Screaming in the Library

TW: violence

It was quiet that night. To be fair, libraries are supposed to be quiet. And this was the Richardson City Library. The only sounds that could be heard were the click-clacking of her spidery fingers on the keyboard throughout the almost vacated library. Ms. Sherman was going over a book order that she had wanted to place. The books on the list were not at all interesting, and the most exciting one was something Shakespearean, but hardly anyone in today's age can comprehend that. Ms. Sherman, the librarian of this very fine establishment, was a softhearted, yet stern woman in her early sixties. She valued peace and tranquility more than most, and could often be found reading some genre of a manuscript that touched on philosophical concepts. Her preferred readings many times revolved around individuality and existential crisis, to name a few of her favorites. She hit send on the order, took off her glasses, and laid her head back against the chair. A heavy sigh slid out of her mouth. That day had taken a toll on her. One of the employees, a blue-haired girl, had re-shelved around 20 books that shouldn't have been and wrongly shelved another 30. On top of that, some kid had decided to try his egg drop project from the second level of the library, and let’s just say that kid doesn’t deserve anything above an F on that assignment. Sadly, the janitor, Billy, took that day off, so Ms. Sherman had to clean it up.

About half an hour had passed since she saw the last person leave the library. It wasn't closing time yet, but hardly anyone, except for college students, came into the library at this hour. The time was drawing nearer to eleven, and Ms. Sherman was getting more and tired- of being awake and of her surroundings. From the front desk of the library, where she had been situated, you could see the vast collections of knowledge that lined the shelves circling her workspace. The spaces between shelves bent and twisted so often that you couldn't see more than 20 feet down each aisle. Someone might easily get lost in there, but most that enter that library, including me if I could, enjoy it. 

Ms. Sherman begrudgingly began packing her things away in her purse. The shuffling of her belongings annoyed her; it seemed so loud compared to the stillness before. Once she was done, she sat back down in her somewhat comfortable chair, basking in the silence. Although, as most musicians, extroverts, and just loud people understand, silence does not mean peacefulness. Silence is just the potential for noise. Ms. Sherman got to see this firsthand when an eerie cry rose from one of the far corners of the library. It was high-pitched and died out swiftly. To be accurate, the voice sounded like a dying bird, but that description kind of underwhelms this situation.

 It's probably just some kids fooling around, she thought, (Ms. Sherman will never understand teenagers) so she stood from her chair and went to find the source of the cacophony. Any reasonable person who has seen five minutes of a creepy movie knows that when you hear someone screaming after dark, you turn and walk the other way. The tapping of Ms. Sherman's high heels made it obvious that she had not seen those minutes or questioned why someone would scream so late at night. 

As she was walking, there was a loud thump, as if something large had fallen to the floor. Ms. Sherman craned her neck to listen to other noises. As she turned to walk towards the strange sounds, her ears picked up on heavy, almost labored breathing. She shuffled towards the unknown phonics, curious to discover their origin. Ms. Sherman scanned the aisles from all places, finally spotting a man in a dark hoodie at the bottom of the aisle. Unfortunately, her mouth moved before her eyes could entirely grasp what she had seen. 

"Young man,-" almost everyone who came to that library was someone she could consider young, "keep your voice down! This is a library for-'' Ms. Sherman was only able to utter those words before her eyes found the metallic object in his hand, stained with crimson. She glanced back up at the man-who I shall name Chad because he sounds like a jerk- then down to the floor. A lump— which she assumed was a body, laid there, barely breathing. She had previously packed her glasses in her bag, and it wasn't well lit in this corner of the library. But now she could unquestionably see the pool of red, high contrast to the light-colored wood, slowly spreading on the ground, barely touching the stranger’s shoes. This was the real tragedy seeing as the janitor had just waxed the hardwood floors. Poor Billy. What spooked her the most, however, was the blueish-looking hair that laid over the victim's face. The stranger’s head whipped around to adequately look at the person who discovered him. Ms. Sherman turned her attention back to the mysterious man, still quickly stealing glances at the person bleeding out on the ground. In a panic, her feet took a few hasty steps backward, with him following soon after. She watched him flip the knife in his hand before she could properly comprehend the situation and took off running in a different direction. Well, running is an overstatement. It was more of a speed walk due to her heels. Ms. Sherman quickly rounded corners and hurried past bookshelves. Chad simply stalked the aisles, listening for the clicking of her shoes against the floor. 

Ms. Sherman had no clue what she was doing. Like, at all. At that moment, the only thoughts that raced through her mind were to escape. She didn't know where, she just had to. Her feet were pivoting corners left and right, hopelessly trying to buy her time. After her-I lost count, so let's say tenth- turn, Ms. Sherman glanced back to check if Chad was following her. This turned out to be a bad idea when she knocked into something large. It can't be a wall, she thought, there's no way I ran that far- again, running is a serious overstatement, lady. Before she could register what she bumped into, two strong arms snaked around her and held her there.

She squirmed violently, trying to escape the firm grasp this person had on her, and not being entirely successful. The person who had grabbed her was a companion of Chad. We'll call him Jacobe. His muscled limbs encompassed the entirety of her small figure while one hand brought a handkerchief up to her face. The piece of cloth was pushed against Ms. Sherman's nose and mouth; it smelled strongly of disinfectant, and something sweet that she couldn't place before she started fading from consciousness.

Ms. Sherman jolted up from her queen size bed, squinting from the vast light let in by the curtains. Her head felt foggy and her body was covered in a feeble layer of sweat as she went over what she witnessed in her mind. Was it… a dream? Must have been. That couldn't have happened. She shook her head at the inner dialogue and shoved the covers off of herself. To her surprise, she was still wearing the same clothes as she had been wearing the previous day. Ms. Sherman rubbed the strange eccentricity of her wardrobe off, blaming it on exhaustion, and proceeded to get ready for that morning. I must have been very tired last night, she thought. I set my keys on a different side of the nightstand than normal, my purse was on the couch, and my phone wasn't plugged in. She walked into the kitchen of her apartment and started brewing a pot of coffee. While that was going, she turned on the television and flipped to the news channel. Ms. Sherman watched the latest events on the news while slowly sipping her coffee. After an hour, she grabbed her purse, phone, and keys, and headed out the door.

When she arrived at the library, she sat at the front desk, as usual, awaiting the entrance of people who existed outside of her precious books. The girl with the blue hair did not enter the building that day. Or the next day. Or the next…