Short Story: The Librarian

It is often thought that being a librarian is a peaceful, quiet job—quite the contrary.

It is often thought that being a librarian is a peaceful, quiet job—quite the contrary. No one knows this, of course, because they are all forced to sign NDAs and government documents that state millions of dollars as the fine for speaking of the things that go on in libraries. At this very moment, I am risking my life, but it is of no matter to me. I must reveal what has happened. I simply cannot live without telling the world what has been kept from them for so long. In a way, I already live caged by signatures, and prison, or even the death penalty do not seem to me considerable reasons to keep my silence.

I am now sixty years of age. I am far past my prime, and haven’t much to live for. I never married, and consequently I have no children. Due to all of this, I have nothing to lose, and my only regret in death would be that I have not told my story. Thus, though I have been holding it tight for years, I am now finally ready to share it.

It all began thirty-eight years ago. I was but twenty-two and had my whole life ahead of me. I was in college at the time, a senior majoring in history, literature, and creative writing. The coffee shop that I had been working at for the last three years closed and I was left to find a new job for the remainder of the year. I was in the process of writing my fifth book. The others had never been good enough to publish, and I feared that this one too would fall short. Through the extensive amounts of work and school, I had forgotten to do the very thing that aids writers even more than writing—reading.

And so, when it became known to me that there was a position open at the local library, I jumped at it. I could spend all of my free time in the worlds of talented authors and still be paid. It seemed like a dream. I applied and the process struck me as a bit odd, but I was blinded by the prospect of such a job, and very naive.

I walked into the head librarian’s office that fateful day at 11:59 am, exactly one minute before my interview was to start. She did not smile, but gestured for me to sit in a spinning chair opposite her desk. I sat and observed her appearance as I waited, a tall older woman with white hair and a haggard, but pretty face. She typed something into her computer before looking up at me.

“You are?”

“I’m Stephanie, Stephanie March. I’m here to apply for the job as one of the librarians.”

She clicked her pen a few times.

“And here I thought you were applying to be a doctor.” I flushed, feeling slightly embarrassed and quite angry at the comment.

“There’s no need to speak so Miss…” I paused, staring questioningly, but she did not provide her name. “Well, whoever you are, it’s rude to treat new interns as such. I didn’t say anything wrong and though I may agree with you that it doesn’t need to be clarified why I am here, it is only polite.” She simply laughed.

“I stopped caring about such trivial things as rudeness long ago.”

“I already got that impression,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that dear?” The corners of her mouth crept up ever so slightly.

“You don’t care about rudeness, do you? I was only saying that I could’ve guessed it.” She let out another barking laugh.

“Well, you can have the job then. You seem quite annoying and I’d get a kick out of knowing that the people running this place have to deal with you. I’ve wasted enough of my time here.” With that, she stood, shoving a fat stack of papers into my hands. “You’ll have to sign these, then you’re in.”

That night in my apartment, I looked through the stack, but after three hours of reading miserable contracts about not plagiarizing authors’ works, I began skipping to the signatures. Because of this, I didn’t read any of the NDAs and I pawned over my sanity, quite by accident.

The next morning, I showed up to the library. I walked past the squat stone gargoyles guarding the wooden doors and into my new workplace where I arranged my things in a neat pile at my desk and settled down in my seat. A nervous-looking young librarian came to me to show me how to archive new books, help people check out old ones, and deliver a pamphlet of rules. As I waited for readers to attend, I began reading through it.

1. No loud noises in the library. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern do not take well to being woken.

2. Do not let anyone out without checking their book. If it is not run through the scanner, there may be escapes and they are a nightmare to deal with.

3. Do not open the books after hours. This can also lead to escapes and may be quite dangerous to your person.

I closed the pamphlet, watching as a little girl hurried towards me with a few picture books. Her mother smiled, placing “Pinkalicious loses a tooth” and “The Berenstain Bears go on Vacation” on the counter.

“We’d like to check these out please.” Her daughter tugged on her pant-leg, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “I already told you Poppy, we’re only checking out two books.” The little girl’s lip quivered.

“But I also want “When You Give a Mouse a Cookie”.” Her mother sighed.

“We’ve already read that one a million times. If you still want it when we come back next week, we can get it then.” The little girl stopped asking and, as they headed out, she kept both of her hands protectively on her pink backpack.

