A Night at the Library

With a loud clunk, the last light was extinguished and the room blackened.  I waited for the clicking of the librarian’s heels to fade before I risked emerging from my hiding place in the rarely visited encyclopedia section of the library basement.  The dust bunnies under the shelves were as large as my hand and also my only companions for the last two hours I had spent waiting for the library to close. The dank, musty smell was clinging to my clothes.

My excitement matched my anxiety as I was never one to break the rules, and staying here after closing time was regrettably one of the most rebellious things I had ever done in my twenty-six years.  My adventure was about to begin, and how challenging could it be?

What, you might ask, would prompt me to be here in a cold, dark, dusty library instead of home in my own comfortable room full of my books, comfy pillows and my two orange tabbies, Watson and Holmes? As it turns out, I accepted a dare from a mischievous octogenarian named Abigail in a game of Truth or Dare.

Scoring an apartment amidst the residents at the town’s senior living community had its ups and downs. Employed as the Activities Director, I spent many a night among the senior residents coordinating and participating in various games and projects, which could be equal parts entertaining and frustrating.

Historically, I am much more of a Truth person in the Truth or Dare realm. I have very little to hide, being quite strait-laced all my life.  My elderly neighbors have had many laughs at my expense, as they seemed to all have led pretty scandalous lives based upon their “truths”! They each now generally chose “Dare” in the game, as they had few secrets left from each other. Some of the dares, such as who can fling his dentures the furthest, held little appeal. 

Nonetheless, I had one wine cooler too many the night in question, and decided to throw caution to the wind.  Abigail, my favorite at the senior center, had long been wanting to shake up my life, so jumped at the chance to assign my fate- “You will spend the night in the Eastbrook library basement!” she declared.  Abigail, a retired guide for the Eastbrook ghost tour, always believed the library to be the most haunted site in the town. She maintained that her own decades-deceased Aunt Edna, the first librarian in Eastbrook, traveled its halls to this day looking for mis-shelved books and shushing loud patrons.

Not being one to worry about ghosts, and having fantasized about being uninterrupted and surrounded with thousands of books at my disposal, I decided that this would be a good chance to prove to them that I wasn’t just a stick-in-the-mud. I also believed that I would enjoy a night when I didn’t have to wear headphones to drown out the Bingo caller. This felt like a win-win situation for me.

Now however, being in the dark, quiet, and unnaturally chilly basement, I was rethinking my decision.  Ghosts aren’t real, I was sure, and how bad could one night be?  I had my handy flashlight and sleeping bag hidden in the back of the stacks, and I readied myself to hunker down for the night.

As I spread out my quilt, I was startled by a noise that sliced through the silence.  A loud thud followed by a barrage of clops and bangs came from upstairs. It sounded like a horse was galloping through the fiction section!

My knack for keeping calm in a crisis kicked in as my brain sought to imagine a reasonable explanation for this development.  After all, I had never been in the library at night. Maybe the furnace was really loud or maybe workers were cleaning (the absence of light did make this less likely). 

 I was torn between cowering in my corner and investigating the unexpected sounds, when the noises ceased and a creepy silence once again overtook the building.

A small shiver worried up my spine as I slowly crept up the creaky library stairs, the need to investigate winning out.  The building was inky black, and my small flashlight did little to illuminate the large space.  As I inched along the library wall, feeling cobwebs brushing against my cheek, my foot kicked something hard on the floor.  A small book, Things that Go Bump in the Night lay at my feet. 

Admittedly a little nervous, and with my blood pounding in my ears, I shone my flashlight around me.  All I could see from the fine beam was an empty hall and imposing book-lined shelves.  I listened for sounds of life, but there were only stillness and my own rapid breaths. Did I imagine the noises?

My senses were on high alert and I wanted to stay hidden until I could investigate further.  From behind me, though, another thud made me jump, and another book landed near my feet. The offending noises were starting again now as books were leaping from the shelves onto the floor in front of me.  I spun my flashlight, desperately trying to see what was causing this, but saw nothing but what appeared to be the books alone, launching themselves off the shelves.

I was torn between the desire to run for my life and the overwhelming urge to reorganize the messy, unshelved titles strewn on the floor. The Shining grazing my forehead in its rapid descent hurried my decision and I spun around to escape the attack.

