Continuation of Choice Words.
Ms. Millward was already precariously balanced on a chair when the charm above the front door jingled merrily. She grasped at the bookshelf beside her, swaying slightly. Now, who could that be, at this time of night? She thought, glancing up at the stubborn ink spot on the ceiling. It would have to wait, she supposed.
Carefully, she climbed down. She felt no rush. This library had a lot of tricks up its sleeves – or between its shelves, she mused – and she wasn’t worried. That is, until she remembered that she had closed the library early that day, and was fairly sure she had locked the door.
“Why,” she muttered to herself, picking up her pace as she moved through the quiet library, “do these things always happen in threes?”
She was about to turn into the large foyer of the library when a wispy figure appeared to her left.
“Mildred!” Agatha whispered, her outline fainter and more shaky than usual.
“Agatha, is something wrong?” Ms. Millward asked, her brow furrowing in worry. Agatha had always been a worrier, but Ms. Millward had never seen her this upset.
“There’s something wrong, Mildred,” Agatha panted, as if she was struggling against something Ms. Millward couldn’t see. “As soon as the door opened, spirits started to swarm me. They know, you see, that I can move between the realms, that I know and trust you.” She reached out a trembling hand, and grabbed Ms. Millward’s shoulder. It felt like she had been doused in liquid nitrogen, cold racing down her arm and across her back.
“Agatha, please,” she said, shifting away from the ghostly touch. “You know what cold like that does to me know. I’m not as spry as I once was.”
“Mildred,” Agatha continued, ignoring her gentle chiding. “You need to be careful. Whoever just came in here, is bad.”
“Bad?” Ms. Millward asked, waiting for more information, but Agatha had vanished.
“Hurry, Mildred,” her voice echoed.
Ms. Millward took a deep breath, straightened her skirt and her shoulders, and marched out into the foyer. Her eyes fell on a man standing behind the circulation desk, trying to force open the cash register.
She watched him for a moment, taking his measure. She didn’t like what she saw. Young, but not youthful, he had an average build, unremarkable features, and, for all that he had broken into a library and was trying to steal from the register, he had a calm energy about him, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“You won’t find much in there, I’m afraid,” she said calmly, and was pleased to see that he did jump at her voice, even though he tried to shrug it off.
“Library’s closed,” he grunted. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Ms. Millward tilted her head. “I know. I’m the librarian.”
He swore.
“What brings you to my library at this hour? And,” she said, glancing at the dark “open” sign, “against my posted hours?”
He ignored her. She presumed he didn’t consider her, with her ruffled blouse and neat bun, much of a threat. She smiled darkly to herself. We’ll just see about that.
“Look, lady, I just need some cash and a place to lay low for an hour or two. No one needs to get hurt, and no one needs to know I was here. Capisce?” He tapped a gun she hadn’t noticed before on the counter. Apparently, she was supposed to see it as a deterrent.
“Oh,” she said vaguely, “I see.” She took a few steps forward, staying on the balls of her feet so that her small heels didn’t click against the stone floor. She thought wistfully of the old rugs that had filled the foyer when she had first become a librarian here. Sneaking around like this wasn’t as easy as it used to be.
“Seriously, lady, cool it,” he snarled, upon seeing her edging closer.
She held up her hands. “I’m just trying to avoid a draft,” she said, her mind racing. She needed to find a way to keep him distracted. Something that would keep him here until she could get help…
A breeze blew against her neck, and it took everything in her not to jump.
“Asssssk hiiiiim,” a voice moaned in her ear. “Assssk hiiiim why he ruuuns…”
The chill that crawled down her back told her everything she needed to know. The spirits Agatha had been warning her of, or at least one of them, had broken through. She had to play this carefully. Or, she thought, assessing the man before her, maybe not.
“How about a bet?” she asked abruptly, and as she hoped, it was an odd enough statement to get his full attention.
“What?” he snapped.
“How about a bet?” she repeated, holding her ground.
“Why would I do that?” he growled. “I have the gun, so I say just shut up and leave me to my business.”
“Why?” she asked gently. “I have the feeling you are an intelligent, reasonable young man, and we can come to some kind of arrangement.”
He stared at her, calculating. She could see the glimmer of pride in his eyes at her assessment of him, though he tried to suppress it. Let his pride be his downfall, she thought.
“What kind of bet?”
All these young fools are the same, she sighed to herself. Aloud, she said, “the life or death kind. Although, preferably, we can both come out of it literally alive.”
He looked confused.
“I bet,” she continued, “that, if I cannot figure out what brought you here, within an hour, I will let you go, and pretend I never saw you here.”
