The Library

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

A Local bookshop is broken into and every copy of one novel is stolen. The author wants to know why.

The Library

Writing was in my blood. My father had been a writer, quite a successful one at that. I had always loved reading his stories. I started writing when my father died. It helped me get over his death. His last words to me had been to write. To never give up on writing. So I didn't.
Unlike my father I never used my real name. I would rather have not had the expectations that follow you when the world discovers you have a talent. So I used  a pseudonym. I saw what the stresses and strains of being an accomplished writer could do. The heart attack that killed my father had been brought on by the stress of trying to meet demands. 

But I still had my own, self induced, expectations to deal with. My last novel hadn't turned out as I had wanted it and I had been awake and writing for three days straight to correct the atrocity that was "The Library". It was my first venture away from Sc-Fi and into horror.

I decided I needed a sense of normality. Hot, sweet tea was the answer. Abandoning my desk and the disorganized notes strewn across its surface, I headed for the kitchen.
I heard the comforting rattle of the letter box and soft fwump of the post hitting the doormat. Normality achieved. 

I was shocked to see the headline of the paper as I bent to pick it up.


I knew the bookshop. It was just round the corner from my house. I went there whenever I had spare time. They knew me well in there. I scanned the article for details. My heart stopped.

'The only things taken from the shop was the latest novel 'The Library' by critically acclaimed Sci-fi writer Willow Mortigan. The back entrance to the shop had been opened. It is believed that is how the thief gained entry to the shop.
The following day an envelope containing money was left at the scene with a note saying it should cover the cost of the books and apologising. it ended with the line ' It needs to be fixed'. Police are still baffled by the confusing crime.'

Only 'The Library' by Willow Mortigan? That was my pseudonym. It sent shivers down my spine. It needed to be fixed? Of course it did, That's why I was re-writing it. But the book hadn't even gone onto sale yet so no one else aside from me and my editor would know that it wasn't up to my usual standard. 
I had remained crouched by the door as I read the paper, my feet and legs getting cramped and aching. Forgetting about my plans to make tea, I checked the doors were locked and retreated to the safety of my workroom. 
Trying to push it from my mind, I went through the rest of the letters. A bank statement showed that a large amount of money had been drawn out of my account a few days ago. It was the same amount that had been left at the bookshop to cover the cost of the books. 
My heart was racing. I needed to calm down. I needed to forget all of this and calm down.

I set the newspapers and letters aside and started to gather up my notes. I had spent too long on this re-write and came to the conclusion that it was driving me mad. I stuffed the notes roughly into a large folder and strode defiantly towards The Cupboard. 
It was an antique cupboard that I had inherited from my father. It was where he had kept all his notes and transcripts. And that's what I put in it now. It was the cupboard for novels I would probably never finish and most likely not even start. But when I opened the cupboard, ready to catch the avalanche of note pads and folders that always feel out on me, I froze. Instead of the usually cacophony of papers, I was met by the sight of neatly stacked, pristine books. Each one the same, each one staring guiltily back at me.

The folder I had been holding fell open as it crashed to the floor. Twenty copies of 'The Library' took up the space in the cupboard.
I looked down at the folder that I had dropped. It had fallen open. But all the pages that spilled out bore the same message.


Written over and over again in what was unmistakably my own handwriting.

Submitted: July 23, 2015

© Copyright 2022 Ana Mosity. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



Wow- mysterious and creepy. I enjoyed it!

Tue, July 28th, 2015 2:27pm


Thank you :)
I'm still trying to decide whether to continue the story or leave it as is.

Tue, July 28th, 2015 7:49am

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