I reluctantly entered the campus library which took up the three lower levels of the Warner building. Warner, I wonder if it was those Warners who donated the money for the building. Naming a building after the benefactor was a common thing on campus and around town. Every structure held the name of the company or person who donated the majority of money for its construction, and the Warner organization Gwen worked for had to have the money for something like a donation for a building. From what I gathered in passing talk about the Warners they had money and power. Still, why would it be the same people? And what was Gwen even doing on campus?
You know the answer, Joey.
Man it was hard to swallow the truth though, if Gwen was on campus then something not of this–well of my world–was happening. Something I wasn’t prepared for and should stop digging into, but those windows. They bothered me, and what I saw last night, what was it? If it was dangerous wouldn’t my body have reacted like it did to the black dogs? I didn’t feel fear last night, only excitement. Exhilaration.
Leave it Joey.
The rational part of me was right, I needed to find someone’s notes to make copies of for History class. Problem was I didn’t know many of the people in my class, I made it a point to stick to myself most of the time. Making friends was not an avenue I was ready to travel down, and keeping up with my class work was a struggle enough. Sure there were my study groups, but they were mandatory for the class, and outside of our group projects none of us communicated. The no friend lifestyle had led me here, trapped between failing and awkwardly tracking down someone from class. The weight of everything started to push down on my shoulders as I walked the short distance between the outside vestibule doors to the inside doors, and once they opened all of it lifted.
With a wheely squeak of the automatic doors my world settled once the aroma of books greeted me. The muffled hush of the library welcoming with its knowledgeable rows of endless books stacked neatly in their place, the sound of pages turning, pen scribbling on paper, and the light hum of computer keys clicking. Something about this atmosphere always brought comfort, that’s why I spent so much time here. While the quiet in my dorm room felt suffocating and eerie, here it was warm and inviting. Maybe because of the people always around or perhaps it was the books themselves with their years of survival that brought me comfort, and even a little hope. Whatever it was, this place was my sanctuary. My escape from stress and uncertainty from whatever else was out there lingering.
I started to undo my marshmallow coat as I made my way toward the work tables hoping to find someone I recognized from class, but the second I made it past the front desk Mrs. Boisy gasped.
“Joey, Oh Joey dear I’m so happy to see you,” The slender older woman announced as I removed my coat and folded it over my arm.
What now?
“We are in a pickle, and I’m not talking about sweet pickles. More like dill. Nasty bitter dills,” she explained, rounding the desk and taking my arm. I couldn’t get a word in, which was usually the case with Mrs. Boisy, the head librarian. For someone that worked in a place that required little to no talking she liked to talk a lot. She could ramble on about anything, and most of the time I had no idea what she was talking about, like now.
“How can I help?” I asked because I didn’t understand where she was going with her pickle talk.
“Oh, you dear thing. Always so ready to help, bless you.” She chirped, leading me through the alis of books to the back steps.
“Jillian couldn’t make it in, and we need someone to help out. I know we don’t like freshmen to work this close to finals, but I have no one else to ask. Like I said, it’s all pickles.” Mrs. Boisy explained as we came to the back steps that lead to the upper level of the library.
The library was broken into three levels. The basement was for the reserved books, storage, and some other cataloging stuff. I have never been down there, but something about it being a basement made me uneasy so I was happy I was never asked to venture there. Then there was the main level we were currently on. Here were all the reference books, a few tables of computers and tables for those working on research papers, and those students whose teacher’s set aside books for them. Think of it as the main hub of the library, everything happened down on the main level, but my favorite was upstairs. The upper level was more casual and had tables with couches around them in front of a large bank of windows that overlooked the campus. Not only was the view lovely, but the atmosphere was a lot more quiet and studious. A lot of junior and senior study groups met upstairs among the stacks of fiction books, and other non-fiction that didn’t fit downstairs. It was the place for everything else, all the good stuff in the library, including three large rooms in the back full of computers. That’s where I worked, upstairs making sure everyone found what they were looking for. Which no one really needed help with that often. I mainly sat at the desk and made sure the study groups didn’t get out of hand, and put returned books away.
