3.1 KiB
title: Scene 5 ID: 5 type: md label: 4 compile: 2 setGoal: 1000 charCount: 2992
The heavy door swung silently inwards at my push. A quiet bell tinkled, and ancient floorboards groaned faintly as I crept inside. The little daylight that shone through the lead-paned windows was aided by copper lanterns, and one dim, antiquated light bulb. The air smelled of dust, lamp oil and something slightly sour. Mismatched bookshelves lined the walls from uneven floor to low, wood-beamed ceiling. "How do you do, sir," whispered a sudden voice. I sprang to face the speaker - an old man in a black coat and top hat. He stood silently where there had been no-one moments ago. "May I be of assistance?" "How... Where did you come from?" I choked, pushing down the feeling of needles on the back of my neck. "Where I come from is a long story," he said, pretending to misunderstand me. "Do you have a particular book in mind?" I noted his unusual attire. Like my surroundings, he appeared to be of an earlier century. His frame was skeletal, his skin blotched and papery, and his eyes deep and yellowed. He should have been too frail to walk, let alone creep up on me, but something in his bearing kept me wary. His lips pulled open in a crooked smile and he raised his hat, letting a few wisps of bone-white hair escape. "Good afternoon," I greeted, matching his formality. "I'm here to find out what happened to my sister two days ago." "Ah, the lovely young lady with the honeyed hair," he recalled. "Such an intelligent lass. She took a special interest in the old books." As he spoke the word 'old' the lightbulb flickered and a cold wind whispered through the maze of shelves behind me. It was the English word, but in the strange man's voice it had another meaning behind simply the description of age. A deeper, fouler meaning that woke primeval memories of terror and despair. "Alas, the old shelves are now barred to customers." His gaze flashed towards a low stone doorway I had not yet noticed. Before he could continue, I strode through, into an even dimmer chamber. The shelves here were carven from a dark and twisted wood, and stretched far into a shadowy, unsettling distance. The books upon them were ancient and sinister, each of a different size and thickness, but all were bound in dark leather embossed with that indescribable writing of which my father had spoken. I cannot recall that dark alphabet even now - I dare not. When I remember the jagged alien characters, they crawl and pulse in my mind. My fingers twitch, and I must strain my will to prevent my hand from scrawling them upon this page. I stood dumb in the aisle, cursing my own courage and overcome by the hideous immensity of the evil into which I had foolishly charged. The night's dream rushed back to me - the cobbled street, the twisting bookshelves... I knew then that the shapeless shadow would appear and pursue me through this labyrinth. "Eric?" called a soft voice from within the shelves. My sister's voice. "Sophie!" I bellowed. "We have to get out of here! You shouldn't have followed me!"