Unforeseeable Events

Panic at the Library Part 6/ El Trasho

The group of kids went back into the house and up to the third floor to find their key. Unbeknownst to them I had circled around up high then swooped back down and jumped through shadows like a frog from lily pad to lily pad, to keep a careful eye on them. One could say that I had  a bird's eye view of what was happening.

As they bumbled about, scared out of their minds I thought about the events that led me to where I am tonight. It all started one dark Saturday night. A large group of my so called friends were heading out for a wild night in the infamous abandoned building known as the Queset House. The locals were convinced the place was haunted but it was only groups of us teenagers partying it up on the week ends. On this particular night we were sneaking through the cold, high grass, looking to enter stealthily through a side door. 

We were a strange crew. Zeke had brought along his double edged axe which was supposed to be for chopping a hole in the door so we could enter and then stealing pieces of the valuable mahogany woodwork inside, especially the gorgeous ornate banister that led past the stained glass windows to the third floor. Zeke, however, kept saying that he'd use the axe on anyone who was foolish enough to try to stop us. But nobody believed him. Laura, who I hoped would become my girlfriend that night, provided the sass for our group. She was the most rebellious teenager in town and always dressed like Mad Max, black leggings, black leather jacket and tattered scarf. She once confided in me that her life's dream was to speed through a ravaged, post apocalyptic landscape on a Harley, woofing down strip after strip of crisp, delicious bacon. That was the night I fell in love with her because my last girlfriend was a vegan and she nearly bored me to death constantly listing things she wouldn't eat. When she decided to go both gluten free and raw, I broke up with her.  

Laura was the beauty of our operation and Corrin was the brains. He had provided us with the plans and encouragement to break into the Queset House tonight with Zeke's crazy axe. He had also been clever enough to make some black market connections so we could sell the stolen mahogany and anything else we could carry out of the house. I was the tortured graffiti artist, the great and mysterious El Trasho. But, alas, I was built to create art, not mayhem and violence. So when Zeke came after me with his axe because I had just told one too many knock-knock jokes, I couldn't fight back. I ran but tripped over an antique umbrella stand.

"Hey!" Zeke exclaimed as I got back to my feet. "Be careful. The staircase is right there."

Zeke, Laura, Corrin, a few kids I didn't know well, and I shined our cheap flashlights to where Zeke was pointing. There it was- the mahogany staircase.

"So," Laura began casually. "Who wants to go up to the third floor? I hear THAT place is actually haunted!"

"No thanks," Zeke responded. "I'm gonna... work... on this staircase."

"And I'll stay here!" Corrin exclaimed, trying and failing to hide his obvious fear. "Protect Zeke, yknow?"

"Riiight," droned Laura. "What about you El? What's your stand?"

"I'm coming," I volunteered, swallowing my fear. This would be the great chance to impress Laura.

A few others volunteered as well, and Laura led us up the stairs. Once we reached the second floor landing, we set our sights on the thin third-floor staircase.

Without hesitation, Laura ripped away the rusted old "Authorized Personnel Only" sign and threw it behind her with a careless flick of her wrist.

Never stopping, she charged up the stairs, and the rest of us followed in single-file.

"So what about this place is haunted?" asked a boy behind me. What was his name? John, maybe?

"C'mon, Henry," Laura sighed exasperatedly. So that was his name. "You should know. They say a long-dead librarian haunts one of the bedrooms. I say we spend the night."

I didn't respond to this proclamation, and neither did anyone else. We quickly reached the third floor and found the bedroom.

It was a large room, L-shaped, and Laura was the first brave soul to poke her head around the corner. Rolling her eyes, she assured us everything was fine with it.

We got into a few antics over the next few hours, all set to the rhythmic chopping sound of Zeke's axe on mahogany. It seemed he wasn't making much progress.

More than one time, Laura mentioned the fact that this room was haunted, and we brushed her off after many moments of anxious anticipation.

Finally, long into the night, we decided to go to sleep on the floor. However, just before we could do so, the door to the room slammed shut with a bang.

Wind swirled around the room opening the boxes that were stacked up mostly in one corner and rustling the random books and clothes that had been tightly packed away in the boxes. Everything began hurtling through the air. I just barely dodged one book that appeared to detail the use of prayer.

I looked at Laura, my heart beating out of my chest, because I needed reassurance.

She looked completely terrified.

"Let's get out of here!" she yelled, all confidence abandoning her. She ran desperately towards the door, followed by everyone in the room. I moved to join them, but was struck down by a particularly aggressive book. Through a concussed haze, I managed to read the title: Who's Who in Thoroughbred Racing, an Equestrian Account of Statistics by H. Q. Varella.

Laura threw the door open, and everyone ran out. I regained my balance, but the door slammed again as I neared it.

My hands fumbled for the door, but it was locked. My being was overtaken by a sudden and penetrating cold- but I only felt it for a moment. Everything went white, and I wasn't me anymore.

Words, images and memories that were not even mine flashed through my head, searing my consciousness. I saw them, felt them, became them:

Once upon a midnight dreary...

And then I was flying.

Ever since that night, I've been swooping around inside and outside Queset House waiting for the right people to show up... the people who needed my help the most, in order to survive their hellish but not written in stone fate.

...

Before the crew of kids jumped back into their car to head out I heard the tall model type yell, "Someone call Taylor and Adelaide and tell them to meet us in the graveyard behind Unity Church at midnight. They can walk there from their neighborhood if they're able to sneak out."

Sarah, the girl who had driven them there answered, "They're always sneaking out, so no problem." And she took out her phone and proceeded to call them.