Why do the books rearrange themselves at night? What causes the temperature to drop in the restricted section? How do the shadows seem to read along with visitors? Why do the oldest tomes whisper when no one's looking? What secrets lie in the forgotten archives?
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“I couldn’t live a week without a private library - indeed, I’d part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor before I’d let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.”
― H. P. Lovecraft
The Garfield Public Library sat nestled between the post office and courthouse like an afterthought, its redbrick exterior weathered by time and neglect. Corliss Verner had accepted the position of head librarian without fanfare or competition. No one else wanted the responsibility of managing thousands of forgotten volumes in a town where reading had become an increasingly abandoned pastime.
The library’s main room housed the usual suspects: paperback romances, outdated encyclopedias, and dog-eared classics. But it was the Restricted Collection that drew Corliss’s attention night after night. Located in a circular room at the back of the building, these books were kept behind a simple glass door with a brass lock that stuck when the humidity rose.
Corliss first noticed the anomaly three weeks after starting the job. The catalog listed exactly 1,108 volumes in the Restricted Collection, yet no matter how many times she counted, she found 1,109. The extra book never appeared in the same place twice, its leather binding unmarked, its pages seemingly blank until viewed under direct lamplight.
When she asked elderly patrons about the collection, their expressions would shift subtly---a tightening around the eyes, a quick glance toward the circular room. “Best to leave well enough alone,” said Rutherford Peele, who’d lived in town for ninety-three years. “Those books were restricted for good reason. Some knowledge isn’t meant for keeping.”
The first disappearance made the local paper---a college student researching local history who was last seen entering the library. Security footage showed him entering the Restricted Collection but never leaving. The police found nothing but his notebook open to a page containing a strange symbol drawn repeatedly across the paper.
There have been three more disappearances since then. Each time, Corliss finds the mysterious 1,109th book open on a reading table, and each time, she counts one more blank page filled with faint, indecipherable text that seems to move when not observed directly. She’s begun to understand that the library doesn’t house books at all---it houses vessels, patient and eternal, waiting for minds curious enough to open them.
The town council has scheduled the library for demolition next month. Corliss has started bringing the books home, one by one. She’s running out of shelf space, but the books are teaching her how to make room. How to fold space. How to create doors where walls once stood. Soon, she will have room enough for every reader who wishes to truly become one with the collection.
