It’s blood from a turnip, you twit.
Nodding, Eleanor dutifully scanned in the requested material and then, beading sweat across her forehead and down her backbone, made the nine telephone calls.
It took Eleanor the rest of the afternoon to complete the task—each call taking anywhere from fifteen to thirty minutes depending on the number of interruptions she encountered:
“What?”
“What did you say?”
“I’m sorry, but can you try to talk a bit slower?”
By the time Ms. Dickson returned, an hour and fifteen minutes before closing, Eleanor had just hung up the phone on her last call—
“Th-th-this is the Es-es-Essex County Li-li-li—”
“Oh for God’s sake, what do you want?”
—and was faint from hunger and humiliation. All she thought of was the slow trudge through the cold autumnal darkness that would bring her home to the house she’d once shared with her parents, then her mother, then no one, where she could heat up a lovely bowl of soup, growl at the depths of depravity humanity had sunk to during the evening news and finally crawl into the bed that had always been hers with a good book.
She was currently rereading Little Dorrit.
At 4:20, a full thirty-five minutes before closing, Ms. Dickson came out of her office again, but this time she was pulling on her coat, complaining of a headache and cramps (“you remember what it was like”) and told Eleanor she was leaving early. The afternoon’s part-time librarian had left at three and with the exception of two octogenarians bent nearly in half over a chessboard near the Children’s Section, the library was empty.
“Do you think they’ll mind if we closed early?” Ms. Dickson asked, answering before Eleanor had a chance to even open her mouth. “I don’t think they’ll mind. Okay, I’ll tell them we’re going to close early tonight, for…maintenance or something. That’ll work, don’t you think? I’m sure it will. Okay, I’ll tell them…maybe even hurry them on their way so you can lock up. I won’t tell if you won’t…and this way you’ll have a whole half-hour to straighten up and answer the phones without interruption.”
Ms. Dickson giggled.
“And if you don’t finish just leave the rest of the unshelved books on the cart until morning. You can reshelve them when you come in. Night!”
Eleanor watched the younger woman in something like awe as she quickly crossed to the two old men’s table and stopped. The men looked up and smiled (they never smiled at Eleanor) then looked grave for a moment before nodding and, with shaking hands, began to put the chess pieces away. A few moments later they followed Ms. Dickson to the door and out into the night.
The empty library echoed with the sound of Eleanor’s sigh as she went to get the book cart.
There was a phone call at five minutes to five and, even though the library was still officially open, Eleanor let it go to the answering machine and didn’t feel the least guilty about it.
Pushing the book cart before her, Eleanor began to collect the volumes and periodicals left on the reading tables on the way to the Main Entrance where she locked the doors and turned off the outside porch lights. Humming softly to herself, something she never did if there was anyone else around, Eleanor continued collecting forgotten books as she wheeled the cart toward the Reading Rooms.
After checking the room before it, Eleanor glanced through the closed glass door of Reading Room F and felt her breath catch in her throat.
He was still there, the scarecrow man, the ill-mannered professor hunched over the book he’d requested like a gaunt and starving spider; one hand still holding the golden pen, the other splayed across the leather notebook.
She’d forgotten all about him.
Releasing her grip on the book cart’s handle, Eleanor opened the door and cleared her throat.
“H-h-harrumph.”
The man ignored her.
“H-harrumph.”
There was only the slightest movement along the man’s bowed shoulders, as if he’d taken a deep breath, then his head lifted slowly toward her. His eyes were red-rimmed, the eyeballs themselves veined with crimson and when he spoke his voice was a thin groan.
“What is it now?”
Now?
“I keep telling you I’m busy. Go away.”
Keep telling me?
Swallowing nothing but dust, Eleanor tapped her wristwatch. The man frowned and florid color instantly displaced the pallor of his face.
“Why are you doing this to me?” He began shouting again, the same way he had when he first arrived. “Why do you persist in these constant interruptions? I told you I’m busy! I have important work to do and I’ll get nothing done if you keep…popping up and peering in on me hour after hour as if I were some…some….For the last time LEAVE ME ALONE!”
Constant interruptions? Peeping at him hour after hour when she’d forgotten he was even still in the library. The cold she’d felt earlier, from the hidden vent somewhere in the room’s ceiling, seeped through the open door and curled itself around Eleanor’s legs. She tapped her watch again.
“C-c-clo-o-osing t-time.”
The man glared at her. “You’ll have to come up with something better than that,” he said. “You’ve already tried that ploy twice before. I know what you want…I know what it wants but you can’t have it. Neither of you can. It’s mine. I’ve worked too hard, come too far to let it—The book is mine, I requested it and only I know how to use it. Now get out.”
The man was insane and her mother had warned her about insane people—Stay away from them, Eleanor, they’re hurt you. Stay far, far away.—but this time a book, a very rare and unique book was in danger and she was not going to leave it in the hands of a madman.
Pushing the cart aside, Eleanor stepped into the room and snatched the book off the table.
“NO!”
