Rotating Bookshelf Tower Novels & Stories

It washed over Mike's body, making his chest tingle and causing the hairs on his body to stand up. The bookshelf, however, remained unchanged. "Damn, I thought that something had..." Mike turned around to face Tink only to see that his home was no longer behind him. He and Tink stood in a small alcove of towering stacks of books, easily four stories high. Beams of light flowed in through towering skylights, illuminating the stacks. In front of them was a large desk in front of a giant globe that rotated slowly in place. "Whoa." Tink said, her eyes wide.

A gap, barely visible, between the shelf and the wall. My breath caught. It was not attached to the wall. The bookshelf was not built in like I had always assumed. It was freestanding. Which meant it could move. I moved to the side, placing my hands on the edge of the shelf. It was heavy, solid wood loaded with books. But as I applied pressure, pushing experimentally, I felt it give way. Just slightly. Just enough to confirm my suspicion. This wasn't just a bookshelf. It was a door.

Nadia looks at him. She is efficient, I say. Those are the same thing in this family, Nadia says. She is already writing her notes. After the scan I went to the room on the eleventh floor. Soren finished the additional shelving two days ago. It runs along one full wall now, solid wood, the right depth for books and for the particular way children display objects that matter to them, flat and proud and accessible. I have been slowly filling it. Not with purchased things. With chosen things.

Marta nodded eagerly, and together they walked through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle, heading deeper into the eastern wing until they reached a set of massive, towering double doors of dark oak, reinforced with iron. When Marta pushed the doors open, Rosalie’s breath caught in her throat. The library was absolutely breathtaking. Tall, vaulted ceilings stretched high overhead, and towering wooden shelves packed with thousands of leather-bound books lined the stone walls. The scent of old paper, vanilla, and ink filled the air.

Then I start rearranging them according to my list in all ten rows leaving the top shelves empty so the use of ladder could be avoided. I reach the last shelf which is attached to the window side wall. I put them all and think of cleaning the top part when I feel a bit bulged part at the wooden part. I put my hands on it to check and press it. It opens up a bit and I scrap my nails to open it. I try to look but I will loose my balance of I do that. I try to fill around the hole hesitantly in case any mouse has made house there but instead feel a slim book. I try to take it out but it is stuck.

The room beyond took my breath away. Massive. Two stories high. Floor to ceiling shelves along every wall, and arched mezzanines above with even more rows. Spiral staircases of dark iron curled toward the second level. A huge circular desk sat in the middle, empty but polished. A globe that hadn’t been spun in years stood in the corner beside a cracked leather reading chair. Books. Thousands of them. Some were still on the shelves. Others had tumbled into stacks or sprawled open on long wooden tables. Papers, scrolls, and thick ledgers lay like the remnants of minds once hungry for knowledge.

Whoa, magnificent. Shaped like an octagon, the room was filled from floor to ceiling in books. Every self-piled high with books upon books. Scanning the room I can’t help but notice multiple ladders and even a spiral staircase which led to a small little reading nook. Smiling, I knew exactly where I would spend most of my days.

No one asked. I couldn’t let that happen again. Not today, not tomorrow. I was too tired to fight. Too sick to risk it. So I nodded, not trusting my voice, and turned toward the shelf. The wooden thing stood tall in the corner of the room, filled with neat rows of books. Too neat, sometimes. He liked them arranged in a certain way, spines facing the same direction, colors matching, titles lined like soldiers. It wasn’t about books. It was about control.

He smiled slipping his hand into mine and beginning to lead me towards the golden staircase, my steps a little slow as I attempted to climb the steps in the heels I was given. As I reached the very top of the staircase, I couldn’t help the gasp from astonishment which came from my mouth, I thought this place from the bottom level looked intriguing but up closely, it was incredible. The shelves were a dark blue colour with lights placed within the tops of the shelves to illuminate the books stored below. But right in the centre of the shelves of books stood the one which seemed to be on display, it was propped up slightly with its own light illuminating the words.

Just expensive furniture and abstract art that looked chosen to impress rather than express. I passed through the living room, my attention drawn to a large bookshelf covering one wall. The collection impressed me—ancient texts on pack history, rare volumes on wolf magic, modern novels organized by genre rather than author. Many of the books looked unread, their spines uncreased. One leather-bound book caught my eye—its dark cover embossed with strange symbols that resembled no language I recognized. I reached for it, but it refused to budge. Odd. I tried again, pulling harder. The book remained firmly in place, as if glued to the shelf.