The Messy Man by Chris Sorensen

Author:Chris Sorensen [Sorensen, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harmful Monkey Press
Published: 2020-10-12T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ellen’s eyes snapped open. Where was she? She was being smothered. She was trapped. A coffin? Was she in a coffin?

She sat bolt upright, tossing off the weight encumbering her and shoved hard on the lid.

A midnight-dark room awaited her.

I’m in the library. I’m in the library.

The mantra calmed her racing heart. Ellen gripped the sides of the donation box and lifted herself out.

It’s night. Why is it night?

The only lights in the place came from exit signs and a stray reading lamp, left on by the newspaper rack. She rushed over to the lone lamp and held up the watch attached to her pack.

11:02.

Ellen had once found a box in the closet her father kept at her mom’s apartment. Inside were wonders—comic books that weren’t quite comics. Instead of ridiculous superheroes, the kind her classmates drooled over, these contained stories that lit up her young mind. Frankenstein, War of the Worlds and the one that would haunt her dreams, Rip Van Winkle. The idea someone could fall asleep and awaken years later was horrific to her.

And yet, what had she done? She’d gone and Rip Van Winkled her way to 11:02 at night.

Mom!

Even more frightening than the prospect of losing half a day was losing the opportunity to cover her bases with Rita. Abandoning the pool of light, Ellen picked her way to the front desk. She hadn’t noticed a single security camera while casing the library. Heck, the Maple City Library hadn’t even shelled out for magnetic security sensors at the front desk. The folks in this town were on the honor system.

She slipped behind the desk and was instantly on edge. This was Mrs. Flynt’s domain—this was Scorch’s lair. She shook off her nerves and reached for the phone. The line lit up, she pressed 9 and dialed her mom.

As before, there was no answer. That was either good luck or bad news. Rita was either locking lips with the postman or filing a police report.

Returning the phone to its cradle, she looked out at the dark room. The Night Library, as she dubbed it. She wasn’t afraid, and this surprised her. The prospect of Rita’s finding her out, now that terrified her, but standing alone in this place, even after the visions she’d had? Nothing.

It was because Dad was close. She could feel it. He might not be as tangible as the rats or the busload of dead folk, but he was near. The message in her pocket, the money in her backpack, the birthday card—how could she be frightened when Dad was close at hand?

With an entire night to kill, Ellen decided a second visit to the history collection was in order. The Porter interview might be toast, but perhaps there might be some other useful information she’d overlooked.

She walked to the stairs, relishing having the whole place to herself.

When I grow up, I won’t have a living room or a dining room or a guest bedroom. I’ll turn them all into libraries.

She descended the stairs, eager to dive into the clutter of boxes and stacks of old books.

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