When In Doubt Go To The Library Novels & Stories

My hands move the books away from each other to look for any opening but there is none. What should I do now? Where do I start in this huge ass library? I feel hopelessness crawling over my skin. I'm tired of this. After getting so much information from Alex, I don't want to focus on getting the book anymore. Will he seriously stop being friends with me? How will I deal with that? MoonGod! That boy has completely lost his senses to think something like this as the only way. It feels like I'm losing it. I'm losing Alex and I am losing hope on finding this secret library. I'm not even sure if I want to find it. Why do I have to do the job? Why did Professor Sheila give me the chit? Why? Why al

"Seriously, Anna? Don't play detective. Let's get out of here before the librarian starts watching us." I wanted to check it right away—whatever that number meant, it had to correspond to another shelf in the library—but Isolde’s warning stopped me. Lunch was about to start anyway, and the library was about to close. We left, but the thought gnawed at me. Should I come back at midnight? But how would I even sneak in? The library would definitely be locked. "What's going on in your head?" Isolde asked suspiciously. I shrugged. "Nothing."

I needed to dig deeper, to separate fact from fiction. Leaving the café, I decided to visit the local library. It held the key to Silverwood's secrets, hidden within dusty tomes and forgotten archives. I stepped into the dimly lit room, the scent of old books and nostalgia filling the air. I approached the librarian, an elderly woman with wise eyes that seemed to hold a lifetime of stories. "Excuse me, ma'am," I said politely. "I'm looking for information about the town's history, particularly anything unusual or supernatural."

"What do people do in the library? Find knowledge, of course. The professor advised I go there, and no one would give me a tour of this freakish place!" He glances around and whispers. "You don't need the library. I told you not to trust anyone or listen to what they have to say." His voice goes calm as he smooths my palms. "You don't need to confuse yourself with the library. Just listen to me and trust everything I tell you."

And the worst part is, it took my best friend dying for me to realize this. I pull my fingers through my hair in frustration as I look around the library, remembering that I need to check out Wuthering Heights for my literature class. After rummaging through every related category I can think of with no luck, I slump into a chair, growing frustrated. I get up to leave the library before my eyes land on a small shelf across the room labeled 'Classics'. How did I not see that? I sigh in relief and rush to grab the book off the shelf, heading towards the librarian to check it out.

“We’ll see what we can find. Small towns like this have their legends that usually have little to no facts to verify the story from. But you’re right often the facts aren’t as fun as the lies.” The town split up and went their separate ways. Becky found several of the books she wanted for her end of the research, but the rest were protected behind the desk within the guarded stacks. This would be harder to get without a library card. However, Becky came prepared. She lived in the area and could get a card. That part went fairly smoothly. Until the librarian noticed her address. “Is this correct?” “Yes, we’re overseeing the restoration and preparing it to become a museum for study.”

"I might have doubts about some aspects, but I do believe this is genuinely bothering you." It's not the full affirmation I had hoped for, but her words bring a sense of comfort. "Thank you," I murmur. She nods slowly, and we both sit in silence, the weight of the situation settling over us. "What do we do now?" "Well, I figure, connection or no connection, we need more information about them. Maybe then I can find some remedy and return to normalcy." "That's the tricky part," she points out. "The school library has very limited resources on this topic, and most people only know folklore and bedtime stories meant to frighten young pups."

I hate that people think poorly of me. The library is mostly empty, and it gives me time to study. But my mind keeps drifting away from my school work, and finally, I slam my books closed and stuff them back into my bag. Turning to the library computer, I begin to search for the probability of DNA tests being inaccurate. The results aren’t helping my anxiety. It is unlikely that the results are wrong because they were performed in a hospital setting. Leaning in closer to the computer, I try to read the fine print of a university website. When a shadow is cast over me, and the scent of sandalwood fills my nostrils. Quickly, I close the windows on the computer.

As I stepped into the library, my eyes immediately turned to where I had seen the book and the note incriminating Asher. I slowly walked in that direction, wondering if there was anything around there that could tell me if he was lying or not. I picked up the same book I had found the letter in and flipped through the pages for anything. I did the same with a few books on the shelf but I knew that it would take me forever to go through all the books and I might not even find anything. I dropped to the floor and stared at all the books around me in frustration. What was I going to do? How was I going to know if I could trust Asher or not?

It was more like a sigh that made him even more curious, that allowed him to ask even more questions that he feared that they wouldn’t be answered. There was only one place where he could possibly seek answers to his questions. He started walking again to the opposite direction of his house, feeling a strong feeling of urge. Sane’s heart was beating so fast when he saw the city’s main library from afar. The main library was where all of the newspaper clippings from different years were kept for archival purposes. It was the best place to know what truly happened when the house burnt down because he couldn’t trust what people would say as what they said were often altered from the truth.