by M. A. Torres
Matthew pulled out his phone. “I’ll call my brother to come get us. You guys call Jake. See where he’s at.”
Minutes later, Zander was but a distant speck up the road. The boys followed, taking in the sights of the imminent snow-filled twilight.
David and Jenny arrived thrity minutes later. He rolled down his window.
“What the heck are you buffoons doing out here?”
Matthew pulled on the door handle of the Red Firebird, but it was locked. “Unlock the door, Butt-lick!”
Jenny opened her door and stepped out of the car. “This way, boys.” She pulled her seat forward, and the boys entered the back.
Sometime later, they were nearing the outskirts of town.
“You know, I’m gonna need gas money from all of you!” said David, breaking the silence.
“Shut up! You have no idea what we’ve been through!” said Matthew. “We almost got arrested, then we almost got killed by The Blood Ghouls!”
“The Blood Ghouls?”
“Yes!”
“So fighting demons from other worlds is not enough adventure for you, dorks? You have to mess around with The Blood Ghouls too?”
Matthew and Robbie looked at Kevin.
“What? I told you not to follow me,” he said.
“So, Jenny, David said you had a lead,” asked Matthew.
Jenny reached into the side of her seat and pulled out a notebook. “Yes! It’s all in here! We’ll explain everything when we get to the library.”
“The library?”
“Yes, the library!”
Matthew and Kevin gulped.
Chapter Four:
Scary Stories and Freaky People
Wakefield Public Library was in the southwest portion of Wakefield Falls, just beyond the downtown district. It was built in the early 1920s, in the classic Corinthian style, complete with a large domed roof.
All but Robbie had been there the previous year on an Olven Elementary School field trip. It had been a memorable event. Their teacher, Mrs. Jones, caught her son Rodney kissing Sandra Palinski in one of the library aisles. She pulled him off the girl by his ear, and screamed at him so loudly that the librarian, Mrs. Chapman, threatened to cancel the rest of the tour. It had been the talk of the school for an entire week. However, the library was also known for its share of scary myths and legends and was considered one of the most haunted places in the state of Colorado.
“Robbie, have you ever been to the Wakefield Library?” Kevin asked.
“Never. I noticed you tense up, though. Is there something wrong with the place?”
Matthew spoke before Kevin could answer. “Something wrong with the place? Robbie, our library is one of the most haunted places in America! Seriously!”
David laughed. “Robbie, don’t let these two wimps freak you out. I’ve been there many times, and nothing ever happens.”
“That’s because you’ve never been there at night, David!” argued Kevin. “The ghost stories have been reported only at night and only in the basement!”
“Yes I have! I’ve been there at night and in the basement! Twice!”
“Did you shower before going? Ghosts can’t stand people that stink,” mocked Matthew. “I’m surprised Jenny doesn’t barf every time she hugs you!”
“Hey! You wanna walk the rest of the way?” threatened David.
Jenny hid a smile with her hand.
“So what kind of ghosts are we talking about?” asked Robbie. He considered himself somewhat of an expert since his battle with the Ghost and Jack-O-Creeper.
“Jenny knows the story well! Tell it, Jenny!” said Matthew.
Jenny cleared her throat. “Well, there are many haunts in that building, but the most famous, and the most documented, is the legend of the No-Eyed Weeper.”
“The No-Eyed Weeper?” repeated Robbie.
“Yes. So, the story goes that back in the 1950s, a very strict librarian named Ms. Ursula ran the library. She was so strict she would kick people out of the library for coughing or sneezing, for clearing their throats, or even wearing squeaky shoes. She was so strict that people would get kicked out for even thinking loud things. Thoughts about cars, motorcycles, thunder, and horns were forbidden, or else you would get the boot!”
“Okay, now that’s ridiculous!” said David.
“Shut up, Dirt-pits! Let her finish the story!” hollered Matthew.
