The Unfinished Story

We live forgotten in our own worlds, full of despair, lacking a purpose. Some take the form of online drafts; others live discarded in trash bins, crinkled and covered in smudged pencil lead. For one reason or another, our authors abandoned us. 

No one is to blame exactly. Inspiration strikes, new ideas—better ideas—come along, and our stories are cast aside. We simply weren’t good enough. None of us was the cutting-edge story that would make the New York Times Best Seller list. 

Of course, a lot of the younger drafts still hold onto the hope that, one day, our authors will return to finish us, maybe even take the leap and have us published. Only a few weeks old, I’m one of the ones still clinging onto that optimism, onto the dream of evolving from a draft into a full-fledged novel. 

I remember when my author first created my main character, the heart and soul of the story. Through her, I came to life. I began as a young woman in college—studious, quirky, a bookworm. A bit cliché, but people love the classics. Next came the name…I needed something elegant, but not prissy or common. Rosemary? No, that’s a spice. Maybe Cassandra? Yes, that’s the one. I can be called Cass, for short. Never Cassie. 

Then came the physical description: 5’6, chestnut brown hair usually kept in twin French braids, striking emerald eyes, chubby cheeks with dimples, and a curvy figure. Add olive skin, a thrifted outfit, and bitten nails, and the mental picture is complete. 

Of course, every character needs a backstory. Who was I going to be? A doctor destined to make medical breakthroughs but sacrifices having a family and friends for work? A little too cliché. A scientist who inadvertently causes the zombie apocalypse? Definitely overdone. An aspiring writer who is also an impulsive perfectionist with tendencies to self-sabotage? Sounds about right. Maybe a smidge too close to home, but as they say, write what you know. 

Now, onto worldbuilding. I exist in a universe similar to that of my author: no dragons or witches soaring through the air; no epic sword fights, gory deaths or fairytale endings—in my experience anyway. Instead, my story begins in a library, one as mundane as they come. Or so I thought…

***

The University of Green Haven: my parent’s alma mater, soon to be my own whether I like it or not. Nothing is wrong with the university itself, per se; it’s just too small for me, too quiet and confined. Tucked away along the coast of North Carolina, Green Haven has a population of no more than twenty thousand people, a fourth of which are students. That means the classes are small, the dating pool is even smaller, and the nightlife is practically nonexistent. Its only redeeming quality is the library, a place where my world can feel just a little bigger.

Grand and ancient, the library is a maze of towering, mahogany shelves that house books of every sort, from fantasy and science fiction to history and medicine. Round, wooden light fixtures hang from the ceiling, bathing the evergreen walls in warmth, as if imitating the sun’s shine. The air smells earthy, like old parchment paper and fresh rain. I spend every minute of my free time curled up in my favorite window seat located in the back wing, envisioning myself as a warrior princess one day and a detective striving to solve a decade-old cold case the next. 

One night, I had just finished chapter four of a sci-fi novel when a distant shuffling caught my attention. Muffled voices soon followed, along with what sounded like a giggle. Annoyed, I stood up and walked toward the noise. My bet was on a couple taking advantage of the privacy the towering bookshelves provided, but this wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve had to chase away a group of stoners foolishly hoping the musty books would mask the scent of their joints. 

As I neared the source of the noise, I glanced at my watch. It’s later than I expected. The librarian must not have realized I was still crammed in my little nook when she left for the night. That also meant it was a little late for anyone to be sneaking around a university library, of all places. 

Heart beginning to race, I rounded the corner of the romance section, the flirtatious tone of the pair of voices evident as I closed the distance. Only, the couple I stumbled upon were not human. No, the voices were coming from...books? 

Despite the lack of faces, voices seemed to project from their pages. A short, thick paperback, with a lilac cover featuring a princess in a stunning white gown draped over a majestic unicorn, stood upright on the floor. It fawned over a taller, hardcover novel with a black sleeve depicting a scene of a shirtless man boldly pointing a sword at a scaly dragon triple his size. The paperback giggled as the hardcover flaunted its number of pages—418, over thirty pages longer than the “stubby, baby blue Shakespearean snob” the lilac novel used to “share her story with.” 

Unable to believe my eyes—and incredibly uncomfortable by the scene unfolding before me—I gasped, stumbling backwards into a shelf and knocking several books onto the ground with me. A chorus of groans and grunts followed as the disturbed books recovered from the fall. 

"Watch it, girl!" a biography on Hamilton yelled.

"I was having such a good dream. Someone was finally going to check me out!" a detailed history on paper complained. 

I scrambled backwards, trying to put as much distance as I possibly could between me and the living books. Back on my feet, I raced through the rows of shelves until I burst back into the main entrance of the library. Relief washed over me as I spotted the exit across the room, but before I could take a single step, an object whooshed past my face. My fear came flooding back when I realized it was a book fluttering through the air, its pages flapping wildly. 

