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“Hello.”
I spun around, shocked. The voice had a purring quality to it, almost languid. My own heart was racing - surely anyone I met in the library at this hour would be just as shocked as me. Surely it wasn’t a regular occurrence for people to be prowling these halls in the dead of night.
“Who are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I glanced frantically around the dim room, searching for the source of the voice.
“I have had many names,” replied the dry voice. “My current one is Grimalkin.” And then, the speaker stepped into the patch of silver thrown by the skylight and smiled with a face that was decidedly not human.
Ebony fur coated his skin, thinning on his face and on his hands, which were clawed. Pointed ears twitched occasionally atop his oddly human-shaped head. I could see a tail protruding into the murky darkness behind him. And once I had taken in all of this and believed I could no longer be shocked about this creature’s appearance - even when I saw that he was dressed almost like a pirate - his eyes showed me how wrong I was. His right eye was ordinary enough, appearing a murky brown in the uncertain light. His left, however, shone an unnaturally bright saffron, almost seeming to glow. The sclera was all but nonexistent and the pupil was a horizontal slit.
Involuntarily, I took a step back. The smile widened into a Cheshire grin, revealing pointed teeth.
“What are you?” I managed to choke out, amending my previous question.
“Dark things are going on in this library. Dark enough to give something like me physical form. I am a creature out of the stories. I live in the shadows, but I am on your side, for the most part. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for the things that will soon be given substance if this perversion continues.”
I hesitated. Everything about that made me shudder, made me want to leave this library and not return. But… someone had been sending me notes, and I was going to find out who it was. Although, come to think of it…
“Have you been sending me those notes?” I asked uncertainly, remembering the crumpled sheets, the words repeated over and over across the creamy surface of each one.
“No. I have been receiving notes myself, in fact.”
I was about to ask a follow-up question when I was rudely interrupted by the sight of a ghost floating through one of the walls of shelves. I would’ve been surprised, but my capacity for shock had already been exceeded. Grimalkin, on the other hand, let out a low hiss and moved back into the shadows.
Translucent and glowing a faint cobalt, the specter was a young man dressed in antiquated clothing. Periodically, he would drop a small slip of paper onto the ground, tossing them over his shoulder or simply letting them slip through his fingers. Hesitantly, I bent to pick one up.
Where? It read. Where, where, where?
I turned to another.
Penelope Philips, 23 Darling Crescent, London. The address was repeated over and over.
The archives. The archives! But where? Where? Where? Where?
I straightened, disturbed, before noticing that the trail of these notes led towards a librarian’s desk. Slipped into a stack of papers, in a desk drawer, these notes had been left for the poor librarian to find. Get out. Get lost. Farewell. And, perhaps most disturbingly, enjoy the remainder of your insignificant existence. The librarian seemed to have fled, judging by the state of disarray the desk was in.
Slowly, the ghost slid through the floor, disappearing to somewhere in the direction of the archives. I blinked, letting the notes in my fingers flutter to the ground. “He’s clearing out the library.” I said slowly. “Why is he clearing out the library?”
Grimalkin let out another low hiss and murmured, “I think I know why.”
With trepidation, I followed his feline figure as we wound through corridors and between stacks of books, until arriving in a small storage closet with walls that were chipped and peeling. He gestured for me to look through one of the cracks.
I did so, and was shocked to discover that, buried under endless chambers of the library were the trappings of a once-fine room, sealed off from anything else. And inside the room… “I think we’ve found our culprits,” I whispered.
I spun around, shocked. The voice had a purring quality to it, almost languid. My own heart was racing - surely anyone I met in the library at this hour would be just as shocked as me. Surely it wasn’t a regular occurrence for people to be prowling these halls in the dead of night.
“Who are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I glanced frantically around the dim room, searching for the source of the voice.
“I have had many names,” replied the dry voice. “My current one is Grimalkin.” And then, the speaker stepped into the patch of silver thrown by the skylight and smiled with a face that was decidedly not human.
Ebony fur coated his skin, thinning on his face and on his hands, which were clawed. Pointed ears twitched occasionally atop his oddly human-shaped head. I could see a tail protruding into the murky darkness behind him. And once I had taken in all of this and believed I could no longer be shocked about this creature’s appearance - even when I saw that he was dressed almost like a pirate - his eyes showed me how wrong I was. His right eye was ordinary enough, appearing a murky brown in the uncertain light. His left, however, shone an unnaturally bright saffron, almost seeming to glow. The sclera was all but nonexistent and the pupil was a horizontal slit.
Involuntarily, I took a step back. The smile widened into a Cheshire grin, revealing pointed teeth.
“What are you?” I managed to choke out, amending my previous question.
“Dark things are going on in this library. Dark enough to give something like me physical form. I am a creature out of the stories. I live in the shadows, but I am on your side, for the most part. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for the things that will soon be given substance if this perversion continues.”
I hesitated. Everything about that made me shudder, made me want to leave this library and not return. But… someone had been sending me notes, and I was going to find out who it was. Although, come to think of it…
“Have you been sending me those notes?” I asked uncertainly, remembering the crumpled sheets, the words repeated over and over across the creamy surface of each one.
“No. I have been receiving notes myself, in fact.”
I was about to ask a follow-up question when I was rudely interrupted by the sight of a ghost floating through one of the walls of shelves. I would’ve been surprised, but my capacity for shock had already been exceeded. Grimalkin, on the other hand, let out a low hiss and moved back into the shadows.
Translucent and glowing a faint cobalt, the specter was a young man dressed in antiquated clothing. Periodically, he would drop a small slip of paper onto the ground, tossing them over his shoulder or simply letting them slip through his fingers. Hesitantly, I bent to pick one up.
Where? It read. Where, where, where?
I turned to another.
Penelope Philips, 23 Darling Crescent, London. The address was repeated over and over.
The archives. The archives! But where? Where? Where? Where?
I straightened, disturbed, before noticing that the trail of these notes led towards a librarian’s desk. Slipped into a stack of papers, in a desk drawer, these notes had been left for the poor librarian to find. Get out. Get lost. Farewell. And, perhaps most disturbingly, enjoy the remainder of your insignificant existence. The librarian seemed to have fled, judging by the state of disarray the desk was in.
Slowly, the ghost slid through the floor, disappearing to somewhere in the direction of the archives. I blinked, letting the notes in my fingers flutter to the ground. “He’s clearing out the library.” I said slowly. “Why is he clearing out the library?”
Grimalkin let out another low hiss and murmured, “I think I know why.”
With trepidation, I followed his feline figure as we wound through corridors and between stacks of books, until arriving in a small storage closet with walls that were chipped and peeling. He gestured for me to look through one of the cracks.
I did so, and was shocked to discover that, buried under endless chambers of the library were the trappings of a once-fine room, sealed off from anything else. And inside the room… “I think we’ve found our culprits,” I whispered.