11. Studies

I was using the library computer to find the book I needed about 1920s fashion because I couldn't find it in the decimal system. I wrote down the number and a couple of others that might have been like it and logged off. the library was pretty empty, a lot of students here don't really use the stacks, they rely heavily on online archives and databases leaving all that manual research behind. I, however, loved the exploration as part of my studies.

I turned a corner and thought I was going in the right direction, but then I realized I had no idea where the numbers were going. They must have been unassigned, they all seemed out of wack and some of the titled were jumbled letters. For a moment, I started to panic and even turned back on myself twice until I found a single bookcase at the end of an aisle. I took a moment to breathe, the wooden shelves reassuring me as they were surrounded by the metal ones housing the rest of the books.

"Where the fuck?" I tried peering through the openings over the top of the books, but I couldn't see anything that might give me a clue. I extended a hand and leaned agains the wooden book shelf only to hear it click and then sink into the wall. It swung open and behind it was a dark hallway. I felt like going forward at this point was my only option so I walked right through, ducking my head down and disappearing into the dark. Eventually I came out to a large room that felt like an architectural feat. It was much taller than the building it was in, at least it wasn't visible from the outside, but the light from the dome window at the top filled the room with visibility. On most of the shelves there was a ladder that went all the way to the top. I followed the steps down and turned a corner to see how far it went on for and it felt like it stretched on forever.

I went back to the center and found a cozy area at the corner of two shelves with a decorated Christmas tree from the recent holiday lit up. None of the books had stickers on the spines, so this must have been a room I was definitely not allowed to be in. However, that didn't stop me from reach out and picking up one of the books. I pulled it out and the title on the cover was scrambled until I blinked a couple of times. As I stared at it, the words rearranged and spelled out a name: Buster Pollard.

"The lunkhead from my dorm?" I opened the pages and inside there was a detailed description of daily activities, written like a novel. Each page I turned and it felt like more and more were being added, especially when I got to the end and the pages would flip back by themselves, adding more to the story. Some of the pages had photos slipped inside and I plucked one out, looking over. As I studied the image, I felt my arm getting warm. I was not particularly built, but as I held the photo my arm bulged and rippled with muscle. The veins popped out and the sensation travelled even further. I felt my whole body suddenly starting to grow and I was watching my body bubble and contort with every moment that passed. Eventually it all stopped and I looked down to find myself looking like the man in the photo, my lunkhead neighbor.

"Holy shit!" I continued to hold the photograph while looking at the other books and their spines. The words reshuffled themselves to the names of other students on campus, all of them with detailed histories narrated in the third person.

I turned towards the rest of the library, wondering how far back they had gone to or if everyone in the world was in this library.

Picking up Buster's book, I pushed the photograph back inside and closed the pages. My form started to ripple again, returning back to my normal self. With an excited grin, I slid it back where it was.

"At least he puts the books back." I heard a voice say from behind me, causing me to spin.

"Shut up, I always put them back." Another voice.

"I've never seen someone turn into one of them. That is incredible." A third voice.

"Hello?" I stumbled back into the shelves and out from another corner came the group of three. One of them was older, a gentleman in a sweater vest and neatly tied bowtie. The other two looked like they were my age, one of them a woman I swear I had seen checking books out for people and the other was a guy that was in my research methods class.

"Welcome to the library. I know this whole thing might be a little strange, but this room is very special and you were chosen to be here." The older gentleman held out his hand, "I'm Mr. Montgomery" We shook hands and I noticed the pocket watch chain hanging out of his pocket. The other two came up behind him and introduced themselves.

"Martha." The woman had her book bag wrapped around her and a thick pair of glasses on her face. She was a first year literary studies major with an interest in fiction writing.

"Spence." The guy nodded at me, a first year agricultural studies major.

"I'm Joel." I waved at all of them.

"So, shall we give you a tour?" Mr. Montgomery held out his hand and escorted me to the center of the room, "We call this The Atrium. It's the center of this whole operation. I am the librarian, of course, but not like the ones out there," He pointed back towards the entrance, "I'm different."

"He's made of paper." Spence chuckled and Martha punched his arm.

"Don't listen to him."

