What Lies Beneath

The insect hum of the fluorescent lights was giving me a headache. Artificial light hit the books on the shelf, ricocheting into my eyes and making me squint. Why was this taking so long? It had to be here somewhere. I was starting to give up hope after trawling this campus library for what felt like an age, meticulously searching each section, no longer trusting the alphabetical order in case another, lazier biology student had decided on a different book at the last minute, throwing what I needed back into a random empty spot as they happily skipped away with their free ticket to a 2:1. I pinched the bridge of my nose, sighing, starting to think that someone must have beat me to it and already checked the book out, when the humming stopped. Authors names and book titles faded into black.

I started to realise that coming to the library at two o’clock in the morning for a book I needed for an essay due in 22 hours wasn’t the best idea, both for very obvious, poor planning-related reasons, and because of the particular problem of it being night-time, with not even daylight to break through the darkness. I started to jump around, waving wildly at the sensors in case it was just the automatic lights that had turned themselves off, but all that accomplished was knocking a few books off one shelf and jumping into another when they came thudding down. Catching my breath after that ordeal, I tried to listen into the darkness, hearing nothing over my own heavy breathing. I blindly felt my way through what now felt like a catacomb of books, eventually finding the third-floor wall of full-length windows, feeling the cold glass on my palm as the small sliver of moon attempted to illuminate what little it could of the hallway I was in, and the courtyard outside of the library. The streetlamps scattered across the courtyard weren’t working either, the uniform bushes and benches basked in an eerie early morning haze, with not a soul in sight.

With slightly more light to go by next to the windows, I made my way down the hallway to what I was hoping I remembered correctly as the stairs, treading softly and grimacing at every occasional creak of the floorboards underneath my feet. I stopped every so often, listening intently for movement that wasn’t my own, mistaking every shadow for what I hoped was a fellow late library goer that was just as terrified of the dark. I reached the end of the corridor, turning left from the muscle memory of heading towards the stairs, and swore under my breath: I had to go back into the full inky blackness, without the sanctuary of the moonlight, to reach the stairs. I tried to steady my hand by plunging it into the pocket of my worn, 2am joggers, wrapping my fingers around it until the case dug into my skin. I thrust it out ahead of me, light from its torch function shaking into the corridor, as I slowly opened my eyes one at a time for fear of what could be in front of me. I walked a few tentative steps forward, and faced my next nemesis: the stairs.

The staircase, with its 180⁰ turns as it winded in an attempt to accommodate every floor of the library, had far too many hiding places for my liking. Even in the light it felt as if someone was waiting around every corner, and now, in the single, manic light from my phone, the 28 steps down felt a lot more daunting. My heart thudded much faster than the stairs could creak, mistaking their annoyed groans for somebody else’s footsteps. I took a deep breath. I swung around the corner to catch possible culprits in a fluorescent surprise. Was there even anyone else in the library? Not knowing whether that would make me feel better or worse, I made my way down, forcibly attached to the banister from the moment I entered the stairwell until it abruptly ended on the bottom floor.

Without the comfort and safety of the rail my hand hung there, absent, tremoring as if trying to find something in the darkness. With the aid of my light and my memory from the many previous late night flustered library trips, I felt my way towards the doors, internally apologising to the next librarian each time a book fell and slapped against the floor, only gently muffled by the worn carpet.

Now, one thing I didn’t think would work against me in my current situation was convenient, modern technology. The doors, completely made of glass, led to a sigh of relief as I saw the light drift in. I strolled confidently towards them, Feeling the relief sweep over me until I abruptly stopped, surprised, with my nose inches from the glass. Standing in front of the automatic doors that could no longer sense my presence, glaring into the courtyard I couldn’t reach, I put my face in my hands, rubbing my eyes to relieve the frustration. Was I stuck in here? How long was this power cut going to last? I kept spinning around, looking behind me, my light only catching the shelves of books and computer desks that sat there, motionless. The silence was unbearable. It sat like a heavy mist in the air, masking anything that hid beneath it. I walked back towards the room, low to the ground to prevent my footsteps from being heard, trying to find any hint of a way out of this godforsaken library.

I reached the librarians main desk in the centre of the room, getting behind it in order to use it as comfort, and as a vantage point for a possible exit. But yet, as I looked around, my eyes were drawn to the floor below me, squinting at the faint light lining a square under me, wondering if the dark and my own hope for an escape was playing tricks on me. I stepped off the square and bent down, feeling the carpet below me, gasping as it shifted slightly underneath my hand. It came off completely as I dragged it away, flinging it carelessly behind me. The floorboards underneath were old and scratched, a thick iron ring tarnished by time laying almost flat against them, making me wonder how I didn’t feel it through the thick carpet and underlay. I almost felt as If I should knock. I took the ring into my hand, feeling the cool, heavy weight of it, and with a deep breath, pulled it up towards me.

It was a weird feeling knowing that I wasn’t meant to be here. That I was only here by chance, by circumstance. But yet I went down, the rungs of the ladder feeling unsteady beneath my weight, waiting for the sturdy, reliable concrete underneath my feet. The room was lit by only a candle, large, but nearing the end of its wick. So someone had been here, but the room looked deserted, a film of dust covering everything except the top of the candle where it had been burned away. I could reach both sides if I stuck my arms out with very little effort, leaving little room for furniture apart from a small wooden table, a similar chair, and the candle stuck in an ornate candle holder at an angle, as if the person was in a rush to light the room and leave. Furthest from the ladder, at the other end of the tiny room, was a door. It was white, but covered in delicate black ink forming intricate drawings I wasn’t sure I understood. As I walked towards it I bumped into the table, rubbing my hip as I turned towards the culprit of the injury. The table had moved as I hit it, something moving around inside it, muffled, and distinctly un-candle-like. Upon closer inspection. The table had a thin drawer with no handle, requiring a lot of jiggling and effort to prise open. Inside, the sole occupant was a book, covered in its own thicker layer of dust, and looking a little worse for wear. I took it out, blowing the dust off until the title was readable, a flurry of dust sparkling in the ailing candlelight, as if time were running out. ‘What Lies Beneath’, by Anonymous.

I reached for the door, gravitating towards it once again, and turned the brass handle. A satisfying thunk followed by a lingering creak, aching to reveal what was hidden ahead. An inky blackness was all that stood there, not even slightly penetrated by the candlelight. It seemed to swell and ripple into itself, a guttural, almost unrecognisable sound coming from the darkness itself. I felt like I should be here, peering into uncharted waters. Fully knowing that I was trading a familiar darkness for an uncertain one, and having completely forgotten about my looming deadline that I would most definitely miss, I stepped forwards, through the door frame and into the unknown.