"He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late."
At three on the dot the little girl walked into his bookshop, Mr. Linden's Library, just as she did every day. He greeted her as was customary to their daily routine, but she did not acknowledge him.
"That's strange," he thought. She never failed to respond politely and ask him about his day. Also, she completely bypassed the children's section, heading straight for the back, as if she were drawn to it. The only thing in the back was the self-published section, with was mostly compiled of pregnancy books and nude photography. Now that he thought about it, she wasn't wearing her usual wardrobe of a blazer and slacks, but instead a tank top and sweatpants, as if she had just woken up. Her knotted blonde hair was a good foot shorter, and she didn't have any shoes.
As she disappeared around the corner he decided to check on her, slowly slipping his ratty, red christmas sweater over his head, just to make sure she was okay. You know how kids were these days, always high on pot, or shooting cocaine. Maybe her friends had gotten her into it, and in his heart of hearts, he truly cared for this mysterious girl. As he walked along, he trailed his hand along the books, pushing a few errant ones back into place. But then he heard a strange thump, followed by a few more.
"Please miss, don't hurt the books." She was never like this, always apologizing profusely after even brushing up against a shelf, and handling everything with the utmost care.
As he walked past the final shelf he stopped cold, not believing his eyes. She was manically hurling book after book from the shelf. He barely avoided Prenatal Yoga 101 by de_money_monster_69 before a copy of Floral Arrangements: 102 Designs by May Ryan came flying at his head.
"Where is it? Where Is It!" she muttered as she searched. Suddenly a realization hit him like a truck; he knew what she was looking for.
"But it couldn't be, she couldn't know!" he thought. He had hidden that secret away long ago, along with the soul of his mother. Behind the self-published section he had hidden another collection; because who actually buys form the self published section? But how could she have known about it? No one knew, not the previous owner, not the other employees; it wasn't even on the blueprints!
But, sure enough, she cleared off the last few books, yanked off the back panel, dug around the space behind, and retrieved a hardcover.
He called this shelf the Burdick Collection, named after the man who had brought the books. He had been only ten years old at the time, but he remembered that day as if it was last week. He had been sitting up front with his mother, minding the counter, when a strange man walked in.
The man had been wearing a large, black cowboy hat that completely covered his face. When he lifted his face to talk, he revealed a hideously scarred chin, which went along well with his broken and gravelly voice. He wore faded jeans, and a zipped up leather jacket.
"I'm Harris Burdick," the man had said. "I have some books for you."
"I am truly sorry mister, I am sure you books are wonderful, but we have no money to buy them with," responded his mother.
"That's not a problem," he said, pulling about ten novels out of his bag. "I'll come back later for the money."
"Goodness, those look valuable, are you sure? You don't know if we'll ever have the money to pay you back."
"I trust you."
"All right then, i'll put them up right away."
"Wait, I have some instructions."
"Ok, what are they?"
"I need you to place them in a more hidden corner of your shop, and not to recommend them to anyone. Only sell them to those who can find them, and don't read them yourself."
"That sounds sketchy, are these books dangerous?!" She said, dropping those she was holding back on the counter.
"Absolutely not, let's just say I want to see what happens."
"Alright then," his mother said. "Thank you for coming, we will try to have your money by Friday."
"See you then."
Mr. Burdick never came back to their little shop. Sometimes the boy and his mother thought they would see him in large crowds, but the strange man was always gone before they got there. His very own disappearing man.
The books just sat there for a few months, and nobody came. He all but forgot about it until one fateful night. The boy was having a sleepover with his friend in the shop, and they were sprawled about reading.
Suddenly, the door to the upstairs apartment that his mother and he shared banged open, and she rushed in. She started tossing books about, and yelling incoherently. Once she arrived at the Burdick Collection she became extremely delicate as she chose a book.
Thinking this was another one of her fits, he let her retreat upstairs after handing her her medicine, and returned to comforting his friend. What a mistake. Upon returning upstairs to reprimand his mother for scaring off the guest, he couldn't find her. She was nowhere to be found, and neither was the book. A week later, the book was back on the shelf. She never returned.
After that, he attempted to destroy or move the books multiple times. He tried driving them out of the country, burying them, giving the away, and burning them; but they always returned to the exact same spot, every single time. He ended up just constructing another shelf in front, and trying to forget about these strange novels.
This had happened once before, a Burdick novel being purchased. A usually quiet and polite regular patron, arriving half-mad and demanding a copy, never to be seen and heard from again.
"I would like to purchase this novel please," the girl shocked him out of his past. Composed again, she strutted to the counter at the front, and placed her book on the register.
"That's not a good idea," he said, panicked.
"I would like to purchase this novel, please," she said with more force.
"That's not for sale." He tried to pull it from her clasp, but she held on.
"Sell it to me now, or I will take it myself." Knowing anything he did would only result in her hurting herself, or him, he slowly walked toward the counter. He watched the rain slide down the window, and stared at the grains in the wood flooring, trying to stall.
"NOW."
He slowly opened the register and pulled out some coins, not even bothering to give her the correct change.
"I'm so sorry," he cried, tears running down his cheeks. "So very sorry."
She silently pushed a large wad of cash toward him and disappeared out the door. Realizing his mistake he raced after her, but she was nowhere in sight.
He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late.
For a few days after that he held out on his belief that she might still be here, might not have suffered the same fate of his mother; but all his hopes were dashed when he saw the missing ad in the paper.
He sat motionless for a few hours after that, thinking about what he could have done to save her.
"She was too young," he thought, "too young."
Suddenly he made his decision. He got up slowly from his chair, retrieved a novel from the Burdick collection, opened to the first page and began to read.
"At three on the dot..."
