The Dusty Bookshelf Novels & Stories

“Better than that club, at least.” “Exactly.” April disappeared into the back room, returning with a stack of books. She plopped them in front of me. “Here. Keep your hands busy, maybe your brain will stop overloading.” I rolled my eyes but pulled the stack closer. “My brain has stopped overloading, work master.” “Motivator,” she corrected with a grin.

They were shrouded behind the murky clouds of dust that were known to be a common feature of Ekral’s shop and the other displays of magic memorabilia as Allen made his way towards them. Some of the particles clinging to the inside of his throat, Allen coughed mildly as he endeavored to read the titles that were engraved upon the vast collection of books. Covering his mouth with one hand and wiping the spines of a few of the leather-bound volumes with the sleeve of the other, he pulled a number from the shelf against the wall. Allen’s arms quickly becoming laden with texts and no visible place to thumb through them conveniently, he resigned himself to sitting amongst the thick layer of dust o

There was a leather couch in the corner, a bar cart with expensive-looking bottles of whiskey, and a window that overlooked the estate grounds. It was the kind of room that screamed power and control. The kind of room that belonged to a man like Jonathan Hart. I walked over to the bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines. Most of them were business books, biographies of CEOs and politicians, a few on philosophy. Then I noticed something odd. One of the shelves looked… different. Like it didn’t quite sit flush with the wall. I reached out and pressed against it gently. There was a soft click, and the shelf swung inward.

It didn’t help that normally, with resumption creeping up this closely, I’d be darting about second-hand shops in search of books and as many reading materials as I could get on discount. My eyes shifted from the carpet to my left wall, or what used to be my left wall. I didn’t really have to worry about doing that anymore, and from the piles of books stacked up on that thing, I probably wouldn’t have to worry about doing that for a while. I walked over to the bookshelf and eyed the titles on the spine before lifting my hand and running it over the wood. I rubbed my fingers together, not failing to notice that the shelf had started to collect dust.

"Please, come inside." I followed Emily across the threshold, my footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath my feet. The room was a treasure trove of knowledge, filled with shelves upon shelves of weathered books that held stories spanning generations. Dust particles danced in the air, catching the golden light that filtered through the curtained windows. It was a sanctuary of wisdom, a haven for those who dared to seek truth in the depths of history.

Smelling like dust and parchment. The room was silent. Not even the sound of wandering mice at this late hour. I flicked on a desk lamp, eyeing the obscure titles. Goodness, they had to be hundreds of years old. I lightly touched the spines, careful not to damage the books as I pulled out a thick one that called out to me. Woosh. I turned quickly, my breath picking up as I tried to follow the noise. No one stood in the doorway. The hallway was empty and dark.

I ran my fingers across the spines as I walked through the foyer, noting how silver glitter fell softly off every book. I looked down and saw the ground was littered with sparkling silver dust. It was strange dust though, it didn’t stick to my boots. It seemed to just stay in place, sparkling and taunting me, as if beckoning me to lean down and attempt to wipe it with my own fingers. I refrained in fear that if I touched it there, it might whisk me away from this magical place.

The room was filled with shelves of books, old photographs, and various trinkets. In an instant, Dahlia's entire face beamed at their suggestion. She shook her head, feigning to think over what the man had suggested. "Okay, if you think it's for the best." 'If I think?' Elsie almost crooned with laughter at that. This aunt of hers was a wonder. Suppressing her laughter, she brushed her fingers against the books on the shelf. They were brand-new hardbacks and showed no evidence of human touch like tears or old age. Some were even covered in dust.

He shook her from his mind and pushed open the doors to the study. The rug-lined room was bigger than B’s above-garage apartment. Floor to ceiling bookshelves dampened any noise B might made in his whiskey search. There didn’t seem to be a single inch of space on any one of the shelves. Books of all colors, textures, and sizes were packed together. In front of the book spines sat hundreds of little treasures–seashells, pocket watches, glass figurines, and carvings of creatures. So many creatures. B let his fingers drift over the book spines: The Picture of Dorian Gray. The Catcher in the Rye. The Odyssey. Brave New World. The Call of the Wild. White Noise. So many stories he’d never read and

10: Blue-eyed Bat “Where can I have it?” Dawn asked Seta, and she pointed out one corner of the room, that have a zip code design five tier tall corner shelf There are pile of antique books, neatly place in there but the book covers are almost rotten. “You can see the book you are looking in that shelf. Just look for it.” Seta once again point the shelf and Dawn nodded as a response.