"No, he's right. I am made of paper. Watch." Mr. Montgomery walked over to a desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a long pair of shears and positioned them over his hand. As he squeezed the handle, his arm fell off after ripping away from the joint. Where there should have been blood and bone there was actually stacked papers, all tightly packed inside of his skin. He picked up his hand as my jaw opened in awe and reattached his hand with ease.

"Told you." Spence rolled his eyes.

"I was made by this place to protect it and you are all chosen by this place to help me do so." He put his hands behind his back. "You have a very special power that it has given you. Shapeshifting, just marvelous." He was almost giddy.

"Can we pause for a second," I must have been pretty cold when saying this because all of them looked taken aback, "I am loving all of this, but I must be dehydrated or maybe its malnutrition. I must have passed out somewhere and this is all a dream."

"Not at all." Martha walked right up to me and pinched my arm.

"I know this all seems quite strange and we know it will take a moment to get used to. Take your time and ask us any questions you might have." Mr. Montgomery looked over his glasses at me. I stood there for a moment, looking at all of them while I was thinking about leaving. One glance over all the books, their detailed spines and aged paper smell made me sit down in a chair.

"Okay. What is all of this?" I asked.

"This is the history of the region. It's an expansive collection of all the personal histories of every individual in this continent. This library alone covers the Americas and there are more just like it around the world. As I said before, we are tasked with protecting it." Mr. Montgomery had joined me in another chair around the coffee table and pulled out a teapot from nowhere. He added four cups to the table and poured each of them full. Finally, he reached into his sweater vest and pulled out a bowl of sugar cubes and a small pitcher of cream for us as options. The other two saw the cups and joined us.

"And this power, what does it mean? Do you two have one?" The tea cup was warm in my hand and smelled like spiced oranges.

"It is what helps you protect this place," Martha answered after taking a sip of her tea, "as for my power, it's kind of hard to explain. Sometimes the books will call out to me like they are asking for help. When I get close enough to whichever one it is, it falls open. Normally something is wrong and we are able to help them before it's too late."

"She's a Whisperer." Mr. Montgomery sipped his tea.

"And I'm the muscle," Spence flexed, but then awkwardly lowered his arms, "when I first stepped foot in this place, I felt like I could do anything. It wasn't until Mr. Montgomery started practicing with me that I realized I suddenly had incredible fighting skills."

"The Fighter." Mr. Montgomery took another sip.

"So, what? I turn into the people in the books?" I asked, confused.

"Well, that is something new. You are what I like to call an Editor. The photos in the books only started to appear when you showed, which was how we knew we would have a new addition. You can take on the form of the individuals between these pages and edit their stories. It's quite a powerful gift. Something you should not take for granted." Mr. Montgomery gulped the last of his tea in quite a comical manner.

"Do you have any other questions?" Martha asked.

"Do I have a book?" I asked. Mr. Montgomery walked us through a couple of aisles and brought us to a different area. There was a small fence guarding the area and Mr. Montgomery opened it up to us.

"At the moment, your book does not exist. That's one of the reasons we know you've been chosen. This section contains all of the past protectors of this place. Their books appear here when they pass on, becoming apart of a special collection." Mr. Montgomery let his fingers drift over the books, barely touching them.

"They're dead?" I asked.

"They are, but their histories are kept here for you all to read and learn from. Under supervision of course." Mr. Montgomery escorted us out and locked it back up, leading us back to the entrance. I rubbed the sides of my head, realizing that suddenly I had a headache starting to form. It must have been all of this seemingly fictitious information filling my skull.

"I think I should go home," I said, "I need a moment to think this whole thing over." I waved at the beautiful room, taking it all in one more time before turning away and starting to walk out back out where I came in.

"Not a problem. We'll be much easier to find, now that you've been here." Mr. Montgomery nodded and I looked back to see the three of them together. Mr. Montgomery waved as I left, coming out of the bookshelf and appearing in the middle of the stacks where I had just been lost. I turned around and was met with nothing but a brick wall, the wooden bookshelf having vanished, but a small envelope in its place.

Welcome to the Keeper's Club. Mr. Montgomery can be lot, but don't let him overwhelm you. If you need something call me.

Written underneath the note was a phone number and then Martha's signature. Slipping it into my pocket, I noticed that the book I was looking for was right in front of me. 1920s Fashion: The Definitive Sourcebook. I rolled my eyes, picked it up and took it to check it out.