“I guess I can fill in,” I finally answered back, watching her eyes brighten even more when I agreed to work.
“Thank you, thank you!” She all but yelled and got responses of shhhh. “Decker is already up there, we will be closing the upper level at seven so it won’t be too late, and you can study at the desk. Anything you need you let me know. You just turned my pickle sweet.”
Pickle, what was she talking about pickles for? I never understood the woman and her analogies. She was always comparing things to food items and none of them made any senses, but I learned to shrug it off. That’s what I did this time and started toward the stairs, I made it to the landing before what she said really sank in. “we will be closing the upper level at seven. . .” Seven. . . It was December and night usually came around five pm. At seven it would be pitch black, darker than dark, and I would have to walk across campus to my dorm.
In the shadows of the landing I lingered in a stilled panic. I made sure my shifts were over long before sun down, and I never ventured out once the sun went down. Right off my mind went to a murderous red gaze and kackles of laughter. A storm off in the distance with rolling thunder, and my stomach bottomed out then rolled back up until I could taste the bile in my throat. I couldn’t work until seven. No, not in the dark. I would have to come up with a reason to leave early, and really how busy could the library be later in the afternoon?
I would simply tell them I was sick, which wasn’t far off from the truth. With that bit settled I continued up to the top level, but still the unease gripped my stomach. The palms of my hands were still sweating as I approached the desk where a blond haired tall and overly slender girl sat. A smile on her face like usual that brightened when she looked up from the book she had been reading and saw me.
“Joe, are you my partner today?” She asked and I cringed. “Thought I might finally get to meet Jillian today. Can you believe it’s been nearly a month and I still haven’t met her. Not for a lack of trying.”
Decker, a transfer student from up north somewhere (I can’t remember where) chatted on. She was the perky type, a sunny expression always on her face, and she was pushy at least when it came to her friendly nature. She had been trying to make friends with me since the first day we met, but that brought up too many bad memories for me. In fact I found myself on guard around Decker, something about her was off. Aside from the fact she looked like a skeleton with skin. It was hard to explain but sometimes she appeared distorted to me. Like a fuzzy haze followed her around or I was looking at her through a funhouse mirror. Told you, hard to put into words, but whatever it was about her I stayed on edge when she was around, whether or not she meant me harm or was evil, or something like that.
Ugh, stupid paranormal bullshit making me paranoid.
“Yeah, I’m covering for Jillian. Guess she partied too hard again.” I responded in my indifferent tone and moved behind the desk, slinging my book bag under one of the chairs.
“You okay, Joe?” Decker asked, “You look paler than usual.”
I did?
“Yeah, I’m good. And it’s, Joey.”
I made a note to correct my name to her. Decker had another annoying habit of calling me Joe instead of Joey. She said Joey reminded her of an ex, but Joe was perfect for me. She tried to call me JJ but I put a stop to that right off. It was bad enough that I had to see my father’s nickname written out on an envelope full of money every month, I didn’t need some stranger using JJ. No, that name was special and unless it was my father I didn’t want anyone calling me JJ.
Expect maybe Cameron.
I sighed thinking about him, then quickly pushed his memory out of my mind. I didn’t need to linger on some ghost from last year.
“You sure you’re alright?”
Decker pushed and I nodded, not wasting the energy on a response.
“Okay, well I have books to restock, you got the desk for a while?”
Again I nodded, I wanted her to go away. I had things I needed to do. Hopefully it would take her awhile to restock books because I could use the alone time among the quiet study groups to think, mostly on how to fake sickness so I could leave early. If I really looked as pale as Decker said I did then it would be easy.
Decker walked around the desk, went to the trolly of returned books and paused to give me a sideways glance. To encourage her to leave I gave her a smile, the biggest I could manage, and it worked. She smiled back and pushed off to restock the trolly of books. Now to work, the question was what did I focus on. Windows or history notes or my sudden mystery illness?
Copyright J.N. Sheats
Author J.N. Sheats 