quickly grab their wrist pulling their arm until I’m close enough to them to elbow them in their ribs. They reach for their ribs, while I turn around and knee them where I assume they have a dick.

Weirdly familiar sounds come out of the figure that’s now rolling on the ground when I realize it’s Eres. My brother.

I roll my eyes again getting more annoyed, “Okay, first Xander, now you. What’s up?” I stare at him with a hand on my hip using one leg for more support than the other.

I feel hands quickly slide around my waist to my stomach and I get pulled into a hard chest.

Xander’s dark husky voice rings in my brain, “That makes three times,” he whispers in my ear.

Before I know it, my flustered and shocked self is turned around and getting thrown over his shoulder.

When I realize I’m basically getting kidnapped by the hottest and most annoying man alive, I start beating on his back, “Put me down you toned monster!” I screamed at him.

I feel a sting on my ass, and I gasp. I push my hands into his lower back to attempt to see in front of him better. But when I see his ass moving I get a better idea.

I bite my lip trying not to laugh as I use all the force I can muster to slap his ass back.

But I can’t hold it in any longer, my giggles carry through the air like I’m the meaning of happiness.

He lightly laughs to and continues taking me into the abyss.

THE END

Mavis Bennett sighed as swapped out the May copy of Time magazine for the newer June issue. The cover read “The Demise of Diabolical Dental Debt” plastered over a set of chompers that would make an Englishmen grimace.

“Why do we even carry these anymore?” She thought as she worked her way over to the Sports Illustrated slot. Even “any reading is good reading” Mavis knew magazines were dead. She herself barely read any physical media anymore. Best to keep that fact to herself, though.

Beep. Beep. Beep. An alert from her Apple Watch signals its 10 AM.

“Shit” she thought as she looked out the window to see a carrier of death. That being the bus from Sherwood Ivy Retirment Community.

Old people loved libraries. Old people also love to complain. Old people love to bark orders. And no one complained or barked more than despicable old Bob Ferneli.

Bob slid his walker at a such pace that not only would he have lost a race fk both tortoise and the hare, but both creatures could complete the race and live long and fulfilling lives before ol’ Bob got to the finish line.

At 10:20, the automatic doors whoosh open. “MA’AM! MA’AM!” His gravelly voice sends a shiver down my spine. “ Always with the ma’am.” She thought. “I’m less than half your age. I’m a not a damn ma’am.”

“I’m right here, Mr. Ferneli” she said as she ran over to help him. She knew exactly what he wanted. The same table, the same chair, and a copy of the Boston Herald’s sport section. “PAPER!” he shouted as she shoved the folded up newspaper in front of his sagging jowels. “Never a please. Never a thank you.” she thought. “Anything else I can help you with?” He waved her off with a scowl.

Mavis headed back over to the magazines to put out the new Cosmopolitan that described “Ten ways to rid your BF of the ICK” as she heard it.

PFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT, THRRRRRRP!

“BATHROOM! BATHROOM NOW!” The old curmudgeon belted.

“Did he just shit his pants? I do not get paid enough for this!”

She rushes over to him. Then grabbed his arm to help him up. That’s when it hits her. The smell of sulfur meets garlic bread. She gagged as her nose was assaulted. She put her hand over her mouth to stop her breakfast from returning.

“HURRY UP, BITCH” he howled. Mavis swallowed hard. Her vomit slide back down her throat.

While holding her breath, Mavis moved to lift him to his walker. For moment, she considered how satisfying it would be to just drop him with no warning. Watch him crack his head on the table. Maybe get a serious brain injury or maybe just thrive in pain. She smiled at the thought. “Not today though.”

She get the geezer over to the bathroom. He slammed the door. Once again she returned to the magazines.

Later as she placed a group of Highlights magazines on the kids rack, the voice boomed again. “TOILET PAPER! TOILET PAPER!”

“I don’t get paid enough”

The End

I think this is where Baby Jesus was born. No, I’m certain of it. Right here in section C31 with the religious texts. I can feel his presence.

The dainty tinkle of the bell staggers across the large expanse of foyer and I look up and immediately think another infestation.

There are four of you and you all look like you don’t belong here. Because you can’t read or, if you do, you only read hardbound and only the first few pages. So you can post pictures of your aesthetic books and brag this is what I’m reading now #bookworm.

You’re all nerds just for the fashion. The oversized glasses and plaid blazers, but no collars and elbow patches because that’s ew, too professory. You mismatch your business looks with scuffed sneakers if you’re a man, platform boots if you’re a woman, and you all talk like you’re the embodiment of profound. You utter the syllable you think is a word, bro, like it’s an indictment and you’re a barely literate judge who’s just passed a ruling.

Again, I think, infestation.

Just look at them, going through the shelves, living their normal lives. Why do they have to look this happy? And this perfect? Life isn't perfect. At least not mine... But theirs is. It's unfair. I have to stay in this damn dusty library all day. When was the last time I saw the sun? No. No, I shouldn't think like that. There are people worse off than me. I shouldn't complain. Oh, just look at this pair. I bet she's cheating on him. People always have secrets. Especially from their partners. But how should I know? Everybody leaves me either way. I'm alone. Always have been, and always will be... Shit, I'm doing it again. Positive thinking, positive thinking. I'm not alone... Ugh, and they're kissing. This is unfair. Why? Why do they have what I want? I should wipe it from their faces. No, I shouldn't... Yes, I should. I should peel the grins from their faces... Make sure they would never be able to grin like this again...

