The Library Of Forgotten Names
953 Words
I was surrounded by thousands of novels.
My focus shifted away from the library entrance as my eyes adjusted to the shadows, and it wouldn't move in my hands. From the floor to the ceiling, enormous shelves extended and vanished into the darkness above.
Each shelf was covered in a thick layer of dust.
save one.
A single bookcase close to the back of the space appeared unaffected by the passage of time.
On its gleaming wood, there was not a single speck of dust.
As if someone had just been there.
Hard I swallowed.
"There's no doubt that I'm not by myself here."
The quiet consumed the words.
My leisurely breaths from a few moments ago had ceased.
Only quietness persisted.
---
One more time, I tried the entrance.
It was impossible to open it.
"All right."
"I might as well have a look around if you're going to keep me here."
The library seemed more like a museum than a space.
High windows were located below historic reading tables.
One wall was adorned with old maps.
Glass cases were full of leather-bound journals.
The air was filled with the fragrance of cedar and old paper.
I touched the spine of the book that was closest to me.
Black Hollow's Establishment.
My gaze was drawn to another.
Hollow Ridge Families.
Then another.
Estate of Hartfield.
Every shelf seemed to be related to the community.
My family, perhaps.
Both possibilities made me feel uneasy.
---
I opened the oldest history book available.
Settlers' arrival over five centuries before was depicted on its fragile pages.
Initially, everything seemed normal.
Harvests.
Routes of commerce.
The church's construction.
The tone then altered.
Whole families vanished without a trace.
According to the children, they heard voices coming from below the forest.
Following their crossing of the old bridge, tourists vanished.
Every disaster concluded with the identical line.
"The Hollow still recalls."
I grimaced.
I'd previously heard something like this.
The proprietor of the cafe.
Black Hollow retains every detail.
I moved forward.
The book was missing several pages.
Age hasn't shattered it.
Deliberately eliminated.
"Someone didn't want this read."
---
My thoughts were broken by a soft crackle.
I raised my eyes.
On the reading desk, a candle had caught fire.
I hadn't set it on fire.
The space was softly lit by its golden light.
"Again, you're doing that."
No justification was given by the Manor.
Even so, I picked up the candle.
Something odd happened when I strolled among the racks.
Small patterns emerged on the wooden panels.
Below the candlelight, silver lines appeared.
Circles are used.
Roots.
Branches twisted together.
The same glyphs etched into the gates of the manor.
The same symbols surrounding the locked upstairs room.
They disappeared without the light.
They radiated softly as a result.
My sketchbook was swiftly opened.
My eyes had learned to recognize patterns after years of sketching.
These weren't random carvings.
Several icons were repeated.
Like components of a larger pattern, others were linked.
I attentively reproduced each one.
"You're trying to convey something to me."
For the first time since my arrival, I found that my curiosity outweighed my dread.
---
A large leather-bound book was located close to the library's middle.
The Hartfield coat of arms was on the cover.
I brought it to the reading table and meticulously opened it.
Before me, generations had lived.
Births.
Weddings.
The mortality.
Centuries of the Hartfield family tree extended.
I then arrived at a broken area.
Several pages had been torn away.
All of the names were absent.
The torn edges appeared new in comparison to the book's age.
I traced the vacant area with my fingers.
"Who wiped you?"
The response was a whisper.
"Lena..."
My feet sprang to life.
"Who is there?"
No response.
Just silence.
Furthermore.
Lena...
The voice sounded nearer this time.
Soft.
Gloomy.
Nearly recognized.
---
I proceeded along the whisper through the rows of shelving.
I was led back to the clean bookshelf by it.
The voice fell silent.
At the shiny wood, I gave it a long gaze.
Its sculptures stood out distinctly from those on the other shelves.
The drawing I had just completed coincided with a single emblem.
I placed my fingertips against it without giving it much thought.
Snap.
Within the wall, the noise was heard.
I backed off.
Between the two shelves, a small gap formed.
Something tiny slid through the hole.
A metal ring hit the wood floor.
A key.
I knelt down next to it.
It was made of silver that had somehow avoided tarnish.
Hartfield's crest adorned the bow.
The instant I held it...
I felt a warmth spread across my palm.
It doesn't hurt.
Reassuring.
It seemed as if the key knew me.
"What do you open?"
---
The answer was instantaneous.
The room was shaken by a strong rumble.
Their shelves shook as books rattled.
The ceiling was covered in dust.
I retreated.
"What's going on?"
The pristine bookcase shook.
Another loud scraping noise resonated throughout the library.
Slowly...
From the wall, the entire bookshelf started to slip.
Stone brushed up against stone.
From the gloom behind, a stream of frigid air blasted forth.
Inch by inch, the opening expanded.
A tiny route descending beneath the Manor might be found behind the shelf.
The scent of the soil pervaded the air.
Age.
and other things.
Something that had been dormant for a very long time.
I gave the silver key a stronger grip.
The whisper came back.
"Come on..."
I peered into the black.
One of the Manor's most closely guarded secrets had been revealed.
And one way or another...
I was aware that it had only opened for me.
- Writer
