Between the Stacks

‘Listen, I don’t know what you want me to do, but I’m here now. It's taken some time, and whether you were here first is irrelevant. I’m staying.’ Said one of the voices.

‘No. I don’t think so. If it’s too many of us, the librarian would find out, and then we’re all doomed.’ Came the response from between the stacks of books.

‘I don’t think it makes a difference. One or two, all the same in this case.’

‘Aaahrg! You’re putting us both in danger!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, you just want this place to yourself.’ Said the newcomer, exasperated. They both looked towards the window across the aisle, thinking this through. Spring was here in full force. Birds were starting to reappear, chirping amongst the blossoms in the cherry trees out front. The sun was gently spreading across the visitors’ tables by the wall, illuminating every name, secretly scratched by a student over the years. Short love stories, long forgotten. A book falling to the floor somewhere at the front of the room brought them back to the present moment. The voice continued talking with a twinkle in his eye, ‘And I can understand why. Look at it, all of those ancient books, full of stories, hundreds of hands have held them, before carefully preserving them on the shelves of this beautiful, old, Victorian building. All of them, just waiting to be devoured. I get it. But I’m not walking away. You'd better get used to it.’

The conversation stopped abruptly due to the squeaky wheel of the librarian's cart, coming slowly towards them. The library was otherwise empty. There wasn't anyone sitting at the tables who might otherwise have gotten annoyed by the squeak, so the librarian didn’t try to hide it. In fact, she enjoyed the noise, which felt like a little rebellion in a world full of rigid rules. It was her job to enforce those rules, and she was good at it. Nobody dared cross the line in her presence, which made for a beautiful and peaceful library environment.

The librarian was a lady of no more than 30years of age. Perfectly groomed at all times. Never a hair out of place. Dressed all in carrying shades of black and grey, a knee-length skirt, a conservative cardigan and sensible flat shoes. She had a long, pointy nose, full lips and shoulder-length golden hair. Though she always kept that in a tight, perfect bun and the low back of her head. She didn’t need glasses but felt as though a large, square pair would complete her look better. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she also knew they would act as a shield between her and the outside world. She was, of course, right. And so she owned and wore a pair of glasses, daily, with no prescription, but nobody needed to know this.

She placed the last book from her trolley back on the shelf and started humming a lullaby song, rolling the trolley back to the Return section. The song was oddly comforting and seemed to fall in tune with the squeaking wheel.

Little did she know, she was not alone in the library, or else she would never have made a peep of a noise. She started straightening the books on a nearby shelf, placing them in alphabetical order, before deciding to reorder them by height, but then changed her mind again and went back to alphabetical order. All the while, humming her lullaby. Once satisfied, she placed her hands on her waist, nodded approvingly to herself for a job well done, just like always, and got back to her squeaky trolley.

‘She’s coming this way; we'd better hide.’ Whispered one of the voices.

‘Actually, do you know what?’ The other responded, ‘I’m done with this. I’ll face my fears and see what happens. Maybe times have changed, and things are different now. Perhaps all of this is old fairytales, us living in fear.’ He waited for the librarian to start walking to the back of the shelves, which didn’t take long. Visitors tend to discard books all over the tables, so she had a constant stream of books to tidy. He was ready. Ready to step forward in front of her. But he was disappointed by the fact that she didn’t quite reach those back shelves before returning to the desks at the front of the room. This wouldn’t do. If he was gonna do this, he’s doing it right.

‘Are you crazy?! Of course, times haven’t changed, please don’t!’ Said the new companion, irritated. ‘You die, we both do, it’s not just you.’

‘Well. You should’ve thought about this before you chose this spot, then, shouldn’t you?’

He waited for the library lady to reappear, and so she did no more than a minute later. The gentle steps got nearer and nearer. He took a deep breath, exhaled and stepped forward. The moth soared through the book aisle, amongst the stacked shelves and out into the open like it was his last time. This was her queue. She made the few steps back to her desk, where she had the spray bottle and rushed back to the middle of the room, amongst the tables. She’s waited for this, and she was nothing if not prepared for it. The plastic lid came off, bottle at the ready. She pressed it. Pressed the button and held it that way, floating the spray around the room as if dancing ballet. Time seemed to slow right down as if it had gone into slow motion. The moth soared through the air one last time in graceful circles around her. The librarian closed her eyes, revelling in the moment. She concentrated on the cloudy lines of toxic liquid amongst the shelves, arm outstretched, circling the air. A moment of true freedom. Birds are still chirping in the background, sun rays still illuminating the scene. He floated around the airborne spray until everything went black. The sound stopped, the light was gone. The vicious smell was nowhere to be found, either.

A couple of weeks down the line, the librarian was gone. The toxicity in her blood killed her, too.