In my haste, I dropped my flashlight and heard the battery fling across the floor as it crashed down. The room again was draped in black and now I was surrounded in the darkness by a cacophony of books sliding from the shelves and dive bombing the ground.  I felt the hard covers scratching my ankles as I ran from the section. 

I dove under the nearest desk as more books launched themselves at my head. I heard screaming which I realized was coming from me and the thuds were joined by a loud whoosh as a strong breeze began to blow my hair.  It sounded like “Shoooooooooosssshhhh” as it rang past my ears.  

I tried to make out where the door was so I could escape this nightmare but I was unsure of where I was in the darkness.  The books continued to hit the desk, leaving what I imagined to be brick sized divots in the ancient wood.

The thought of Aunt Edna seemed like less of a joke now and I scrambled to figure out what I might have done to prompt a ghost’s wrath? I had kept to myself while I waited for closing time, and I had passed time by thumbing through some encyclopedias. Had I accidentally left one open, or, worse, put it back in the wrong place?

Convinced that this must be it, I resolved to brave the book attacks to try to right my wrong.  I grabbed the desk blotter to use as a shield, and plunged myself back into the tornado of flying books.

I made my way to the stairs again and threw myself down them, trying to get back to the encyclopedia section.  I did hesitate when I imagined those tomes coming at me, but all still seemed quiet in the basement.  It was harder to examine the area as I was without a light, but remembered my cellphone in my pocket.  I shone the phone light where I had been hiding and discovered that the S volume was left open to Supernatural Events and was set away from its shelf mates. 

I quickly slammed the book closed and re shelved it properly, just as the surrounding volumes were beginning to tremble.

I braced myself for the onslaught, but the hurricane stopped as quickly as it had started.  I was afraid to open my eyes for a time and remained crouched in the corner in the fetal position for what seemed like hours.  No more loud thuds were heard, and the whistling wind quieted.  I thought I heard some quiet scraping from above, but the air was calm in the basement.

The hours passed as I sat frozen in place, not daring to open my eyes or move, for fear of angering Aunt Edna any further.  Had this been a bad dream?  Was I going crazy?  Did the ghost of Abigail’s aunt try to kill me for improperly reshelving an encyclopedia?

I didn’t move until I was startled by the lights popping on. Not wanting to be found in this state, I unfolded myself from the floor and gathered my belongings. Inexplicably, my now intact flashlight was resting on my sleeping bag.  I waited until I heard more activity from upstairs, expecting there to be shouts of horror at what the main floor of the library likely looked like.  When these did not manifest, I crept upstairs, intending to mix in with the other patrons.

I stopped dead in my tracks at the top of the stairs.  The library was in pristine condition. All books appeared to be in proper order on their respective shelves. The desk where I sheltered from the book attack appeared unscathed. Not wanting to tempt fate any further, I quickly exited the building and hurried home.

Met at the door by a group of curious senior citizens, I knew I could not escape to my room without filling them in on my night at the library. “How was it?” Abigail asked.  “Did you see my aunt?”  “It was fine, Abigail.  I had a nice, quiet evening reading myself to sleep.  It is amazing how relaxing it was,” I lied.  Abigail and the others looked disappointed, but satisfied that I accomplished my dare.  They exchanged money among the 5 of them, apparently having bet on me reneging on my side of the deal.  Maybe now they would leave me alone when I chose Truth in the next game.

As the hours ticked by at home, I started to believe that maybe it had all been a bad dream. I started to question my sanity and struggled to come up with a reasonable explanation for what I witnessed. Ghosts aren’t real, and books don’t dive bomb your head, I told myself.

I got up and glanced at my reflection in the mirror.  Surely the blossoming bruise on my forehead was from me running into something and not from some book ambush?

A bit reluctant to turn off my lights and go to sleep, I lay awake that night.  Just as I shut my eyes, my door shook in its frame as something struck it loudly.  With an inward groan and a rush of adrenaline, I tiptoed to the door and peeked out.  On the ground was a copy of Casper the Friendly Ghost.

As I leapt over the book and took off down the hall with a shriek, I could barely make out the snickers of the seniors from around the corner and could almost swear out of the corner of my eye that they each held a book in their hands.