3
The library smelled like wet dust. That was the first thing I noticed, followed by the faint crackle of fluorescent lighting above me, flickering lightly. Which was fair, honestly. I hadn’t stepped foot in a university library since I dropped out of grad school, and back then I wasn’t exactly the occult section’s most loyal visitor.
But here I was, clutching a notebook full of increasingly unhinged observations about a possessed doll that whispered to me, made me come in my sleep, and definitely moved when I wasn’t looking. The logical part of my brain, the part that liked neatly restored paintings and clean brushes and answers, was having a very bad month.
The occult section was tucked in the farthest corner, behind a dusty pillar and next to a broken radiator that hissed like a snak
