The Lost Land Of Aquyas

Library Antics

~*NOTE* : I am aware that my story takes a couple of chapters to get some action, however if you persist in reading, you will hopefully find some enjoyable suspense. This book is targeted at readers of all ages. I am open to feedback, message me if you have any enquiries. Big thankyou to my readers, xoxo :~)~

They say the first point is Miami, Florida. Then comes puerto rico, adjacent to the first. And last, Bermuda.

Please. Let me enlighten you with some food for thought.

The Bermuda triangle. A place of long forgotten shipwrecks, lets just say once you emerge, it is almost guaranteed you will not be home for supper. Or any other meal on that note.

We all have the knowledge of the cruel and unexplainable goings on in this god-forsaken triangle, well, almost. We know of the strange and spine tingling disappearances. The headlines, sprawled across the Sunday news in bold, black ink. What we, as humans, do not yet know, is where they all go. And that is why, the curious beings that we are and always will be, continue to venture into the unknown depths of this famously feared geometrical segment of the Atlantic Ocean.

A particular human being, only 16 however hopelessly devoted to the study of this very topic, is Brooklyn Anderson. Born in the very place, a fine young lady, tall for her age, thick bottle-blonde ringlets. What is she doing right now you say? Ah yes, let's see.

She's in the library. Huh. Typical. Too call her a bookworm would be the understatement of the century. Don't even bother to take your time wondering what she's reading, why, it's written all over her. Everything she does screams Bermuda triangle. It's practically her entire life.

A ringlet slips over her shoulder and cascades towards the ground. Brooklyn promptly tucks it behind her ear, which happens to be colourfully pierced, without permission I must add, with a medley of dolphins and anchors and such, climbing atop one another. She crouches on the third floor, it's practically abandoned up here. Just a queue of towering, ancient oak bookcases, empty, and lining up to be used once again, though they most likely never will be. In a far corner lies the storage room. A place for abandoned and pre-loved books to retire and decay. On the the door a pitiful, "staff only" sign has been carelessly hammered, though the room itself does not posess many secrets. Brook is a regular occupant of floor #3, usually taking any number of fantasy novels and retreating there to read in peace. However today she had discovered a casual box of books on the lower sill of the aisle. What she retreived from it's interior was going to change things for good.

Swiftly licking a finger, she reaches down again to turn the page of her finding, her eyes flicker as she reads, something about a report, another disappearance. Though she is soon interrupted by the soft flickering of the lights above her, the type you should find in a school, long and rectangular, and just as she cranes her neck to observe the change in lighting, she is bathed in darkness. She lets out a minuscule squeal out of pure surprise, a certain mistake.

"Hey, who's there?"

Instantly, she recognized the coarse voice of whom the noise had come from. Anger. Or was it fear that lurked in his voice? Mr Fawcett could hear a pin drop if he chooses. He had been searching for a foreign novel, something about the history of great Britian. It had been registered as, "lost", on the old librarians records, and he was just packing up after a prolonged and exhausting day of seeking on all fours in the storage boxes, unsucsessful. He had relocated one of the larger boxes to the spare bookcase and left it there, much to Brooklyns delight. She better make a dash for it. Brooklyn pats around in the dark, searching for the bookcase where she had not long ago located the earthy brown file which held the answers to her last suspicion. If she was correct, which she could no longer confirm thanks to the librarian, then she could have uncovered a whole new theory. She could make history.

"Answer me right this moment, I-I'm warning you! I'll have you prosecuted, for trespassing!"

The old man questioned his jittery statement. Would it be trespassing? Oh well, if threatening was the way to go then he would just have to persist. Inhaling, a bit too rapidly he later discovered as he spluttered a little, Fawcett located the light switch, and with a convincing "click", the bulbs burst into life. Using a shaky forefinger to right his classic oval rimmed glasses, he leaned to the left and observed the shelved aisle. A gasp, and a quick flicker of movement.

"Brooklyn?"