A pair of fantasy books caught my eye next as they fought on one of the study tables to my left with pens, pages curled around the handles. They leaped from the table to the shelves and back, taunting each other in between strikes. 

“A children’s book has better aim!” one yelled as he—it?— attempted to strike his opponent’s pages. The other book dashed to the side, narrowly escaping the blow. 

“So predictable! No wonder you never get read,” the other sneered, his pen colliding with his enemy’s spine.

Similar scenes of books coming alive were scattered around the room. Children’s books chased each other in games of tag. Manuals and handbooks oversaw paper sports games, ensuring no one cheated and arguing over whether or not house rules applied. Fashion magazines used tables as runways. Young adult novels sat in a corner gossiping about the new library books and which best sellers would be their perfect matches. Theology books bickered over which one of them was the most plausible, while biographies on the Founding Fathers shared a thoughtful, though somewhat heated, discussion with political science textbooks. 

Head spinning, I grabbed the desk nearest to me for balance, closing my eyes in an attempt to clear my mind. Reason had me convinced that this was all in my head. I must have fallen asleep while reading, and this was only a crazy dream. I pinched myself to check, but the chaos ensuing around me continued relentlessly. 

Okay, maybe I was drugged, I thought to myself. In which case...I had no idea what to do. Drink some water? Embrace the hallucinations? Call an ambulance? The oxygen in the room seemed to evaporate as the panic set in. I couldn’t even remember where I had left my phone.  

“Are you alright, hun?” A thick, glossy blue medical textbook asked. Without waiting for an answer, she began diagnosing me. 

“Hm, sweating, trembling, shortness of breath...maybe a panic attack. Does your throat feel tight? Any dizziness?” she asked.

“Yes,” I croaked. 

“Okay, well I’m going to need you to take deep breaths to slow your breathing and clear your mind. Focus on something that makes you happy,” she instructed. 

Ignoring the insanity of the moment, I followed the directions I was given. Closing my eyes, I pictured myself curled up in my bed at home with my favorite novel open in my lap, a cup of tea steaming on the nightstand. Snow fell in a slow but steady stream outside. A warm fire crackled softly. Soon enough, I was able to take in air without gasping. 

“Better?” the book asked. I nodded, slowly. “Good. I’m Neurological Assessment and Treatment, but my friends just call me Nat.”

“Um hi, and thanks. Oh, and I’m Cassandra, Cass for short,” I told her, doing my best to normalize the absurdity of the situation. I mean, I was seriously talking to a stack of paper. Someone get me a straightjacket, already. 

"So, y’all just come alive at night? Like magic?” I asked, figuring I might as well get some answers. 

“Magic, yes. But no, we are always alive. We just can’t roam about until the library closes. If humans see us...Well, we can get into trouble.” 

“Trouble? With who?” I asked. Nat curled her pages downward, as if refusing to meet my eyes. 

“Enough about that. C’mon, we should get you out of here.” 

Confused, I followed her as she hopped down from the desk and led me to the exit. I guess it didn’t matter. After all, when I woke up or the drugs wore off or whatever, I’d never have to think about this insane experience again. 

We were nearing the exit when a screeching white blur came flying directly towards my head. I screamed and ducked, narrowly avoiding the impact. The book flew away cackling, shrugging off the table cloth. 

“Horror novels,” Nat said, shuddering with disgust. “Always playing nasty tricks on the unsuspecting.” 

When we finally reached the door, I gave Nat a quick farewell. But it was locked. I jiggled it three more times just to make sure, but no luck. The door refused to budge. 

“What now?” I asked Nat. 

“Wait for morning, I suppose. But you can’t let the Librarian know you were here,” she warned. 

“Ms. Talbot? Why not?"

“Not Ms. Talbot. But you needn’t worry about it,” she said firmly.

Against my better judgment, I let the matter go. 

I left Nat to wander through the maze of bookshelves, curious to see more of what the living books got up to every night. Now that the fear had faded and the reality of my situation had set in, I found myself enjoying the experience. Chances are it’s just an intense fever dream, so why not have a little fun? It’s not like anything interesting ever happened in the waking world. 

The first scene I came across was a concert put on by the music scores. Some listened intently as a Beethoven symphony brought the notes on its pages to life. Others made snide comments about how the deaf composer was overly dramatic. I left the scene when a Rossini opera decided to be quite the diva and show off for what felt like hours on end. 

A few rows over, a handful of mystery, thriller, and suspense novels gathered around in a circle. I listened to them tell ghost stories for a while but moved on when the conversation shifted to an argument over the most efficient way to murder someone...and get away with it. 

Hidden under a table in an obscure corner were self-help books on gambling and alcohol addictions playing what appeared to be a high-stakes game of poker. I decided not to interfere. 