Jenny continued. “So, one day, a woman walked in, took a book from the romantic novel section, and sat down to read. She was so touched by the story she began to whimper—softly at first, then louder and louder until she was full-on sobbing. Ms. Ursula asked her to leave, but the woman ignored her. Ms. Ursula asked her again more sternly, but the weeping reader paid her no mind. Ursula tried to swipe the book away, but the woman was strong—winning the battle for the book without even shifting in her chair. Ms. Ursula tried to lift her off the chair, to no avail. The woman remained in her place, never once taking her eyes off her book. Finally, a defeated Ms. Ursula had no choice but to call the police.
“The police were aware of Ms. Ursula’s reputation as a strict nit-picker, and many of them had previous run-ins with her. They found the situation amusing, and allowed the weeping lady to remain, saying she wasn’t breaking any laws. They laughed and left the library, but returned minutes later to hand Ms. Ursula a citation for parking her car too close to the parking space outline.”
“Oh, I’m sure that made her even angrier!” said Robbie.
“Yes. She returned to the library and found the weeping lady sitting in her same spot, sobbing and reading her book. Out of options, Ms. Ursula returned to her desk, and waited for her to complete her book. The weeping reader eventually did, but not until closing time. She stood and calmly approached the front counter to return the book, before exiting the library.
“However, the following morning, the weeping reader returned. She picked out another romantic book, sat on the same chair and started to read. Before long, the whimpering began, followed by weeping minutes later, which echoed through the library chamber. Ms. Ursula tried to snatch the book away, but was unsuccessful. She tried to pull the reader off her chair but wasn’t strong enough. She had no choice but to sit down, insert some earplugs, and stare angrily into space.
“So this became a daily routine. The weeping reader would arrive in the morning, pick out a romantic novel, and sit on her chair and read. Her weeping would progress to a whimper, and her whimper would progress to full-on sobbing.
“Ms. Ursula had had enough. One night, after closing the library, she followed the weeping lady. As they walked through an alley, Ms. Ursula knocked her on the head with a baseball bat. The lady fell unconscious to the ground. And in a fit of rage, Ms. Ursula gouged her eyeballs out with her bare hands, so the reader wouldn’t read another book again.
“Oh, man! That’s vicious!” said Robbie. “So then what happened?”
“Ms. Ursula showed up to work the following morning with a perk in her step. She opened the library and resumed her position as the strictest librarian around. But by midday, the police came in to question her. Turns out, the weeping lady had died, and someone had found her body in the alley. Ms. Ursula denied any involvement, and since the police had no evidence, could not arrest her.”
“So she got away with it?” asked Robbie.
“Not exactly. So, a few days later, Ms. Ursula was sitting at her desk when she heard the sobbing again. She looked around in disbelief and paced the library aisles searching for the source of the sobbing but could not find it. She asked the others if they could hear it too, but no one else could. Day in and day out, the sounds of sobbing plagued her. A sound only she could hear, and after some time, she went mad.”
“Wow.” Robbie was staring wide-eyed.
“One morning, the library failed to open. People waited outside for hours, but Ms. Ursula never came. They went to her home, but no one answered her door. They called the police, and fearing for her well-bei
ng, they forced their way into her home... but it was empty. Finally, people from the city offices unlocked the library door. As they entered, they were horrified to find Ursula dead—hanging from a statue in the basement, her eyes missing.”
“Wow!” said Robbie. “Creepy story!”
“They say the Weeping Reader took back her eyes. So over the years, people have claimed to hear sobbing in the basement, but only during night-time hours. Some ghost hunters have caught the sobbing on recordings, and one unlucky worker in the ’80s had a heart attack after claiming to have seen Ursula late one night, down in the basement. He said her eyes were dark, empty sockets, and her neck was bruised with the scars of the rope. He recovered, but refused to work at the library again.”