Tracy scanned the pile of books the large middle-aged man set in front of her. A high fantasy book of high renoun stuck out to her. As she reached out to scan it back into the system, a gruff voice asked, “Actually can I renew that one?”

Looking up, Tracy gasped as an ork put a green hand with leathery skin on the cover of the book. He shot her a questioning look and pulled the book closer to himself as if it were precious. Collecting herself, Tracy cleared her throat.

“Of course… I just need to scan the barcode and I can get you a new due date,” Tracy explained, holding out a hand.

With a grin spreading across his fearsome face, the ork passed her the book and expressed his thanks. Tracy smiled and nodded as she took the book gingery from the giant palm and quickly scanned the code. She pushed the book back across the table quickly.

“It’s due next Thursday, I hope you enjoy it,” Tracy said with a smile.

As she watched the ork lumber away from her desk with its nose in the book, she laughed to herself. “What a friendly ork,” she thought to herself as she began to scan in the rest of the books it had dropped off.

She nearly finished checking in the pile when she noticed some movement out the window. A tree tapped on the glass and waved to her. Smiling, Tracy waved back. “The ents are lively today,” she thought as she finished her task. “It’s been awhile since that one has moved!”

“Excuse me,” a small voice interrupted Tracy’s thoughts. She turned to find her self face to face with a young man holding a fictional tale about a famous pirate.

Looking up, she noticed the boys eye patch and large pirate hat for the first time. As he took a few uncertain steps towards her, she also noticed his wooden peg leg and flint lock pistol. “Can I help you,” she muttered with a bit of trepidation in her voice.

“I’d like to check this one out,” the boy said, placing the book in front of her with a solid thud.

“Certainly, matey!” Tracy replied quickly, scanning the book and returning it in haste. “I’ll just need yer’ card of the library!” Chuckling, the pirate slid his library card across her desk. Tracy scanned it into the system and nodded. “It’s due next week on Thursday.”

As the pirate took his leave, Tracy scanned the lower level of the library. Young dinosaurs stomped around in the children’s section, roaring, running and laughing. A few monks sat by the more religious self-help tomes and studied them carefully. Some scientists, wrapped in their white lab coats, sat at tables in the non-fiction section and studied pages through their safety goggles.

Amid the hustle and bustle, a small voice asked, “Excuse me, where can I find the next book in this series?”

Turning to the teenage girl who spoke, Tracy noticed she was carrying the second book in a very popular urban fantasy series about wizards and magic. Addressing the young witch adorned in black robes, Tracy answered, “Has the book disappeared from the fantasy section?”

“I couldn’t find it…” the witch admitted. Her dark eyes turned down towards her shoes and her curly brown hair fell in front of her face.

“Well, let me work my magic,” Tracy offered, turning to her computer. “It looks like all of them are checked out… could I put you on the wait list?”

Slumping her shoulders, the witch seemed to shrink into her robe. She shuffled a bit and muttered to herself. Suddenly, a middle aged woman ran up to the desk and pushed the witch aside.

“Excuse me,” the lady said. “I’d like to return this book—now.”

Tracy looked down at the exact book the young witch was looking to check out and stammered, “Oh, of course, I’ll just-“

“Hurry up, I don’t have all day,” the lady snapped.

“You are good to go,” Tracy said after scanning th book. The lady nodded and walked away, disappearing into the crowd at the library as if she never existed.

“Can I get on the waitlist now,” the witch asked in a small voice, tucking a wand back under her robe.

“The book just became available,” Tracy told her. “Do you just want to check it out?”

“Yes please!” The witch beamed from ear to ear and set the book she was carrying on the counter.

“It’ll be just a second,” Tracy assured the witch. “Also, your charm was quite impressive… I’ve never seen anyone that desperate to return a library book.”

The witch smelt a small smile spread across her face as Tracy scanned the books and handed her the one she wanted. Giggling, she ran into a corner of the library and opened the book. Tracy imagined she would learn a new spell or two by the time she had to return the book.

Returning to her work, Tracy managed to get some books back on the shelves without too much distraction. She did have to help a zombie find the bathroom and avoid a young crowd of vampires that cackled at her menacingly, but it was a productive afternoon.

“I love my job,” Tracy thought as she stood up to leave. “It’s amazing what you can find in a book.”

Her fingertips caress language, desiring to inscribe next to them. Yet she continues reshelving the books. Standing atop the cherry red step ladder she fixed her plaid skirt as to not flash the passerby of the “Religion” section. Amanda stood atop that bookshelf and peered over the adjacent one. Noticing a man, a real definition of a man. Shoulders broad enough to block the aisles, height of the shelf and even better a book in his hand. His back profile was incredibly attractive, the way his jawline eased into his neck and ears sculpting his head like a Ken doll. His dark hair inticing her. As she jutted her neck out to attempt and see what literature his hands held, her glasses fell. In what felt like slow motion, Amanda’s thin framed glasses skied off the slope of her nose and down into the next aisle, landing right next to the man. Frozen in somewhat embarrassment Amanda paused. “I should throw this book in the other direction” she thought. It would easily distract the man from her peeping and give her another mundane task to complete with the 5 hours she had left in her shift. The spine of the old book, something about Moses she trailed it up and down now crouched avoiding the man. She lifted her hand and then, bam. A loud noise was certainly made, yet the book landed in the same aisle as Amanda. Amanda’s heel had given out, gravity pulling her into the hexagonal patterned carpet and nearly knocking the entire shelves of books down with her. On the ground Amanda lay, the fluorescent lights immediately giving her a migraine, embarrassed, a figure came into her eyesight.