Theodore’s Books

Whenever my humble shop door opens, it’s time for my scintillating performance. 

A homely bell welcomes my guest. It chimes on its own accord, untouched by the door. Snow waltzes in the open entryway, for just a moment, before a short girl emerges. She’s breathless from the cold. I crouch back into the shadows. Behind a looming bookcase I surrender to licking back a few strands of frizzy hair on my paws. There’s no need to alarm my visitor straight away. Let her browse. 

A ruby scarf is tangled around her face. She unwraps it, unbuttons her oversized coat, and long locks of orange hair fall to her waist. She blinks. Her rosy face is sprinkled with pimples, freckles, and snowflakes. She hangs her winter armor on my antique hooks. Before she’s even gotten her mittens off I know I like this girl; her hair is the same burning orange as my fur. Now, that’s a fantastic color on anyone. She kicks the slush off her boots before walking further. 

I can tell she’s a true bookworm by the glow in her eyes. She’s certainly never seen so many books all together. Bookshelves, from ceiling to floor, stretch up and back forever. My shop has an atrium which never ends. She looks up and sees staircases which climb to infinity, as if sky was no matter. It’s a mirage, but that’s my little secret. In my book shop, we let magic flourish. I can also tell she’s confused, on some level. My guests are always bewildered by my shop’s sudden appearance. 

She’s walked this street dozens of times before, no doubt, but has never seen my shop. In fact, she’s never even heard of Theodore’s Books. And if she has, she wouldn’t have believed a word of it anyway. I’ve always been around, but I move from place to place. My book shop is not bound to time and space like an ordinary store, just as I am not an ordinary house cat. It only appears for one person at a time. It’s better that way. My focus is penetrating and only suitable for one guest only. My shop only ever appears once, so there’s no chance for my guests to return with a crowd of skeptics. I know that if anyone ever tried to find their way back to my bookstore, they’d see whatever normally occupies the space. And it’s usually just an abandoned warehouse or empty lot. 

When someone is in desperate need of inspiration, my shop becomes clear to them. It greets them on some familiar path. They’re drawn to Theodore’s Books for it’s a strange thing to see on a boulevard that they think they know well. And my target always comes in, like moths to a flame. I know all of them, their whole story, long before they step through my door. 

“Welcome. Do ask if you need any help finding anything,” I call out, keeping my body hidden. My Scottish accent is thick, though I am from nowhere at all. I lay back on my haunches. Some say I’m meant for the jungle, but my velvet carpet is so luscious. I could never leave. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly. 

Candlelight flickers across her face. We haven’t got any electricity, so it’s a cozy ambiance. She walks through the shelves. Mine’s a bookshop without genres. We don’t even carry any of the classics or a single new bestseller. There are no titles or author’s names on the spines. She surveys my shelves. 

Eventually she chooses a book. When she picks up her choice, and what a good selection, my emerald eyes glow from behind the bookshelf. She’s got strong intuition, going right for that one. 

The young girl shrieks. She drops her selected book and dashes towards the door. 

But I am swift, much more spry than little girls. 

With a single leap, I’m past the bookcase, over the girl, and blocking her only exit. I swish my tail. My victory is palpable, as per usual. 

I lay my massive, glorious body in front of the doorway. I try not to look intimidating, just lounging and stretching. 

“A tiger!” She yelps. She’s frozen in fear. But not completely still, as I can see her whole body shaking. It’s worse than when she came in from the cold. I pity her. 

Yet, it’s so predictable. My guest’s fear is an important element in my façade. It helps me break down their walls. My guest must be vulnerable and disarmed, in order for any of this to be worthwhile. 

“Hush…I would never hurt you, little peanut,” I coo in as soothing a tone I can muster. There’s a purr in my voice. 

“You c-can talk?” She peeps with a stutter. Her eyes are wide. 

“Yes, indeed. You’ll find I have quite an extensive vocabulary too,” I reply and casually check that my claws are keeping their sharp edges. They shimmer in the candlelight. My undivided attention can be a bit overwhelming, so I let her recover from her initial shock first. 

“Are you wearing glasses?” She asks. I can hear a grin in her voice. Her shoulders fall back and she stands tall. I can almost smell the fear melting off her. It leaves her aura and she glows. 