THE NIGHT WAS STILL young when they reached the downtown district. The dome of the Wakefield Public Library was visible a block away, lined in colorful Christmas lights. Brightly lit shrubbery and trees surrounded its yard, the specks twinkling like stars on the night sky. The site blended seemlessly with the surrounding buildings, and with the large, thirty-foot Christmas tree at the town square. The snowfall had dyed everything white, creating a picturesque scene—the streets alive with folk making their way to the cafes and mom-and-pop shops abundant in the district.
Jake was waiting at the door as they walked up.
“What took you guys?” he inquired.
Matthew shook his head as the group ambled past.
The library doors opened to a large domed chamber. Book-filled shelves were visible as far as the eye could see. Tables and couches were spread throughout the floor. The group proceeded to a secluded table at the far end, past the librarian counter. Kevin could not help but think of Ms. Ursula, and whether that was the same counter she would sit behind, decades past.
They sat at the table and Jenny opened her notebook. “Quentin Mallory was his name,” she began. “He bought the Crimson House about five years ago, lived in it for less than a year, then was committed to the mental institution.”
“The mental institution? Was he crazy?” wondered Jake.
“Seems so. No one in his neighborhood knew him very well. He kept to himself. According to his neighbors, he lived alone with two dogs as companions. He was no trouble, until one night, his dogs went missing. Neighbors said he was looking for them late into the night, knocking on everyone’s door, asking if they had seen them. No one had, so he stayed up into the morning hours, and was still searching well into the following evening.”
“You think the mirror’s power consumed the dogs?” asked Kevin.
“I don’t know, but there’s more,” continued Jenny. “There was no record of Mr. Mallory before the purchase of the house. He had no social security number, no past traffic citations, no previous residential records, and no previous tax records. It’s like he didn’t even exist.”
“That’s impossible,” said David. “Don’t you need credit to buy a house? Did he inherit it?”
“I believe so. But one night, his neighbors called the police on him. Reports state that Mr. Mallory was caught opening the gates to everyone’s yards to let their dogs out. When the police arrived, they found him beat up and restrained by some of the neighbors. He told the police that he was trying to save the dogs from harm, without further explanation. The was arrested for trespassing and disorderly conduct. He underwent a psychiatric evaluation and was then committed to the mental hospital.”
“Wow. So does that mean he was aware of the mirror’s power?” asked Matthew.
“He knew the animals in the neighborhood were in danger—probably after his own dogs went missing,” said Jenny.
“That means the mirror was in his house, but it doesn’t tell us how it got there,” acknowledged David. “What if the mirror was there before he moved in?”
“As I said before, the previous owners had lived there for decades—with no issues or complaints. The couple grew old and were transferred to the nursing home before they both passed,” answered Jenny. “I doubt they were involved.”
“It would be great if we could talk to Mr. Mallory,” said Kevin, looking at Jenny in a manner suggesting she could make it possible.
Jenny noticed. “Yeah, it would... but I don’t know how we could. Do any of you know someone who works at the mental hospital?”
David shook his head. Kevin and his friends did the same.
The library emptied as evening progressed to night. Before long, only a scattered few remained. Jenny conversed with the librarian—a thin, elderly woman with gray curls and thick-rimmed glasses. Minutes later, she returned.
“Guys, the librarian says the Wakefield Falls land records are in the basement.”
“The basement?” repeated Jake.
“Wait, why do we need to see those?” asked Matthew.
“We need to cover all bases, guys. What if they built the house on an Indian burial site or something? The Ute tribe was common in this area.”
She received nothing but blank stares.
“Did any of you ever pay attention in history class?”
More blank stares.
Jenny stood and walked to the staircase beside the librarian’s desk. Kevin and the others had no choice but to follow.
The staircase was wooden, wide, and grand. It spiraled down, with a dark brown handrail that reflected the soft light off its polished finish. The ends of the handrails rose in the form of a woman’s bust, also made of dark wood. The steps themselves were white, polished marble, and reflected the soft light from above, just like the handrail.
