The Library Nobody Spoke Of

The air smelled like dust and pinewood as Evelyn stepped out of the car. Her grandfather’s cottage stood at the edge of a sleepy village, where moss grew on every stone and time seemed to pause between heartbeats. It had been years since she’d visited, but everything looked just the same—peaceful, silent, and slightly odd.

“Go unpack, Evie,” her grandfather called from the porch. “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

Evelyn nodded and dragged her suitcase up the narrow staircase. Her room overlooked the woods, where tall trees whispered secrets only the wind could understand. She liked it here. It was far away from the noise of her city life and even further from the people who never quite understood her obsession with forgotten places.

Later that evening, over warm soup and toasted bread, she brought up the topic she’d been holding onto since she arrived.

“Grandpa,” she asked, trying to sound casual, “what’s the old building near the churchyard? The one with the iron gates and the broken windows?”

His spoon paused midway to his mouth. “That place?”

Evelyn caught the flicker in his eyes—worry, maybe fear. “Yeah, the library, right? Or what used to be.”

“That building hasn’t been a library in over a hundred years. People avoid it now. Strange things happened there.” He shook his head. “Just an old tale. Nothing for a young girl to poke her nose into.”

“But—”

“No buts, Evelyn,” he said firmly. “Promise me you’ll stay away.”

She nodded. But her curiosity was already alive.

That night, she lay awake listening to the forest’s lullaby and thinking of the abandoned library. Haunted, he’d said without saying it. Strange things. Warnings were the best kind of invitations.

The next morning, Evelyn slipped out early, camera in hand and backpack slung over her shoulder. She found the place easily, nestled behind the thick undergrowth and a rusted gate. Ivy crept up the stone walls, and broken glass glinted like fallen stars beneath her boots.

She pushed the gate open. It shrieked, protesting her presence, but didn’t stop her.

Inside, the air was cool and thick with silence. Dust floated in sunbeams that streamed through shattered windows. Books lay scattered on the floor, their pages yellowed and torn. She stepped over a fallen bookshelf, heart pounding with excitement.

Then she heard it.

A faint whisper.

Not wind. Not rats. A voice.

“Who dares disturb my slumber?”

She froze.

The sound came from the shadows behind the counter. As she turned, her flashlight flickered, catching the glint of silver—chains.

And then she saw him.

A figure, tall and pale, sat slumped against the stone pillar. Shackles bound his wrists and ankles. His eyes were closed, but his lips moved slightly, as if waking from a long, bitter dream.

Evelyn took a step back, breath caught in her throat.

His eyes opened—glowing faintly red in the dimness.

“You,” he whispered, as if recognizing her.

“You’re late.”

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