The man was on his feet and lunged for it, the pen and notebook falling to the table. The sound they made seemed terribly loud, but Eleanor only shook her head.
“I-it’s c-closing time. Y-you have t-to go. Now.”
The man blinked and dropped his arms to his side. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” But he wasn’t looking at Eleanor, he was staring at the book. “Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I j-just…” Then his eyes moved and found her. “It’s all your fault, if you hadn’t kept interrupting me I…I…. Please, I-I didn’t get half of what I need for my…research. Please…”
Eleanor placed the book on the cart and began to walk away. Quickly.
“Wait!” When the man caught her, he was shoving the pen and notebook into an inside pocket in his coat. “Please…can I just take it with me? Just for tonight. I’ll be very careful with it. I promise and…and I’ll bring it back first thing in the morning. First thing.”
The man was insane.
Eleanor picked up her pace, the insane man right on her heels.
“Fine. Fine, but it won’t stop me. I’ll be back tomorrow and I swear to God if you continue to interrupt me with these…same adolescent pranks, I will report you to the City Council and the head librarian and…and…I demand my privacy, do you hear me? I will not brook any further interruptions.”
Eleanor pushed the cart to the main entrance, unlocked the door and stood back.
“Leave.”
The man glared at her once more, then pulled his coat around himself and left, muttering. “Stupid woman. She’ll be one of the first. One of the first.”
Eleanor let the door slam shut and made doubly sure it was securely locked before pushing the cart back behind the reference desk where it was kept. The embossed book looked so terribly out of place among its lesser brethren. Ever so gently, as if she were touching a new babe, Eleanor brushed her fingers over its surface and shivered as the curious warmth raced up her arm.
She picked it up and the warmth expanded into her chest and belly.
Usually Inter-Library loan items were kept in the metal storage cabinet in the staff loung
e which was more than adequate…for adequate books.
Eleanor didn’t even look at the cabinet as she placed the book on the luncheon table and exchanged her work cardigan for her coat. Then, slipping her purse onto the crook of her left arm, she picked up the book and, holding it against her heart, buttoned her coat over it.
It would be safer with her.
In the deepening twilight over her head the geese continued to fly north.
Eleanor arrived twenty minutes before the library opened and a full ten minutes before Ms. Dickson arrived. The book was in the storage cabinet, resting on a stack of paper hand towels from the staff bathroom, and she was almost finished reshelving the previous day’s books when the younger woman unlocked the front door and the insane man rushed in.
Turning her back on them, Eleanor continued working. She had better manners than to eavesdrop, but she did hear her name mentioned, a few times, by Ms. Dickson. The man simply referred to her as “that woman”. Their conversation lasted only a few minutes and ended with the man stomping toward the Reading Rooms and Ms. Dickson creeping toward the door that led to the staff lounge and exiting a few moments later, book in hand.
Eleanor silently counted the number of steps it took the young head librarian to cross the main floor to the entrance to the reading rooms in a quick-step (62) and exited in a funeral march (74), stopping when she reached the reference desk.
“Yes?” Eleanor asked.
Ms. Dickson took a deep breath. “I…I don’t know where to start and I know you must have had a good reason, but you really shouldn’t have bothered Professor Bennett like that yesterday, Ellynor.”
“My name’s Eleanor.”
Ms. Dickson’s left eye twitched. “Yes, of course. Eleanor, I’m sorry, but—”
“And I didn’t disturb him.”
“He said you were constantly…checking up on him yesterday.”
“The man is clearly insane. I wasn’t anywhere near the reading rooms until closing.”
The twitching became a tic. “Elly…Eleanor, your stut—”
“He sounds delusional to me,” Eleanor continued, “but if you feel he’s of no danger to the book…to our books or visitors, so be it.”
Ms. Dickson touched the skin next to her left eye.
“Your stutter—”
“We’re not talking about me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Turning, Eleanor crossed the room and went back to reshelving books, after which she took her place at the reference desk and, when the mail arrived, only once and at its proper time, she logged in the five Inter-Library loan items and made the requested calls without giving them a second thought.
Eleanor kept vigil throughout the rest of the day, her unblinking gaze never far from the entrance to the reading rooms, while making sure to maintain her distance from it.
Yet she was not the least surprised when, after Ms. Dickson personally went to tell the man it was closing time, the shouting began.
“—call your supervisors and complain!”
“—swear to you Miss MacCormack was nowhere near—”
They came out of the hallway together, the book hanging at Ms. Dickson’s hip as if she were a school girl and it a lowly three-ringed binder.
Eleanor watched from the reference desk as he stopped just short of the main door.
“Are you insinuating that I’m lying?”
Ms. Dickson shook her bottle-sunned streaked hair. “No! No, of course not, but I’m just…Perhaps you were mistaken. Elly…Eleanor, Miss MacCormack never left the main floor.”