The end of the staircase widened before meeting the dark carpet of the basement floor. An aura of claustrophobia greeted them. As vast as the basement seemed to be, the low ceilings and tall book aisles gave it a crowded and constricted feeling. The air had a distinct scent—like old paper and dust—an aroma that reminded Kevin of his grandfather’s attic.
It was eerily quiet. The sounds of everyday life seemed to have been insulated away, to where Kevin could hear his heart beating in his chest. It was a quiet so still even whispers seemed to resonate down its aisles.
The boys took the table to the left as Jenny approached the computers.
Robbie and Matthew stared down the book aisles nervously, afraid of seeing an eyeless woman walking about. A minute later, Jenny returned and sat between David and Robbie.
“Ok, guys,” she whispered. “The Crimson Heights land records are on row J-12. We might have to split up to find that aisle.”
Everyone exchanged a nervous glance.
“No, we don’t,” said Jake.
“I’m with Jake; we don’t need to split up,” agreed Matthew.
David smiled. “Are you guys scared of an old ghost story? Really?”
“I’m with Jake and Matthew,” said Robbie. “You haven’t seen what we’ve seen!”
David and the others turned to Kevin.
“Let’s all go together,” he agreed.
The group was walking through the maze of aisles just moments later. Kevin was amazed at the endless rows of books. He wondered if it was possible to read them all if someone dedicated a lifetime to the task. He spied books of all sizes and colors, their spines both old and new, when one book caught his eye. It had a flaming sword held by a metal gauntlet upon its cover, the bookend partially obstructing it.
Kevin paused, then pulled it from the shelf. Two armored knights battled on the cover, one wielding a sword and the other a mace and shield. He opened the book and skimmed through it. He paused on a page titled ‘Melee weapon fighting techniques,’ and noticed detailed lessons on handling various weapons, from swords and axes to spears and morning stars.
He immersed himself in the book, scanning the different sword wielding techniques when he heard the weeping... a faint sound of a woman’s cry. Kevin gazed up, confused and incredulous. He glanced down the aisle and noticed he was alone. It extended long and lonely to his right and behind him to his left—with nothing but books to keep him company. He tucked the book u
nder his arm and walked quickly down the aisle, in the direction his friends were walking just minutes before.
“Uhu...uhu...”
It was the sound of a woman’s sob. It was louder and subtly more noticeable, but Kevin could not tell from where it came. He hastened his pace, trying to bury thoughts of Ms. Ursula and the Weeping Reader from his mind, but the thoughts kept digging their way up. He found himself in a light jog, before coming to an intersection. He looked down the aisles, desperate to find the others.
“Uhu...uhu...”
The weeping seemed to follow him, growing louder and louder with each passing moment.
“Uhu...uhu...”
He was almost at a sprint, unable to distance himself from the lingering sobbing. He looked left and right past every isle, when he caught sight of a lone figure. Kevin paused his trot and stared, hoping it to be one of his friends—but it was a woman, ambling in his direction, scanning the books. She wore a long Khaki-colored dress with thick shoulder straps. She had a pair of books tucked underneath her left arm. Her hair was dark and flowed to her arm in a mess of tangled curls. She paused and pulled a book from the shelf to her right. She opened it, and that’s when Kevin noticed the oddity—she was wearing dark sunglasses.
The library basement was not a bright place; the rectangular light panels above giving off just enough light to brighten the floor. There was no reason to wear sunglasses in this room—or any room for that matter. Kevin’s gaze remained fixated. The woman continued to read, but moments later, she closed the book, smiled, and raised her gaze towards Kevin.
“Kevin!” The sound of Jake’s voice snapped him from his trance. He was standing six aisles away, waving his hand. “Over here!”
Kevin nodded and looked down the aisle again. The woman was walking away, before turning left at the corner and proceeding out of view. The sobbing of moments before had resolved.
Kevin reached his friends a minute later. Jenny was pacing the aisle, eyeing the labels on the bookshelves. Seconds later, she pulled a rectangular tome from the upper shelf. She lost the handle on the oversized book, but David was there to lend a hand.
