Whispers in the Stacks

Lydia, Max, Tara, and Ethan enter an old library on Halloween night.

Brittle tree branches rattle in the wind, mingling with the faint laughter of trick-or-treaters. Carved stone gargoyles on the library roof glare down at the four friends approaching the gothic style entrance.

"Why this place?" Lydia pulls her coat tighter around her shoulders, her breath visible with every word. "It gives me the creeps."

Max jangles the keys he'd swiped from his dad's desk. "That's the point. What's Halloween without a little bit of the heebee jeebees?"

"I heard Old Lady Sturtevant was into weird stuff before she vanished." Tara adjusts her camera, ready to capture any signs of paranormal activity. "We might catch something awesome."

"Yeah." Ethan deadpans. "Like the latest edition of Ghost Hunting for Dummies."

Tara glares at her skeptic of a boyfriend. "Buzzkill."

"But you love me anyway." Ethan blows her a kiss. "I've heard enough of my family's stories about this place and what my grandma did to be a skeptic, all right? We doing this or what?"

Max inserts the key into the lock. It takes all four of them to shove the door open, hinges screeching in protest. The maw of the hallway stretches out in front of them, lined with endlessly stretching bookshelves. Lydia swallows hard, hesitating on the threshold as her friends move inside.

Max glances back at her. "Last chance. You can still back out if you want. No judgment."

"Not from you." Lydia agrees. "But Tara won't let me hear the end of it. Let's just get this over with."

"That's my brave girlfriend." Max holds out a hand to her. Lydia takes it, fully aware he can feel the tremors of fear in her fingers. "I'm going to make it up to you."

"You better." Lydia struggles to keep the unease out of her voice. "After this, I want Winnie the Pooh and Charlie Brown and chocolate."

"Reese's pumpkins and fluffy Halloween kid shows for the rest of the night." Max assures her.

Ethan glances back at them. The family stories tied to the library play across his mind, filling him with a sense of duty he can't quite put his finger on.

The temperature drops as they approach the circulation desk. Mildew and old paper assaulted their nostrils. Light from their cell phones picks up the books stacked so high it's a wonder they haven't fallen over. Cobwebs and dust drown the desk, frozen in time since Old Lady Sturtevant's disappearance. A tarnished bell rests on the corner of the desk. Max rings it on impulse. The sound jangles through the silence, then abruptly cuts off.

"Seriously?" Lydia rounds on him. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Just livening up the evening." Max smirks. "Maybe we can wake up Ethan's family's ghosts so they can tell us the history of this place."

"Hardy, har, har." Ethan keeps his back to his best friend, eyes searching the stacks. Where is it? Where?

Max shakes the bell again. There's no sound. He tips it over. "Clapper's still there. Maybe it's broken."

"Put it down." Lydia slams the bell back onto the desk.

Tara is darting around the room, phone camera at the ready, taking in every possible corner. She frowns, lowering the phone and fiddling with the settings. Ahead of her Ethan trails his light across the shelves, pausing about halfway up.

A leather bound book sits all by itself, its spine cracked, cover corners broken. There's no title, nothing unremarkable about it, really, except the way it seems to draw the light into itself. Ethan's brow furrows. There's something about it that pricks at the back of his mind.

"You find something?" Tara's voice snaps Ethan back to the present. She's standing at his elbow, camera directed at the book.

Ethan doesn't answer. His fingers itch with the inexplicable need to pull this book from the shelf. His hand moves on its own, wrapping around the cracked spine. Icy fingers trace up his spine when he manages to pull the book free. Pages flutter as if moved by an invisible hand, faster and faster until a draft sweeps through the room, extinguishing their lights.

A whisper wraps around them, too soft to make out individual words. Light appears, not from any of their phones, but from the book itself. A slightly greenish-white that illuminates the words on the page. Each letter begins to dance, shifting and squirming.

"The hell?" Ethan's eyes widen when the letters finally stop moving, forming a message that he reads aloud. "The librarian's last wish awaits."

The library seems to sigh, the air thickening with some unseen presence. Ethan snaps the book shut, but the damage is already done. The whispers grow louder, swirling around their heads.

"Okay, I'm done," Lydia's voice trembles.

She turns, making for the exit, but the door slams shut before she takes two steps. Locks clatter into place, sealing them in.

"Ethan…Ethan…Ethan…"

The sound is unmistakable now—someone, something, is calling Ethan's name.

"This isn't funny." Ethan's voice jumps half an octave.

"Nobody's laughing." Max assures him.

The four of them move in a tight little knot. The floor creaks and protests every footstep.

"Ethan…Ethan…Ethan…"

Ethan gulps.

"You ok?" Tara grasps her boyfriend's arm. It's icy cold.

