“Excuse me, but do you have the next book in this series?”

The voice catches me by surprise as I whirl around to see the young woman, holding a book up in her right hand. Her nails are perfectly manicured and painted a vibrant shade of pink, almost matching the cover of the book she has in her grip.

Of course, I think with an internal eye roll. The flowers twining over the book cover evoke a feeling of exasperation at the newest obsession sweeping the nation.

“We do, but all of the copies are on loan currently.” I try not to cringe at my sickly sweet voice that I put on when conversing with customers. “You can put in a hold at the front desk, if you’d like.”

With a sigh of longing, the girl turns around and starts making her way to the front.

Not even a thank you, I seethe to myself. I catch my breath as I see the man she joins with. His blonde, short-cut hair and strong jaw are the first thing I notice. Then his horn-rimmed glasses and finally, the book he clutches in his hand. It looks like one of various collections of Poe. My heart flutters as he turns the corner.

I turn back to the cart of returns and the sight of the topmost cover almost makes me scream. In a sultry yellow sits another of those ridiculous books, surely earlier in the series based on how many copies await it on the shelf. I roll the cart down the aisles, taking solace in the familiar squeak its wheels make. In days past, I used to try to put the sequence of noises to songs. Reminiscing on this, I find myself humming La Valse absentmindedly. I almost chuckle at myself finding that even the purposefully discordant notes fitting to the squeaks.

With as little reverence I can spare, but still the amount any book deserves, I place the sickly yellow book on the shelf with its companions.

Surely someone like him can find someone with better taste than this nonsense, I think.

Turning back to my cart, I smirk at the next cover of some half-naked man with bulging pectoral muscles grasping a swooning woman with breasts almost bursting out of her skin-tight, silk dress. Pushing the cart along, I find the melody of the wheels changed. It had never been as clearly a movement of Beethoven’s, I almost felt as if I was listening to the Ghost Trio movement. Images flash in my mind, unbidden. He is clutching me in his arms, my gossamer dress sheen and comfortable. With a slight smile, I make my way to the romance section and don’t even suppress a scoff as I drop the book into its place.

The cart beckons me and I grin brightly as I see not only a writing of Poe, but one of his less notable works that the masses of faux-academics would name drop to impress their paramours. Ligeia was one of my favorites, in fact it was my favorite.

Surely he had been responsible for this return, I mused as I clutch the book to my chest. Taking up my task with a new found glee, I skip to the classic section. When did someone put on Danse Macabre? I twirl as I gingerly place the piece of literary genius in its rightful place.

Where did the cart go? I giggle as I dance down the aisle, gliding a finger along the spine of Fall of the House of Usher. Who turned the lights off? The sweet, chaotic music swells as I throw my arms out and laugh joyously. Spinning, spinning, spinnng. Laughing, laughing, laughing. Suddenly, I’m on the ground but even my stinging hands don’t stop my laughing. What caused my fall? Tears brim in my eyes as I sit up to see the body that I had tripped over. Camille Saint-Saëns’ magnum opus comes to its symphonic climax as I stand, looking down on my own masterpiece. Her body looks just as perfect and genteel as it had been, save the crimson puddle haloing her golden locks. I lift the copy of The Tell-Tale Heart and clasp it to my heaving chest. My laugh subsides into a giggle and tears stream down my face.

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.

Where did the music go?

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.

The book falls to the ground. Where is its place on the shelf?

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.

Why is there a draft of air?

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.

Who is making that awful racket in a library, of all places?

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.

Shhhhhhhhh. A metallic taste hits my tongue from my lips. My hands, covered in something red, shake as I look down on the corpse below me, a hollow cavity in her chest.

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.

Where did that book go? At my side sits a lump of bloody tissue. Is it still moving?

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.

“What have you done?” a voice shrieks. My hands grasp my offering and I turn to my Muse.

“I am your Ligeia.” With shaking hands I offer the heart to my beloved. His scream is drowned out as I step ever closer.

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.