The Dusty Bookshelf Novels & Stories

Just dust and paper. I step inside anyway and shut the door behind me. I want the silence. I run my fingers along the mahogany edge of the desk, then move to the shelves. The books are a mess. Some have cracked spines, while others look brand new, like they were bought just to fill the space. I didn't think Jaydon was the type to read for pleasure. He seems too clinical, too driven by numbers and power. I reach out and pull a random volume from the middle shelf. The weight of it is heavy in my hand. I turn it over to see the cover, and my jaw drops.

The thought is a small, bitter comfort because nothing stings like betrayal. My gaze slides left and locks on the bookshelf. Old wood, a little scuffed, shelves stuffed with returned paperbacks and a few knick-knacks, mismatched bookends, a ceramic owl, a stack of defunct menus someone shoved in a hurry. The bottom shelf sags, the base leaning a fraction out from the wall. Whoever stocked it last time did a sloppy job. It is not anchored. My brain flips through possibilities like cards, fast and clean.

she gives me a warm smile and just shakes her head before she nods and turns back to placing the books on the shelves. I quickly come across a book on bonds, but it takes me ages to find one about demons. I search through every book and shelf until, finally, at the very top, I spot a small, extremely dusty book. Although it doesn’t explicitly say “demons,” its title, “Monsters of Our World,” is the closest I can find.

How did they know? My fingertips brushed to the recent book placed at the end of the shelf. I glanced at the two who were reading something before looking back at the book. Upon pulling it out dust flew around my hands, I cringed, coughing a bit – swatting the few dusts that landed in front of my face. This place sure needs some cleaning up.

felt less like a role and more like a sentence. I climbed the rolling ladder to reach the higher shelves near the back corner. This area was thick with dust. It seemed like no one had touched these books in decades. As I shifted a heavy volume of Greek history, a thin, leather-bound book tipped over and slid behind the shelf. "Great," I whispered to myself.

“How did you…?” She didn’t answer. Instead, she spun toward her bookshelf… its wood darkened by age, its corners thick with dust. Her hand shot out, brushing past tomes untouched for months, until her fingers closed around a thick, leather-bound book. When she pulled it free, the shelf groaned faintly, releasing a puff of stale air as if exhaling after long neglect. The book’s spine cracked under her grip, the scent of old parchment and forgotten ink filling the room. Pages fluttered wildly as she turned them, her trembling fingers leaving faint smudges on the dust that had claimed it for so long.

I muttered as I looked around. The shelves themselves were made of a rich, dark wood that matched the doors, and I could see rows upon rows of books that stretched out in every direction, disappearing into the shadows at the edges of the room. There were cobwebs and dust everywhere and soon a flurry of maids rushed in, carrying dusting cloths and other cleaning supplies. Meanwhile, I ran my finger over the edge of a shelf, looking at the rich and ornately decorated tomes. “I could spend an entire day here without feeling bored” I muttered, mostly to myself.

“Have you found anything?” “No.” Trisha replied. “Just this book that appears to be big and old,” Dalett said. “Did you just say old?” Jade inquired. Dalett nodded, and Jade rushed over to her. “Give me that book.” Dalett bent down, lifted the book, and set it on the table. The dust was so thick that the girls started coughing. Jade covered her nose with one arm and dusted the book with the other. “Let’s see what we can come up with inside there.” Jade flipped open the cover, which was rather heavy. She was surprised when she could not find anything. As she began flipping through the papers one by one, her gaze met the rest of them.

Heavier. The walls were covered with tall bookshelves that reached all the way to the ceiling, packed tightly with old, leather-bound books. Some looked so worn it felt like they might fall apart if touched. The air was thick with dust, and every breath carried that dry, aged smell of forgotten things. At the center of the room stood a large desk, beautifully carved, almost like a piece of art. But what sat on top of it made the place feel… wrong. Strange objects were scattered across its surface.

The bookshelf that he had pressed me against was a shelf that was stuffed with ancient books. When I was looking at the titles of the books, I took my time and examined them carefully. My attention was drawn to a few books that appeared to be quite old and did not have titles printed on them. I reached out my hand to an old book that had a brown leather cover. From what I could tell, the book had been there for a very long time. Because of this, the cover was covered in dust. While I was walking to my table, where I had left my bag, I used my hand to brush the dust off the book.