Your book is overdue.

The mail did not surprise me. It is overdue. I know it. But the book is excellent and rare. I lack the heart to let it out of my hands. Having felt the dark fresh air breathed out by the little book with its strange figures how could anyone return it.

And yet I have to return the book of mystery. It had to be read by others. That will create a following for the ideas hidden in its depths, carefully concealed by the droll wording and the macabre drawings. It is hand written.

I took one last look at the blank dull grey cover. I imagined forms crawling beneath the cover. They were not droll. The insane man on the left with hands chopped off just below the shoulder and trying to eat with his his friend the horny worm told me: Don’t. I suppose he means do nothing about the book. Keep it with you. His eyes, turned away from me, were blazing in a mad and incompetent rage. The worm had a noiseless laugh on its lips and told me: Do not keep the book with you.

Strange. Because the cover is and I am

certain about this, the cover is a blank crazy grey with no drawings.

But I must return the little book. It is not meant to be read by one person alone. The unknown author had gone to great lengths to produce the gem, the gory chapters called for a wide audience.

I tucked the book into my jute carry bag and started out on the mission. Once you set out you have to complete your mission. The mission to return a book written in a language I can decipher embellished with drawings that seem to have a mysterious life. Drawings of an unimaginable life.

I closed and locked my room. As I started to walk a weak sound from the room caught my ears. The door is open with the panes still moving. I am sure I locked it but now I have to lock it again. But again a creaking and again the open door. After one more attempt at preserving my castle I walked away, the door flapping like giant wings behind my back.

Let it be. What cannot be done is best ignored, right. Agreed?

A hand in my pocket and I knew I will have to walk the miles to the library. The small sanctuary of books. And creatures like me.

Today I am rather lucky. No vehicle knocked me down. Yet. No truck tried to run over me. No, I am not clumsy. On the road I am the most careful person you can imagine. There were noiseless movements of vehicles on the road. I must have been listening to those strange hissings which must be the reason I missed the loose stone resting right in front of me until my foot went two ways and I sat down on the dry road. The youth on the bike nearly skidded onto my back, himself falling down in the attempt to save me.

I did not wait to listen to all the marvellous swear words that poured out of his moustached mouth. Where are are you off to kid. Where ever you want to go to, hurry. You don’t have much time left, said the book. I kept my silence intact.

The boy raced past me, his finger raised in insult just before the truck coming the wrong way crushed his hairy skull with a crack like a tiny shot. I am in a hurry. And I warned you kid. Don’t blame me for your brain whitening the tar.

The guy who finally pitied me enough to give me a lift only wanted me to play with him while he drove and kindly told me to drink it all up. Tastes like raw egg. But the guy dropped me off near the supermarket and the library is just a stone throw from there as the road fled the other way. Don’t blame the supermarket; it is a store pretending to be a supermarket. It stood there in shame over its name. This book will help you too, friend, to rise above your station and hold your head up before Walmart.

The fog landed suddenly and heavily. It covered my eyes with a blackish white foam smelling of ozone. A rain cloud on the road. I saw the silent golden serrations inside the dark matter and the pictures in my book wobbling around me. There, in the distance was insane armless man eater. I heard the sound of cloven feet jumping over me in glee. I saw the feet and a horn and the taste of raw egg bothered me not.

I followed the darkness, tripping over a dead cat the size of a dog and another one of the same size stalking me.

The cloud vanished abruptly and I realised I had passed the library.

Turn around. Walk back. The serpent does not mean to bite you. It is just an adornment.

The gate of the library gaped like a wound dressed with iron. It is a little fortress. I walked in. The burly Security ty was outside looking at the sad sky watching the clouds on the earth. Ignorance is life. The poster told me to enter carrying nothing more dangerous than books. I did not even have books. Only one tiny handwritten one pulsing with a tension that trembled my fingers like a snake under the bedspread.

The reception counter is empty, bereft of humankind and inanimate stuff as well. Not a soul anywhere. How do I return the book. Maybe a peek behind the counter is all right. The slender and elderly librarian lay on the carpet, utterly dead. Her eyes were open and they blamed me. Hey, I did not do a thing. Ok. Don’t look at me like I am

a murdering monster. I am not.

I don’t have the strength to drive that paper knife into your aged skull. I just want to return a book you had summoned me to return to you.

I looked around. There is no one in the library except me with the laughing book and death. But it is so peaceful here today. What happened to all the kids who are always trying to study. Have I not warned you that you should not have studied so much.

The book is heavy in my hands. I have to return it soon before it starts talking. No miss. I am not the joking kind.

And she stood up, very dead with the knife deep in her head. But now she looked me. What do you want, she hissed. I want to return this book madam. Like you told me to. I have your letter and pardon me I did not answer your phone calls. The coal red eyes beamed at me like a happy child. Ah, I told you not to touch that book. It is bad news for you. And good for me. Did you read it? You poor boy. Now you are finished. Do you believe? What? She was furious and her spindly legs quivered behind the desk.

A grumpy hand fell on my shoulder. It was the security man, looking even burlier. Do you believe?

What are you talking about. What should I believe. Clouds on the road or the silent thunder. Or the armless guy trying to eat me up. I am not a snack. The silence in the empty library became terrible. Let go, I told the burly man and he broke into pieces and lay on the floor like a worthless ceramic. I will clear that up after I return the book. And that is a job for her, your supervisor.

But I cannot do that. Said the lanky lady with the knife in her forehead And a trickle of blood dripping onto her hawky nose. I heard her voice although her mouth was closed.

You should have returned the book on time instead of pickling it. Now I have to punish you. Should I pull off your arms or pluck your stupid eyes. That will teach you to be prompt. I am sure you did not even read the book, you fag of humanity, miserable creature. You have no idea who wrote that book. Not a soul has taken it in hundred years. I got it from a man who did not die of the flu in Spain. It is my book and only the worthy may read it.

I only want to return it ma’am.

Certainly dear. Said the librarian, smiling gorgeously.