It wasn’t the fact that the book was lying on the floor that got me first.

It annoyed me more that someone had been so careless as to let it fall. It was a very rare copy of ‘The Epic of Ecliades’, with silky velum pages, a gilt-encrusted cover, and painstakingly hand painted plates, which were a delight.

I tutted as I picked it up, the dust displacing from the pages in a cloud, ‘What on earth are you doing down there…!’ I exclaimed.

A wave of mustiness tickled my nostrils. Camphor, geranium, lavender - like a trio of old ladies had suddenly entered the room.

Odd, I thought.

That’s when I saw the feather on the ground. A delicate quill, vibrant blue, picking it up, it felt as soft as velvet and I couldn’t resist brushing it against my cheek.

“You are wondering how that got here?” squeaked a little voice.

The feather dropped to the ground as I turned to see where the voice had come from. The room was empty. I felt a shiver down my spine and a bead of sweat was appearing on my forehead.

I’d heard tales that this library was haunted, but being a firm believer in science, I’d dismissed it as utter poppycock.

Now however, I was starting to have my doubts…