"Fine." Ethan's hands tighten around the book, grateful for the darkness that hides his lie.

"I'm good."

Turning a corner, they enter a reading room. The air is more oppressive, the silence heavier. A single lamp in the corner flickers to life, making their cell phone lights redundant. Several plush chairs are scattered around the room, their cushions coated in dust. Stacks of books line two low bookshelves, covers worn from use.

"Check this out!" Max moves to the table in the center of the room.

The book resting on its top is double the size of the rest, even the one in Ethan's hands. Silver inlay on the cover dances in the lamplight. Its pages are edged in the same silver. A single word is embossed on the leather cover: Sturtevant.

Tara drops down next to the table, flicking the book open. For a moment, the only sound is the dull snick, snick, snick of her camera, capturing images of the pages. In spite of herself, Lydia sits down next to her, marveling at the illuminations and calligraphy.

"My dad said Old Lady Sturtevant was a limner." Max traces the outlines of one of the illustrations. "You know, like in medieval times? Those people who painted stuff in books so they looked all fancy? Guess she did this as a hobby or something."

"She did." Ethan confirms. He hasn't moved from beside the door since they came in. "She gave my mom an illuminated family tree on her wedding day."

The whispers are back again, louder than before.

"Ethan…Ethan…Ethan…"

"Make it stop." Lydia shudders. "It's scaring me."

"Yeah, ok. Maybe we should leave." Max gets to his feet.

Another thud, and the door to the reading room slams shut.

"Or not." Max mutters. "What do the 'Ghost Hunters' do now?"

Lydia feels her way across the room, rattling the door handle. "It's locked."

"Of course it is." Tara's fingers scramble for her phone. "I'm calling my mom. She'll know what to do."

"Can't. The building's shielded." Ethan doesn't sound quite so skeptical anymore. He stays where he is, just next to the door frame.

"Excuse you?" Tara snaps.

"The whole town is." Ethan's fingers twitch around the book. "By magic."

They stare at him like he's just sprouted a tail. He knows how to actually make that happen, but this isn't the time or place to demonstrate that. He can't shake the feeling there's more to this than just some haunted building—it's connected to his family legacy. The library's secrets are no longer stories.

"Magic?" Lydia's face pales. "You're kidding. You are kidding, right?"

"Is a family story." Ethan mutters. His words are starting to slur together. "Didn't think…it was real til now…"

Tara turns her phone back on, turning it in the direction of her boyfriend. Ethan's face is taut, staring down in horror at the book in his hands. The cover glows, sucking light from Tara's phone screen.

"Ethan." Max is on his feet. "Put the book down."

"I can't." Panic is laced through Ethan's voice. "I can't—my hands are stuck."

"Ethan…Ethan…Ethan…"

Ethan's eyes dart around the room as the whispers grow louder. His hands are indeed stuck to the book—his fingers look like they're part of the cover. His mouth dries out, vision swimming, knees buckling as he sags against the doorframe.

"Ethan! What do we do?" Tara whimpers. "There has to be something we can do."

Lydia darts over to the table, flipping through the pages of the book. "We need to find out more about what this is."

Max nods, pulling a book from one of the shelves at random, flipping desperately through pages. Odd arcane symbols are painted side by side with mythical creatures, with captions in a language he doesn't understand.

Tara stays next to Ethan, casting tense glances at Lydia and Max. "Ethan, try to stay calm."

"T-trying." Panic coils inside Ethan's chest. He tries to pull his hands free, but the book holds fast, its hungry force draining everything he is. A sudden wave of nausea hits him, churning his stomach. "It's like…this thing's pulling everything in. Feeding on me or something. I can't—can't feel my hands anymore!"

"Ethan…Ethan…Ethan…"

The words are clear now, burrowing into his skull. Every beat of his heart thuds in his ears. He barely suppresses a groan at the sensation of a thousand needles stabbing into his palm.

"Got it." Lydia darts over to Max, who's still frantically flipping through pages. "We need to recreate this."

Max stares down at the illustration Lydia is pointing to: a woman surrounded by a bright aura, hands are locked around a book the same size and shape as the one Ethan is holding. His eyes narrow at the diagram on the bottom of the page.

"Nothing else to lose, right?" Max shrugs. "Ethan? How's it going?"

"Not great." Ethan's answer comes through clenched teeth. An icy grip clenches his bones, each breath a sharp stab of frost, but he manages to force his lips into what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "Hurry up."

Lydia, Max and Tara dart around the room, rearranging the furniture in a pattern that imitates the diagram. With no other instructions on the page, all they can do now is hope. The whispers become more chaotic, almost screaming Ethan's name. Ethan cries out, sagging against the door frame.