“Is that so,” he sneered.
“Yes,” she replied primly. “But,” she continued, “if I can surmise why you are here, why you appear to be running from something, within an hour, then you will peacefully turn yourself in to the police, at least for trying to rob my library.”
He stared at her. She tried to look a little worried, not so much so that she would be deemed hysterical, but not so calm that he became suspicious.
Apparently she had hit the right mark, both in her demeanor and her general sketch of his character. He needed to be right, to be in control. He needed to prove he was smarter, better, than she.
“All right,” he grinned, and even she had to admit, he had a nice smile. “I agree to your terms. But,” he said, lifting his gun, his smile sharpening, “I keep this with me.”
“As you wish,” she said, thinking fast. She needed to retain the upper hand, and have some of the library’s power help her. “There is a little sitting room off the hall there,” she said, pointing toward an open archway across from her desk. “Shall we sit there? This entryway can be a little echo-y, and is not nearly as comfortable.”
He glanced toward the arch, noting the lack of a door. So, she wasn’t trying to lock him in. He flicked the gun at her, indicating that she should go first. She really didn’t like having guns in her library, the cold metal thing mocking her, but she moved on its command, nonetheless.
She settled herself into an armchair, her back to the ornate, empty fireplace. He settled himself in another armchair, his facing the archway and the front door.
“All right,” he barked, his gaze boring into hers. “Let’s hear it.”
“Well,” she started. “I think it is only polite to start with introductions. I am Ms. Millward, and as you know, I am the librarian here. What may I call you?”
He paused for a moment. “Niall.”
“Liiiiiesss,” hissed another voice, just for her. A second spirit had joined them.
“Well, Niall,” Ms. Millward said, not wanting to anger or confront him just yet. “I must think you have done something wrong, if you are resorted to breaking into libraries and threatening old women like me.”
Niall sneered again. “Oh, come on. That’s your great reasoning? What you thought would get you out of this?”
She looked at him over her small glasses, as she did to overly-rambunctious children. “I hadn’t finished yet, Niall.”
He frowned, not quite meeting her gaze.
She settled back in her chair. “Now, the question is what kind of bad thing you have done, and why it has come to you running away.”
“Becaaause they knooow.” A third voice. This was really not good. The more spirits that congregated together, the greater their power became. If there were enough of them, she wouldn’t be able to control their actions, and more things might be damaged than her library or the man before her.
Niall sat tapping his fingers on the pistol. She needed to keep him engaged, but not defensive.
“I think you may have hurt someone, Niall,” Ms. Millward said, softly.
That got his attention. “So what if I did? What if she asked for it, huh? Thinking she’s too good for me, that she’s better than me. Stupid bitch.” His control slipped, and she could see the raw fury brewing beneath the surface, amplified by fear.
“So you did hurt someone,” she said, gently.
“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes dark. “Do whores like that really count as people?”
Ms. Millward’s hands clenched the arms of her chair briefly. She tried to keep her voice steady, as rage and disgust rose in her throat. “I think everything in this world deserves respect.” And especially everything in the rest of the worlds, she thought to herself, trying not to shiver as the room became incrementally colder.
“Yeah, sure, of course you would think that,” he said, dismissing her. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering with this. I should just shoot you.”
“You are bothering,” she said quickly, before he could raise the gun, “because I can tell you things you don’t know. Things that no one knows.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Asssk about Monicaaaaa.” The first voice was back. Ms. Millward sighed. At least, for now, there were only three. Three, she could handle.
“I can tell you about Monica,” she said, watching his face closely.
She was not disappointed. His face contorted at her words, the bored veneer dropping to reveal the turmoil inside him.
“How do you know that name?” he hissed, raising the gun. “How the fuck do you know that name?”
“She’s here, Niall,” Ms. Millward said calmly. “They all are.”
His face went blank, before he burst out laughing. “You expect me to believe you are, what, psychic, or something?” he howled.
“Something like that.” She wasn’t about to reveal her library’s secrets.
“So coooold,” another voice moaned. Four. Four, she could maybe handled.
“You left her, and probably others, somewhere cold,” she continued. “In the river, maybe? Or,” she swallowed, “in some kind of freezer?”
He grew very still. Had she pushed too far?
“How could you know that?” He spoke so quietly that she almost missed it. “The name, I get. She was all in the papers. But how could you know…” His grip steadied on the pistol, aiming it right at her. “How could you know?”
“They are here, Niall. I told you.”
“Waaant to riip him, shreeed him, kiiill him.” Another voice, so much angrier than the others, and so much more powerful. Ms. Millward realized that Agatha had not made a reappearance, and began to really worry. If these spirits had made it past Agatha, and Agatha wasn’t able to come back and help… That was not good.
