Mr. Linden

     He had warned me, don’t stray to the books on the west side of the library, but you cannot tell an eight year old girl that and expect her to listen. I had been full of curiosity; what books were on the west side of the library?

     “Jemma, don’t go to the west side of the library,” Mr. Linden reminded me as I skipped through the doors and I shot him my eight year old smile, “And don’t look at any of the books.”
     “I won’t!” I promised as I continued to skip through the library until I got to the children’s section.
     After finding two or three books I plopped myself in a chair and began reading.
     My mind strayed though; I kept looking to the west side of the library; what books were over there? I had to know. I just had to.
    I set the books I had found earlier back onto their appropriate shelves, and quietly tip toed to the front desk, Mr. Linden’s desk.
     Instead of the older man that usually was there, a young woman sat behind the desk instead. She hadn’t seen me, the desk was very tall.
     I walked over and grasping the top of the desk pulled myself up to peer over, “Hello,” I said as the woman gasped, her hand going to her heart as she stared at me.
     “Hello,” I repeated as she shook her head.
     “What are you doing?” she asked as I smiled at her; my perfect eight year old smile.
     “Where’s Mr. Linden?” I asked as she shook her head.
     “I don’t know, I was called in, there was an emergency somewhere,” she told me.
     “Oh. When will he be back?” I asked; my plan was already forming in my mind.
     “Honey, I don’t know, do you know where the child books are?” she asked as I nodded.
     “I’m going to go back to read! BYE!” I said a little too loud, but I raced away before she could shush me.
     I made it seem like I was walking to the children section, it was on the East side, but once out of her view I took a left instead of taking a right.
     I was going to the west side of the library.
     As I walked into the west side I noticed drastic changes. For one the lights were darker, and there were shadows all over the place; just that scared me. As I walked deeper into the library I saw a single book on a podium.
     Curiosity killed the cat they say, and I walked closer to the podium; what was the book?
     The podium was high, so high, I glanced around quickly, but I didn’t see or hear anyone. I raced to a table, grabbed one of the chairs, and dragged it back.
     SCREEEEEHHHH.
     I stopped dragging the chair and looked around, I didn’t see anybody running towards me and shushing me, so I hurried dragged the chair to the podium.
     SCREECH. SCREECH. SCREECH.
     I stopped constantly; checking every direction, but nobody was looking, or racing to tell me I was not supposed to be in the west side of the library.
     Finally, I reached the podium; I dragged the chair right next to it and climbed up, up, up, until I could see the book.
     It was old.
     Probably older than Mr. Linden, it was so old I was afraid I might break it, was this why I couldn’t go to the west side of the podium?
     I heard talking, and I could have sworn I heard Mr. Linden; I had to get out of here.
     Taking a deep breath, without a second thought, I grabbed the book and stuffed it into my backpack. I grabbed the chair and dragged it back quickly to its right spot.
     It was hard work, but I had to make sure nobody knew I was in the west side of the library.
     Once the chair was back in the exact position I had taken it, I raced back to the children’s section. Then I made my appearance.
     I walked back to the desk, and this time I saw Mr. Linden and the woman there talking in hush tones, “Bye Mr. Linden! See you tomorrow!” I called out and I quickly raced out the doors without a glance back.
     I ran down the sidewalk and to my house. I clambered up the front steps, through the door, shouting a quick, ‘I’m home,’ to my mother before I ran upstairs to my room.
     I jumped on my bed, took the book out; I was ready to see what this book was all about. Did it hold any secrets?
     The book was hard to open, it felt like it was glued shut, annoyed I threw the book across the room, just to see if the book pages rustled, and hopefully the book would open.
     No luck.
     The book hadn’t opened; annoyed I stomped over to the book and brought it back to the bed, was it glued shut? I looked at it and tried to think, how I was going to open the book?
     “Open,” I commanded and at first nothing happened, but then I saw the book shake slightly, and then it opened.
     Vines poured out of the book, heading in every direction, I let out a squeal and backed up against the wall trying to get away from it.
     I was not fast enough, because just as I hit the wall a vine wrapped around my wrist and I slumped, my body hitting my bed, and just as my eyes shut I saw the vines. They were moving much slower to lay in the book, and then I shut my eyes.

     Forever sleeping.