Okay, so right off the bat I thought I’d share some crucial information with you. Since this is a blog about writing, and not travel, this is not a post about travelling. Also, f there ever existed a place called ‘Lucifer’s Library’, I would personally steer clear. Just sayin’.
So, then why this crazy title? Well, it is a long story but I won’t bore you with the particulars. Here is the twitter-sized version:
In Grade 8 we were told to write a horror story for Halloween. My result was Lucifer’s Library.
As I mentioned yesterday, I would be sharing this little gem with you. It’s my first shot at the horror genre, something I only tried to tackle a couple other times. This story is not a work of any kind of literary merit or genius (I was only in Grade 8 when I wrote it), but it is interesting – for me, at least. Maybe you’ll like it. I certainly like the premise and the plot; it’s just the writing that is lacking slightly. But back then I didn’t have all the life experiences and writing knowledge that I do now, at the distinguished age of……nevermind.
Well, what else can I tell you? I’m trying to keep myself occupied because I have to work in the front room – instead of my wonderful bedroom – because I get to hand out candy to all the little children today. So far, no children in sight. I don’t blame them, though. It is -15 degrees Celsius. Yikes!
I actually prefer not getting interrupted and, besides, the fewer children that come here means the more candy there is for me. 🙂
Here’s Lucifer’s Library. Enjoy this piece of my childhood writing while I enjoy this piece of candy.
She was greeted by an old man with an old, kind face. He’s nothing like what the stories say, Janet Green thought to herself, curiously observing the old man.
The sweet old man smiled. “I knew you’d be coming here soon.” He stood behind his desk which faced the front doors to the library, which he ran by himself.
Janet frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, seeing the man as more peculiar than creepy.
He smiled again. “I’ve seen the way you look at this place when you pass it on the street.” His eyebrows rose, opening his eyes wider, and yet they seemed to darken slightly. “I’ve seen your attraction to this place.”
Does he use this line with all his customers? Janet thought, giving the man an unimpressed look. However, she couldn’t help but begin to feel an urge to look around, as she had felt each time she walked by the place. “I guess I’ve always been interested in this place,” she said with a shrug.
“You’re different than the others, Janet,” the old man replied, his smile fading away. “I can see it in your eyes.” The old man clasped his hands together, stepping out from behind his desk. “But, alas, let’s look at the books, shall we?”
Janet nodded eagerly. “That’s why I’m here.” She followed the man to a large room behind the desk, filled with bookshelves upon bookshelves of books upon books. It all looked rather welcoming and fun. All but one lonely shelf, in the darkest corner of the room.
“What’s on that shelf?” Janet started towards the shelf, which housed a single, leather-bound book.
The old man reached a hand forward and caught her arm, squeezing tight. “Don’t go there,” he snapped. His aged features formed a look of warning. “Don’t open that book! It’s an evil book, and only dark and terrible things have come to those who read it.” He waved his free hand around the room, and his face lit up in an angelic smile. “You can read any book you like, any book at all – except for that one.” His narrow finger fell on the book in the corner across the room. “I’m warning you now, don’t let it take you. Resist its calling.” He let go of her arm and smiled again, something he seemed to do a lot. “Now, stay as long as you wish, and take as many books as you wish.” With that he turned on his heel and walked back to his desk, barely visible from between the rows of bookshelves.
Once again, Janet found her eyes staring at the book in the corner, but she quickly averted her gaze to another book, on a shelf beside her. She pulled it off the shelf, meticulously examining the cover. It looked interesting enough. With one last look at the book in the corner, she turned and left.
The next morning she told her father not to pick her up from school, because she said that she would walk home. On her way home, as was her intention, she stopped off at the library.
“Did you finish your book?” the old man asked.
“Yes,” Janet cried. “It was amazing! I couldn’t stop reading!”
“Then you may go pick another,” the man said, taking the book from Janet’s hands.
She entered the book filled room she had been in yesterday, but felt a presence, as if someone else was in the room. After Janet was satisfied she was alone, she realized that the book in the corner, that had caught her attention before, seemed to be emanating its own life force. It was the most peculiar sensation that Janet had ever experienced, so she walked up to the book and pulled it off the dusty shelf. There was neither a title nor a picture on the cover. A part of her wanted to put the book back on the shelf, but the part that wanted to open the book was taking over.
As if fighting herself, Janet finally decided to open the book. She didn’t quite understand what she was reading, but her eyes were glued to the pages so she just read. As she did, her eyes became suddenly bloodshot. Janet was never the same again.
Janet threw the book to the ground, wishing that she had never opened it, and ran out the library, into the pouring rain. She was intent on getting as far away from the book as possible, not even realizing she was heading for her house until after she arrived.
The old man back at the library had run outside, only to see Janet disappear around the corner. “Janet,” he called, “I thought you were different.”
Janet’s father ran to her when she came in the door, dripping wet and out of breath. “Janet, honey! What’s wrong?” he asked.
Janet suddenly burst into tears. “I shouldn’t have done it! But it was taunting me! Tempting me to open it and read it!” She ran to her bedroom and slammed the door.
She fell on her bed, wiping away her tears. Before she could lay down, her father knocked on the door. “Are you all right, Janet?”
“Ya,” Janet called out, realizing she was being stupid. She took a deep breath and tried to be calm. She was stupid if she believed anything would actually happen to her. “I was practicing for the school play,” she lied, complete with a fake smile. “I was hoping to get an honest reaction from you.”
“Oh,” her father said. “You’re really good. You made me think something was actually wrong. I guess I’ll let you practice.” He closed the door, and Janet felt a sudden chill.
She ignored the fact that her clothes were still wet from the rain, and laid down on her bed, snuggling up with her blanket. Feeling something hard under her head, she sat up and moved her pillow, wondering what was there. Janet jumped up from her bed, staring down in horror. It couldn’t be, but it was. Lying on her bed, where her pillow had been, was the book from the corner in the library.
Janet felt pain growing inside of her entire body, but as if being controlled by some other force, she sat back down and opened the book. Instead of words, like the first time, Janet found only bloodstains on the thick, dusty pages. From the crease of the book, wicked vines slowly snaked out. The gnarled vines slithered up her body until they tenaciously grappled her neck, squeezing tightly.
Janet tried to scream, but couldn’t manage a sound. Thorns on the vines were cutting her neck, and her blood fell to join the other stains on the pages. She tried to use her hands to rip away the vines, but it was a futile effort that only led to her hands getting cut up. Janet was pulled down to her bed, one side of her face pressed against the mattress. After a short while, when Janet finally stopped fighting back, the vines receded, the book closed, leaving Janet cold and limp. And as a wicked voice sounded all the way around the room, saying, “Goodnight, Janet,” she dove into a deep, dark sleep, and didn’t ever again wake up.
And all the while, the old man from the library sat at his desk, a pen in hand. On his desk was a piece of paper with a different name on every line. The first dozen or so had lines through them. He brought his pen down to the paper, and crossed out the next name on the list: Janet Green. His dark eyes then fell on the name below it, a twisted smile dawning on his face.
Well thanks for reading.
P.S. Just thought I’d warn you that I think I saw your name next on the list. :S