The lights flickered suddenly.
“What the hell?”
Ms. Millward tried to stay calm, but even she was unnerved. “It’s an old building,” she said. Filled with vengeful spirits.
“Well,” he said, glancing at his watch. “It’s only been fifteen minutes, but I am done with this. Prove to me, now, that you know what I did, and maybe I’ll honor our little wager.”
The ghosts whirled around her, all clamoring at once.
“Heee kiilled us-”
“-soo coold, so scared.”
“Monica, I’m Monica-”
“-name is Tracey, please-”
“-tell my mom, her Simone is gone.”
“Grace. He won’t take my name too…”
“He won’t get away with this,” the fifth voice said, and this time, even Niall could hear it.
“N-Ni-Nina?” His voice quavered.
“Yessss,” the voice hissed. “And we will make you suffer.”
Ms. Millward felt the power growing behind her, felt the spirits rush past her, and there was nothing she could do. Normally, she tried to mitigate the damage disturbed spirits left in their wake, tried to help them move on peacefully, without vengeance. But before she could even react, the spirits had thrown themselves at Niall, had wrapped themselves around his head, and slowly, they sank into him, disappearing from her view.
Niall did not react well to this. He screamed, the scream of a hunted, haunted man. He waved his arms wildly in the air, and Ms. Millward surged forward, snatching the gun from his limp hand before he could do any more damage.
She watched as he continued to scream, as he fell to the floor, wracked with sobs.
“Help me!” he cried. “Make them stop!”
“I imagine they asked you that,” she murmured, knelling on the floor next to him.
“My name’s Miles,” he blubbered, clutching his head. “I’m Miles, and I killed them. I killed them all!”
“I know, Miles,” she said, and for a fleeting moment, she felt sorry for him. Having five spirits determined for revenge screaming in your head couldn’t be pleasant. But then she remembered how scared some of them had sounded, so young. Taken from their families, put through who knows what, before being discarded like trash. No, she didn’t feel that sorry for him, after all.
She slipped her cell phone from her cardigan pocket, dialing three numbers.
“Yes, Amy? It’s Ms. Millward at the library. We had a break-in – no, I’m fine – but the man here is confessing to murder. Please send some deputies as soon as you can. Thank you, Amy.”
She stood, and watched him writhe on the floor. He was mumbling to himself, and Ms. Millward decided she didn’t want to know what he was saying.
Soon enough, the door burst open, and several deputies, a paramedic, and a couple firefighters rushed into the library. She pointed mutely at Miles, still convulsing, and the paramedic and two of the deputies quickly went to work.
She gave her statement, assured everyone that she was quite fine, and watched as they removed Miles from the building. They insisted on doing a sweep of her library before leaving, and though she was touched by their concern, was slightly annoyed. She was fine, after all, and her library was fine.
Once they had all left, with another round of her assuring them that she was absolutely fine, she shut and locked the front doors, heaving a deep sigh. She was getting too old for this. Her mind idly wandered, and she was surprised to find that her feet did as well. She glanced around, realizing she was in the romance section.
A shimmer to her right caught her attention. “Oh, my, Agatha,” she breathed.
Agatha looked pale, as if she was just a faint streak of smoke instead of the substantial form she usually took.
“I couldn’t stop them,” Agatha whispered. “I tried to stop them, to help them, but they wouldn’t listen.”
“I know,” Ms. Millward said. “I met them, briefly. They were too angry, too scared. There wasn’t anything you could do.”
“But now they are trapped!” Agatha wailed. Ms. Millward had never seen her friend in this state, and she wished she could hug her. “They are stuck with that monster, bound to his soul, until he dies and is dragged down to the Pit where he belongs.”
Ms. Millward recoiled slightly at the venom in Agatha’s voice, at the cold that suddenly enveloped her. Then the cold evaporated as quickly as it had appeared.
“I’m sorry, Mildred,” Agatha muttered.
“I am, too.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
“I am so tired,” Agatha finally said. “I’m going to rest now.”
“I will see you later, then.”
Agatha gave her the faintest of smiles, before slowly melding into a bookshelf.
Ms. Millward sighed deeply. The rest of the ink could wait. She went back to her small office, packed up her bag, and shut down the lights. As she locked the back door behind her, she tried to ignore the two thoughts bouncing around her mind.
One, that Agatha hadn’t confirmed that Ms. Millward would see her again.
And two, that these things always came in threes.
Inspired by a writing prompt from Writing Prompt Generator.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020