“Oh, I see it now, she’s gotten to you. What did she promise? Power? Immortality? Wealth? Well, whatever it is, it’s a lie. She can’t do anything, but she knows I can…I will soon and that’s why she’s constantly disrupting my study!” He shot what Eleanor supposed was meant to be a withering glare at her. “Just remember what I said—come tomorrow I will have privacy or I will have your job! And Miss What’shername’s as well.”
He left as he had the night before, muttering as Ms. Dickson locked the door behind him. Eleanor watched her turn, shake her head and draw a circle in the air next to her right temple with her finger.
“You’re right, Elly—Eleanor, he is nuts. He said you were constantly bothering him all day when I saw you right there, but I still don’t think he’ll do…that he’s dangerous.”
“Are you sure?”
The younger woman rubbed her left eye where the tic had began to pulse again. “I…I don’t know, but—”
“Bar him from coming back.”
Ms. Dickson lowered her hand. “I can’t do that, Eleanor, this is a public library and he has a right…the right to be here just like everyone else.” Pause. “Maybe you’d like to take a few days off? I mean, you do have some vacation time coming and it would only be until he’s—”
Stop talking.
The younger woman’s mouth snapped shut.
“That won’t be necessary,” Eleanor said, “everything will be all right. Now, why don’t you let me have the book and I’ll put it away.”
Eleanor saw Ms. Dickson’s fingers clasped tighter against the book. “No, that’s okay. He asked me to keep it in my office. He…he doesn’t want you anywhere near it.” She tried to laugh and failed. “I know it’s silly, but—”
“That’s fine,” Eleanor said, “as long as it’s safe. Well, then, good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Uh-huh. G’night.”
Ms. Dickson smiled and disappeared into her office. Eleanor walked to the staff lounge, unbuttoning her cardigan on the way.
The book was waiting for her.
Eleanor arrived early again the next morning, placed the book on the shelf in Ms. Dickson’s office and was busy compiling a list from the new book catalog when the younger woman arrived, wishing her a less-than-usual-cheery ‘Good Morning’ before disappearing into her office only to reappear fifteen minutes later to open the door.
She was carrying the borrowed book, this time tucked into the crook of one arm, when she opened the door and smiled when the madman, Professor Bennett, entered. Together they walked back to the reading rooms, him talking, her nodding, and disappeared. She returned alone.
When the morning librarian took her shift behind the reference desk, Eleanor found things to keep her busy, and in full view of Ms. Dickson’s open office door so there would be no question that the man was insane if…when he began ranting about her again.
“Phone call for you, Eleanor.”
“What?”
Eleanor’s name was not listed in the town’s Yellow Pages and she’d had the home phone disconnected after her mother died. The only time she ever used a phone was at the library and only because Ms. Dickson was a bitch.
“Are you sure it’s for me?” she asked the morning librarian who’d taken the call.
“Yeah, asked for you by name.”
Eleanor could not think of anyone who might be calling her—she never gave her name when calling about Inter-Library loans—or think of a single reason why. She was still trying to reason it out when she put the handset to her ear and pressed the flashing HOLD button.
“Hello?”
Silence answered her, a silence so profound and deep it seemed to pull at her, shaping the plastic earpiece to her flesh. Then the silence broke.
“This is Miskatonic University Library, Eleanor. We need you to return the book to us tonight.”
There should have been questions—How do you know my name? Why did you call me? What kind of book is it?—but they seemed trivial.
“Of course. I’ll bring it myself.”
Something that might have been laughter or sobbing echoed through the phone.
“We were hoping you would. And we regret any inconvenience this may cause.”
“There shouldn’t be any.”
“We didn’t think there would be. And please do give Professor Bennett our best regards.”
“I will.”
“It’s time, Professor Bennett.”
He was curled lower over the book, more fly than spider now, and when he looked up it was a slow and painful motion. Had Eleanor still possessed the ability to do so she might have felt pity for him.
The wild fire that had burned in his eyes had sunk so deep within the hollow sockets that it was barely a rolling ember. His flesh had gone hard, like poorly tanned leather and was stretched tight over his bones, making each one stand out in stark relief.
Shriveled within his suit and coat, the collar of his shirt hanging loose and open, he still held the pen and notebook, but the fingers holding them were sticks held together with strips of paper-maché. The mad scarecrow had become a children’s art project.
He’d been used up.
Broken down.
Tenderized.
He was ready.
“You again,” he said but even his voice had lost its power. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”
Eleanor walked to the opposite side of the small table and leaned forward, becoming the spider.
“You know why, Professor Bennett. It’s time.”
He sat back shaking his head, trying to fight the invisible web that had wrapped around him.
“No. Not yet. My research…”
“Is over. You were too slow.”
Eleanor placed one hand on the open book and began to pull it toward her.
“NO!”
And he reached for it and Eleanor watched his eyes attempt to push from their sockets as his hands melted into the pages, flesh and bone dissolving with a soft hiss. A sound similar to the one she heard just before the call from Miskatonic Library ended, filled the room—another silent scream to join with the others.
So many others.
“They send their best,” she told him as he softened and liquefied, adding his chapter to the book.
The Tales from the Miskatonic University Library Page 17
