Leape

In which a cannibalistic book eats a child

1

The Compiler smiled down at the desk, tome in her hands. Thoughts came in and out of her mind, whisking everywhere, as she considered what could happen to it.

At least I'm young and I can protect it.

A thought crossed her mind and her brow furrowed, as she wondered what she was to do. There's a lot of blank pages near the back... I never anticipated not being able to fill the whole book.

A small smile crossed her face. At least I still have space to write. But for now... editing. She groaned at the thought of editing all the pages she'd already written.

And so, she opened the book to read what she had already written. A flash appeared. And she and the tome were gone.

***

The book was large and dusty, with a broad, flat, cover, its edges tattered, the inside empty. It was a dull brown color, and Penn Leape wondered if perhaps it had been left there by accident.

He frowned, then looked over at the other books that awaited patiently on his cart, ready to be reshelved.

Why did I sign up for a book job anyways? Penn sighed, putting the book on the cart, alongside the others.

Being a librarian- or, technically, a librarian's assistant had its perks. You weren't surrounded by people all the time. You could take breaks often. But it also had its disadvantages. You truly weren't surrounded by people, and rarely was there anything interesting that happened.

One was surrounded by dusty books that were rarely opened- and Penn guessed they hadn't seen the light of day in ages- and left to their own means, sorting through old ones, occasionally seeing new ones, trying not to die of boredom as the sortage of books commenced.

Penn shelved the first book on the cart- The Adventures of Tom Sawyer- and carried on. The book had been checked out by an older man, one with very little hair and large, circular, glasses. He always seemed to have a mint with him- which Penn had refused several times over whenever he had been offered one- and smelled, generally speaking, of rubber and metal. Which was weird because Penn figured he mostly stayed at home sitting on his porch, but maybe he had some sort of rubber-metal perfume. Which would be odd, but whatever floated his boat was fine.

The floor creaked with every step and the old trolley the books were stacked on squeaked as the wheels turned. Once. Twice. Three times. Constant squeaking was emitted from the wheels, but Penn had learned to ignore it.

Sunlight came in through the arched windows of the library, filtering in through the dust-covered panes and onto the creaky wood floor of the huge building. For such a small town, it was odd to find a building as large as the library, but it was said that the founder of the town- David Arthurs- had wanted a huge area where the farmers and the blacksmiths and the cobblers could read and explore the literary world.

The next book was plain- which was unsurprising since it was rather old. It had a bluish cover, becoming paler near the edges. This one's been well-loved, Penn noted with a surprised humph. It had no design at all, and the cover was painfully empty, nothing to fill the vast space.

Penn shelved it without thought, moving on to the next area. Two books belonged there, one, a brown and green color, small vine-like patterns adorning the top of the first, the second a smallish book, also with a plain color, although this one a red which Penn was surprised had held up to the test of time.

Two books remained on the old cart, one, the ancient tome Penn had found earlier with the frayed edges, and another, this one more modern. The book covering had gone missing, leaving only a well-loved cover with only a slight indentation where the title would be, leaving Penn to guess the name.

He ran his fingers over it, touching the rough, but comforting cover, the dips of the title catching the tips as his fingers moved along. There weren't many pages in the book, Penn realized with a frown, which meant it must've been a kid's book... or a short story. One or the other.

I don't think novellas were a thing back then... he thought with a slight frown before feeling his way over the cover again.

Turtle, he thought with slight amusement, chuckling at the thought. I wonder who wrote this. And who named it. A thought of a group of people in an office, discussing titles filled his mind, and he couldn't help but smile at the scene that played out in his mind. One of the brainstormers, in a black-and-white suit stood up, a grin on his face, before shouting his idea. "TURTLE!" he cried, to which a huge round of applause followed. The walls of the building fell down, and Penn saw what looked to be an award being given to the man whose idea had resulted in the title, and tried not to cause too much of a ruckus in laughing.

I bet that's exactly how it went, the boy thought, brushing a lock of dark hair out of his face, then, when the curly piece wouldn't stay put, he resorted to blowing it- or trying to- out of his face repeatedly, a practiced habit of his.

He pushed the cart back to where he usually sat- behind a large, old, desk, indentations from where someone had pressed down too hard on the paper when writing evident- and flopped down on the swivel chair which made a satisfying squeak at the added weight.

He took up the ancient book, blowing it off, dust swirling off like smoke, going up into the air, the plume so thick Penn gave a cough, waving it away expertly, before he started to open up the book.

And then his world looked almost like a kaleidoscope, colors dancing across his vision, shapes flying from one end of the library to the other, a silver light blooming across his sight before everything was still. Absolutely still.