“Of course, little peanut, how else could I read all these books?” I ask. My paws gesture towards the lavish collection. Then I take off my golden wire frames and brush the lenses against my fur. My dramatic effect is less effective when they’re dusty. 

“I can’t believe I’m talking to a tiger. Is this a dream?”

“No. It’s not. But, by all means, don’t take my word for it. Tell me, have you ever been able to tell time in your dreams?”

“No…not once,” she replies. I can almost see the gears in her brain turning, trying to make sense of her strange encounter. 

“So why don’t you check your watch?” I ask. 

Following my suggestion, she gazes at her left wrist. The clock face appears normal, with hands ticking and numbers staring back at her. 

“So you must be Theodore then?” She queries. 

“Yes, indeed,” I say. 

Now my gaze is fixed on her. The jade glow in my eyes captivates her. She’s cute as a fairy. Innocence radiates from her. And I know exactly why she’s here. For I know the story of every human destined to rise and fall in this dimension, even the small. 

“Let me tell you, little peanut, I have just the perfect book for you,” I call out. I am pacing the shelves.

“Really?” She asks. 

“Yes. There’s a book in here with the future of every human ever born,” I say with confidence. 

“No way!” She shouts. 

“It is true. There are even books here for those who are yet to be born.” 

“So you can tell me about my family, celebrities, and historical figures? Can you even tell me about characters in fairy tales?” She asks. Her words are going a mile a minute. 

“No. That would be a rather intrusive invasion of their privacy. Brooke Avery Scott, we will only discuss your fate today,” I answer. 

“Whoa! How do you know my name?” She asks. 

“Because right here is your book,” I take a leather bound masterpiece from the shelf. 

“Let me see!” She stretches out her precious hands. 

“No chance, little peanut, if you were to touch this book, you would turn into a toad,” I say. 

“Really?” She asks, her face paling. 

“Oh, absolutely. It would be instantaneous. You wouldn’t even remember your own life. You’d think you started out as a wee little tadpole. And, anyways, I just love the taste of toad,” I lick my lips with a flare of fangs. 

She gulps. 

I flick through the pages. The supple cover rests on my paws; I can feel its intricate carvings. They’re like rivulets, passing secrets to my veins. 

“Tell me, how was your day yesterday?” I ask. 

Brooke breaks my piercing gaze. She looks down at her feet. She leans back and forth slightly. 

“Speak from your heart, little peanut,” I encourage her. 

“I had a very bad day,” she answers. I can see tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Now, now. Tell old Theodore what’s going on,” I say. 

“Yesterday when I came home from school my terrier Angel was gone. My parents said they took her to a farm so she could live a better life. But I know what tha-“ she stops. Sobs well in her chest and tears stream down her face. I pass her a box of tissues. 

“I’m so sorry about your loved one. But you can be a tiger too. You can be just like me,” I puff out my chest for good measure. 

“How?” Her voice cracks with grief. 

“Show some confidence! Remember your dog loved you! Let that love fill you with an unshakable belief in yourself. Be the person your dog saw you as,” I say, my voice increasing in volume with each word

As I speak a flurry of golden sparks float from my tongue. They drift into her ears. She gets the message. I see her face and eyes light up. 

“Now you best be on your way,” I flip another page, “I do believe your parents are making butter noodles tonight. That’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” she says. Without a gentle reminder my guests would simply forget to slip back into the real world. They could peruse here forever, but too much snooping disenchants magic. 

“Your parents love you very much. They’re only lying because they think it’s easier on you,” I flip through the book “I think it’s best for you to play along.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Hmm…absolutely. But if we chat for too long about it your butter noodles will get cold.”

“Alright. Goodbye Theodore,” she says. I hear a resonance in her voice that wasn’t there before. 

“Farewell.”

She skips out the door. 

“Little peanut,” I say just as the bell rings independently again, “You’re going to need your coat, aren’t you?”

I hear her giggle. She twirls around and dons her cold weather gear once more. 

“Thanks,” she says, before rushing back into the snow. Though the cold is seeping into my shop, I can feel my heart warming. 

As soon as the door shuts, my shop disappears. 

I close the book and toss it onto a random shelf. There’s truly no order here. That’s just one of my illusions. 

Brooke’s ‘book’ is, on all counts, blank. There’s not a single word in the pages. It’s an empty journal, just like everything in Theodore’s Books.