Stories for Midnight

Night at the Library

Christine has always been a good and avid reader. She could tell you about the countless times in school that she ws so wrapped up in her book that she missed what the teacher was saying and had to be poked to be realsed from her hypnosis, or the other countless times that she had gotten her book taken away. She could tell you about the countless books in her room. And it was common knowledge that in elementary school, for her, the school library was home. So it was no surprise that a fall Saturday found her peacefully reading The One (by Kiera Cass) in the upstairs reading area of her local library. The sun was waning behind the treetops and the warm yellow glow of the natural lighting was perfect for her to read by. Not surprisingly, old habits overtook her, and she did not hear the staff announcing over the intercom that they closed in 15 minutes. She did not hear then saying to please exit the building. And when the staff made their rounds, they did not notice her curled up in the corner in her favorite recliner. So it was quite by accident that when she looked up due to lack of lighting she found herself alone in a locked library. As she spent a lot of her time there, she was not really afraid, and pulled out her phone to call some staff member. Then she saw the battery flash across the screen, and remembered that she had forgotten to charge it that morning. She had left the house with 20% battery. Signing in annoyance, she began to walk across the hallways and isles to find a phone to call somebody. She walked down the stairs, pausing to adknowledge the beauty of the paintings hainging on the walls in the almost moonlight. The sun had already set and soon the moon would be out but not yet. She walked downstairs to the circulation desk, but she did not have a number to call. She paid for a vending machine drink and snack and then decided screw it, i'll just find a comfortable couch and sleep here. But as the moon was not even out she found a book off of the shelves and opened it up. It was a book on mytholgy, and as she was a college student taking that course, she felt like it would be ok in place of doing her homework that night. She had finished most of it anyway, and her mytholgy class was on Tuesday. So she read and read and got halfway through the explination of acient spells and rituals when she got bored and decided to walk around some. She was completely at home in the library that she knew by heart, and decided to look back at the paintings to see how they looked in the moonlight. Something felt different about them, but she assigned the blame to the lighting and moved on. She went downstairs again to use the bathroom and try to get on a computer, but though they would boot up they would not allow her to log on because it was after hours. Slightly annoyed, she shut the computer back down and went back upstairs. As she passed the paintings, she was frozen still as she noticed that one of the paintings that had depicted a dancing ballerina was empty. The balleriana was not in the center of the picture. Christine was imminsely scared and confused, and ran frantically onward towards the chair that she had sat in. But then, stepping out of the shadows, was the balleriana, a cruel smile on her face. Christine screamed and spun around to run the other way, but behind her was the plantation painting's farmer. She screamed again, louder, and this time tears made their way down her face. She looked to her right and dashed down the isle. She could hear the ballerina and farmer give chase behind her, and increased her speed. But she was an academic, not an athlete, and the farmer and ballerina began to gain on her. As she ran her mind was screaming about how this had happened and why they had come to life and how this was possible. But then they got her. The ballerina clamped a hand over Christine's mouth, muffling her screams, and this confused Christine on some level because if she wsa alone why do that, but her overwhelmed brain did not process that and when she saw the pitchfork now in the farmers hand she thrashed and writhed. But the ballerina was strong and held on to her as the farmer strode over. He then extended her arm and, with a grin chilling and full of malice, plunged its needge thin tips into her arm. Christine screamed. Then the pitchfork was yanked out. Blood dribbled from the four clean puncture wounds along her arm. Then with a gasp she yanked her throbbing arm away from the ballerina who scrowled at her. The farmer backed up a little bit, then out of an overall pocket drew a knife. Christine sobbed at the sight of its glinting sharp metal. At first the farmer toyed with her, dragging a line across her belly and carving holes into her skin. The ballerina had taken Christine's shirt off and she felt so overwhelmed with the pain from her midriff and feeling of hopelessness and feeling so exposed. Blood had stained her jeans and collected in warm pools of liquid rose. Then, with a fluid motion, the knife expanded to a sword's legnth and he cleaved her leg from her body. She screamed and convulsed, then her body when into shock and she blacked out. For a short period of time, she woke up, and she felt the strangest feeling on her neck. Her leg was sending unberable messages of pain coursing through her body, a unertheral kind of pain that took over Christine's mind and thoughts. Then the word faded away to black.

They found her the next morning, still shirtless, hung on a fan with her body slowly rotating and the area where her leg had once been dripping blood to a massive pool below.