LOST AND FOUND and Other Stories (A Collection of Creepy Tales)

LOST AND FOUND

Our heat's out again. The furnace has been on the fritz for weeks, but my dad can usually coax it back to life. He likes to brag that he has the touch, with the ladies and the appliances. The ladies part is a joke, since he never dates, but he's generally pretty good with fixing stuff. Except this time. This time, the furnace died and stayed dead.

So that's why I'm at the library. It's nearby, it's free, and it's warm.

It's also huge. I used to come here when I was a kid – my mom brought me every Sunday for storytime – but I haven't been back in forever. It looks the same, the ground floor all bright and welcoming with the children's section and the popular fiction, and the upper floors looking like they haven't been touched in decades.

I make my way to the top floor. It's empty up here, and I wander the aisles, looking for a spot I can hang out without anyone bothering me.

I'm in the Mythology section, which is cool. My mom used to be into this stuff. Myths and folk tales. Magic and talking animals and adventure. She loved all that. Way more fun than real life, she used to say. "And I'm still waiting for my prince," she'd joke, and my dad would clutch his chest and pretend to cry.

She had a little book of folk tales she used to read me when I was a kid. I wonder if they have it here. I peer at the shelves, trying to make out the titles under the dust. And then I see it. It's a tiny blue clothbound book, wedged between two giant volumes, and it looks just like the one my mom used to have. It's stuck, but I give it a yank and it slides free.

Suddenly something appears in the aisle next to me. I spin around, still holding the book. Holy crap. There's this – thing. Or is it a person? I squint. It's shaped like a man, and I can almost make out his face, but he's translucent. Like, I can actually see through his head to the shelf behind him.

And he's floating.

He looks – and I know how this sounds, because I can't believe it either – but he looks like a ghost.

"Come this way, honorable scholar."

I stare at him. "Uh, what?"

The pale form bobs a few feet further down the aisle. "Come this way."

Logically, I know I shouldn't follow him. Even if he isn't a ghost – because he can't be, ghosts aren't real – he's still a super weird dude.

And yet I find myself walking behind him. He seems to grow more solid as we go, and by the time we turn a corner and end up in front of a wall, I can see him well enough to make out his glasses and sweater vest. For a maybe-ghost, he doesn't look all that spooky.

"Who are you?" I ask, comforted by the sweater vest.

"The Librarian," he says. "And you are an honorable scholar."

I shake my head, confused. "I don't know what that means. I was just looking for this book my mom used to read."

The Librarian nods solemnly. "Yes, Alex. Your mother was an honorable scholar as well."

Hold up. "How do you know my name? And how do you know my mom?" I take a step towards him. "Do you know where she is?"

Because here's the thing. My mom has been missing for the past eight years.

And yeah, maybe I should have led with that. But it's not really something I talk about.

"She studied the text and made her choice," the Librarian says. "And now it is your turn."

I reach out to grab his arm, but my hand goes right through him. Which I should have seen coming. "Seriously. What do you know about my mom?"

The Librarian looks down at the book in my hand. "Why did you choose this book?"