A column of light explodes from the book's cover, propelling him backwards into the far corner of the room. Lydia swallows a shriek. Max and Tara freeze, watching the light ricochet off the walls, the furniture, the lamp, before coming to rest as a glowing orb on the floor—right in the center of the makeshift diagram.

"Hurts." Ethan whimpers. It isn't real. This can't be real. The pain begs to differ. It's not needles in his palms anymore—they've turned into knives, attacking every bone, every muscle, every sinew in his body. The sensation of being hollowed out from the inside leaves him gasping. "It hurts…"

His eyes roll up in his head, his body sliding bonelessly to the floor. Tara screams his name, and it takes both Lydia and Max to hold her back, their own fear mingling with concern. The orb pulses, vertically elongating, taking the shape of a woman, dressed in clothes that were fashionable decades ago, white hair piled on top of her head, her face a web of creases and lines.

"Old Lady Sturtevant?" The name comes out of Lydia's mouth as little more than a squeak.

The woman nods, smiling. She extends a spectral hand toward them, almost a predatory beckoning. Lydia frantically shakes her head. Max is frozen. Tara throws herself forward, intent on getting to Ethan. The woman's hand moves in a sweeping motion, and Tara is flung back against the wall.

Old Lady Sturtevant's eyes-a cold and piercing blue-scan the room with an almost detached curiosity, taking in the disarray of the room, the petrified friends, and finally, the far corner. Ethan is slumped against the baseboards, still hands welded to the covers of the book.

"Ethan." Her voice is smooth, emotionless, almost hypnotic. "Ethan, wake up."

Ethan's eyes snap open. He staggers to his feet, each movement agonizingly slow. His expression is calm, almost resigned. He shuffles toward Old Lady Sturtevant, each step dragging, eyes fixed and clouded with pain, hands still welded to the book.

The ghost watches him. Her expression shifts the closer he gets. Not into something malevolent, but softer, sweeter-an expression of recognition.

"Ethan." Her voice is clearer, more affectionate. The hand she holds out to him is no longer threatening, but an invitation. "Hello, honey."

Ethan nods, lifting the book toward her outstretched hand. "Hi, Grandma."

Old Lady Sturtevant's smile widens, recognition flickering across her face. When her transparent hand meets the cover of the book, the sickly light on the book's cover transforms into gold, streaming like fairy dust over the room. Ethan's fingers loosen, finally able to let go. The oppressiveness in the room fades, the whispers dissipating. Golden light spreads as Old Lady Sturtevant's expression changes to a look of peaceful resolve.

"I didn't know—" Ethan chokes out, eyes filled with tears. "I mean, I didn't realize—"

"Thank you." The ghost of his grandma replies softly, gratitude shining in her eyes. "For returning the book. For remembering."

Lydia exchanges bewildered glances with Tara and Max. Max reaches tentatively for Lydia's hand, squeezing it for reassurance. Tara's phone hangs slack at her side.

"You're welcome." Ethan reaches out toward the spirit again, breath hitching as he fingers slide through her transparent shoulders. "I love you, grandma."

Old Lady Sturtevant nods, her hand resting in the space near Ethan's cheek. "I love you too, monkey."

She begins to fade, her form dissolving into showers of golden sparks. The temperature normalizes, and the door to the reading room clicks open.

"Wow." Max finally breaks the silence, his face completely devoid of color. "Halloween just got a whole lot…weirder."

"Weirder?" Lydia smacks him, her voice pitching hysterically. "Is that really all you've got to say?"

Tara's eyes look ready to pop out of her head. "I am never making fun of haunted houses again."

Lydia gapes at them. "How can the two of you be so freaking calm about this?"

"The only reason Tara isn't screaming," Ethan is back in deadpan mode. "Is because you are."

Lydia glares at him. "Can we go home now?"

Max plants a kiss on her cheek. "One Winnie the Pooh and Charlie Brown marathon coming right up."

"Complete with Reese's pumpkins." Lydia reminds him.

Tara hangs back as the other two leave the room, her eyes locked on Ethan. "Sooooo, story?"

Ethan shrugs. "This place is part of my family history."

"That's it?" Tara pouts. "No more details?"

Ethan laughs. "I'll tell you after Halloween."

"Whatever." Tara rolls her eyes. "Come on, Winnie the Pooh actually sounds like a great idea right now."

Ethan glances back over his shoulder as he follows his girlfriend out of the library, the relief inside him palpable. The book's magic was real. He had passed the test set by his ancestors. The burning sensation in his palm—etched with "ESV" for Ethan Sturtevant Vargas—reminds him of the power and responsibility he now carries as the next town guardian. His family's legacy is secure, and his hometown is safe for another century.