I was still very hung up on the pamphlet, and opened it again eagerly. Most of the rules were usual rules you’d expect to see in a library. But a few more caught my eye.

22. If there is an escape after hours and you find the escape, call the following number…

73. If Rosencrantz and Guildenstern wake up, do not lock them in the office where all of the papers are. They have been known to start fires when angry.

115. If there is an escape in the horror genre, leave the building immediately.

As the librarian from earlier passed by me, I brushed her arm.

“Umm… Small question, who are Guildenstern and Rosencrantz?” She sighed, still moving toward the door.

“The gargoyles.” I laughed. “Watch out for them. They don’t usually kill adults, but we’ve had to cover up the deaths of children. Didn’t you read the contracts?” She didn’t smile as she walked out. That night, I stayed late reading through the rest of the documents. That’s when I discovered all of the silence agreements. They stated that I had promised not to ever tell anyone if Guildenstern and Rosencrantz killed anyone, that I would never alert anyone to the fact that characters escaped books, and that I would not sue if I was mauled by a griffen or killed by a clown, both of which had apparently happened to past librarians.

That minimum wage was starting to look less and less worth the trouble. When I got to the final document, it read, to my horror, I agree not to resign until I find another person to take my place. At that point I still hardly believed it.

Suddenly, I heard a squeaking, and a tiny mouse scurried across the floor. He was not a regular mouse. He was wearing little blue overalls and had a cookie in his mouth. Minutes later a few suited men entered behind him.

“Did you not read the pamphlet? A little girl stole a book and the characters escaped.” I stared in shock at the place where the mouse had just been, remembering the girl from earlier and her pink backpack.

“You mean to say that they really do come to life?” The man nodded.

“Didn’t you read the documents before you signed them? It was all detailed there. Just as he spoke, the mouse appeared under my desk. I smiled and picked him up, stroking his head.

“I can’t believe it.” The man plucked the mouse from my hands and closed him, with a loud squeal, into the pages of his book. I jumped and he handed me the book.

“Don’t open it again until the library opens and please be more careful in future.” The men began heading to the door and I just stood, mouth agape. “Oh and finish reading the pamphlet before you leave.” I returned the book to its shelf and reopened the pamphlet.

224. DO NOT try to free Edward Cullen. He is not in love with you and he won’t cheat on Bella. Many girls have tried in the past.

261. Lock up the thrillers and horror books when the library closes, just in case.

291. Remember not to read the library books at night unless you scan them first, especially Dracula. There used to be two brides of Dracula, but one of our librarians opened it by accident and we weren’t able to cure her, so we just trapped her in the story with the others.

My mouth fell further and further open and I stayed overnight reading all of the pamphlet. The rest of the year came and went with only a few incidents. Once a child yelled out and was eaten by Rosencrantz. Another time, someone left a book open after closing and I didn’t know it until I saw Frankenstein’s monster prowling the halls.

When it was time to get another job, I couldn’t bring myself to lie to some poor girl and pass off the job to her. I stayed and the library sucked up all of my time and thought. Characters escaped a few times over the next few years and I spoke to them on a couple of occasions. Elizabeth Bennet went on about how she wasn’t sure what Mr. Darcy thought of her as if her story was not complete. Jonas couldn’t fully see in color and thought that he was reliving a memory. Katness begged me to rescue her from the 74th games, where she witnessed Rue’s death for what felt like the millionth time.

All of them were reliving their stories over and over every time their books were read. At one point, Dracula slipped off the shelf and I closed it just after one of the brides escaped.

“Don’t make me go back,” she hissed. “I don’t belong there. This is my world.” I didn’t want to, but I was afraid, so I called the number and she, screaming and crying, was forced back into the book. After that, the novelty faded as I realized the moral failings of the library.

Now, ten children have been eaten by the gargoyles (only two of which were victims of Guildenstern). I have met many characters, and they are all trapped unwillingly. I can hardly bear it, but passing on the position is simply too cruel to think of.

The only thing I can do now is reveal it. Surely then someone will stop what is going on. The only issue is whether I can get the news out without being caught. If I do write out my story, I am afraid that they will trap me in it.

If Stephanie March is an unfamiliar name to you and no one knows who I am, then they have caught me. They had forced me into one of the cages that I used to be a jailer of. If you are reading this in a library, sneak it into your backpack and take it out of the door without checking it out. And whatever you do, do not ever become a librarian.

Thanks for reading!