Two hours had passed before the night got even weirder. I was watching a group of superhero comics act out scenes when they abruptly split up, darting out of sight. A deafening silence consumed the bustle of the library. The clock had just struck 2am, and every book in sight had scrambled back to their home on the shelves. Dumbfounded, I just stood and watched until Nat rushed over and tackled me down to the floor, which was impressive given her size. 

“Ow! What the heck?” I complained.

She immediately shushed me, ushering me to a corner away from the main desk. There, she told me to stay and be quiet before returning to her rightful place. Unnerved, I did as I was told. 

Suddenly, the shelf behind the librarian’s desk slid open, revealing a bright swirl of purples and blues. Out of this strange portal came a lean man in a dark tailored suit and silver fedora. What is he, a 1930s gangster? I thought to myself, suppressing a snicker. Something about his mannerisms, though, sent chills down my spine.

Sauntering over to the Wall Street journals, he pulled one off the shelf.

“Give me the stats,” the young man demanded in an English accent. Terrified, the journal squeaked out the night’s inventory: 12 books checked out that day, 3 returned, 1 late fee payment, and no recently lost books reported. Seemingly satisfied, the man returned him to the shelf. Then he turned to Nat.

“Nat, darling, anything I should know about?” 

“No, sir,” she told him, her voice wavering slightly. 

“And you would never lie to me, right?” he asked, plucking her from the shelf. “Because you know what happens to books who break the rules.” 

“Well, there was a human here earlier, but she’s gone now. She didn’t see us,” Nat lied. 

“Then why," he growled, grip tightening, "do I still sense her?" 

"Where is she?" he asked, looking around at the other books for an answer. "No one knows? A mortal has been walking around, learning about your secrets, and not a single one of you can tell me where she is?" 

Silence. 

"Fine, then I'll just have to resort to other means until someone chirps up, yeah?" 

With that, he seized one of Nat's pages and started tearing it, ever so slowly. The other books shifted uncomfortably in their places, as if trying to shield themselves from Nat's excruciating screams. Guilt set in, and I knew I had to do something. 

"Stop! I’m right here" I yelled, bursting out from my hiding place.

The strange man cast Nat roughly to the side before taking long strides to meet me across the room. 

"Well, well, well, look who stuck around for the fun,” he drawled as he towered over me, two slender fingers tracing my jaw. My skin prickled at the contact, but I fought every urge to shy away. Instead, I met his gaze, seeing his face clearly for the first time. Beneath thin, black eyebrows, his glowing, midnight blue eyes pierced mine. Flecks of amethyst were scattered within, like constellations in a night sky. Short, silvery blue strands of hair spilled out from under his hat. With his hollow cheeks and ghastly pale skin, he looked like a victim of necromancy. His presence radiated power and ice. Like a blackhole, he drew every ounce of warmth out of my body. 

“A pretty one, too,” he whispered softly as his face neared mine, “I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Klaus, the Librarian of this lovely establishment. And you are?”

“Someone who really just wants to go home,” I told him. 

He chuckled, “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find where we’re going to be real homey.” 

With an iron grip around my wrist, he dragged me back to the portal. 

“Well, no time to waste. Shall we, love?” I heard Nat’s protests in the distance, but we were both powerless as the strange man yanked me after him— 

And that’s where my author left off. Another idea about some lost-in-time love story stole her attention away from mine. Now, I’m stuck in my colorless world, lonely and isolated. I spend my days wandering around the library, staring at the books—at my new friends—frozen in their places. 

On rare occasions, I hear my creator remember me and think I still have potential. You see, every character authors create, every world they envision that makes it to paper, is living and connected to them, whether they realize it or not. Only, my creator’s thoughts are plagued with doubt when she thinks back on my plot. 

Is it too predictable? Too Night at the Museum? Too Alice in Wonderland? Am I ripping off Toy Story? I don’t even know where I want it to go, how I want it to end. Twisted dark romance or epic defeat of the villain who can’t be saved? I would hear echo in my own mind. 

Two more weeks go by, and I remain unfinished. My story no longer crosses my creator’s mind. Maybe one day, she’ll return to me. Maybe one day, she’ll figure out the story arc that she’s satisfied with. For now, though, I live in uncertainty, wondering if I’ll ever be given a second chance. 

But wait! I feel our connection once again, faint but definitely there. She is sorting through her drafts now, looking for any spark of inspiration now that she's finished her newest project. She lingers on mine. My heart pounds in anticipation. I silently will her to give me another chance, pleading with her to save me from my miserable fate. 

Miraculously, it works. She begins typing, and the scene around me slowly regains life. Color creeps back into the library, the books no longer paralyzed. I check on Nat, making sure the damage from her encounter with Klaus wasn’t too extensive. Speaking of whom—

“There you are, love,” Klaus growls as he comes up behind me, once again securing his iron grip around my wrist. He leads me back to the portal and shoves me in. 

And so, my story continues.