horror one-shot

Mr. Linden's Library

author's note: this was a flash fiction story i wrote for creative writing club. it is exactly 1000 words and is based on the image above.

Marie had always been a curious little girl.

Everyone who knew Marie knew this. It was prevalent in everything she did.

Sometimes it was for the best. In science class, second grade, she not only answered how, but why on her science fair paper and got four points extra credit. But as she got older, she had only been seen as annoying and nosy. What had been a gift was now a curse, and an excited little girl had grown to be a quiet young woman. But she could never hide her true nature.

One day, on a particularly foggy evening, Marie went off to her local library. Although it was part of the town's library district, no one called it Pake Road Regional. They always called it Mr. Linden's library.

It was a tiny little library, too tiny to even be funded by the government. That is what most people who lived in the neighbourhood loved about it- the niche community and cosiness of the building drew people in. Marie was no exception.

But the thing that everyone loved about it, no matter how they felt about reading, was John Linden.

He was a tiny old man, and one who had lived in the town for generations. He had a passion for books from the age of two, the first time he had ever picked up a book. He could barely understand the book, but as his eyes connected the pictures and words, he learned more about language from the book than his parents' attempts at educating him. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew him as a kind-hearted soul who helped everyone in the community. He donated to dozens of charities over the years and tutored kids whenever they needed help. Marie had looked up to him ever since she was a little girl; he always loved her curiosity and would always help her find answers to her questions.

Marie had a particular memory she loved, one where he helped her with her literacy work. The question was, "How does the author hint at the fact that the narrator is the murderer?" Marie loved the book she was reading for class, though she could not remember it now. It was fifth grade and her curiosity got the best of her during her class. She kept thinking about the murderer and made separate cases for each suspect. The only one she had not thought of was the narrator themself. The narrator seemed so kind, so innocent- it stumped Marie as soon as she had finished the book. Mr. Linden, being the book extraordinaire that he was, taught Marie more than her teachers had. She connected the dots and saw the signs of the narrator being the murderer; the narrator never lied, per se, rather simply did not include all details of the truth. It blew Marie's mind, and she never saw reading the same way again.

And so, Marie was on her way to the library, the one that was so familiar it felt like home. She knew the route by heart and made a mental list of books she wanted to check out. Finally, she had arrived. The fresh and comforting air of the building welcomed her, and she smelled fresh coffee from the cafe next door. She waved to Mr. Linden and browsed the large shelves of books. Although the building itself was tiny, the shelves went all the way up to the ceiling.

Marie looked around, as always, when suddenly, she noticed something. On the brown wall next to the Fiction B-C, just next to The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie, was a small knob. It was barely noticeable, but Marie noticed it immediately. She tried turning it left, and nothing happened, so she tried the other way, and once again, nothing happened. She was just about to give up, but she remembered something she had learned in a book, and pushed inwards. The small trap door opened, and there was a dusty book inside. She picked it up, inspecting it, and there was no title, just the long, purple hardcover material across both sides. With a confused look on her face, she brought the book to Mr. Linden.

"I found this book," she explained, showing it to Mr. Linden.

"Don't touch that!" Mr. Linden exclaimed, and Marie had never seen him more upset. He was about to reach out, but stopped himself short. "It's top-secret. Put it back where you found it, Marie." Although he was trying to warn her, it only made her more curious. However, she didn't want to get Mr. Linden upset, so she closed the trapdoor, making it seem like she locked the book inside, and put it in her black bag. She decided to check out The Murder of Roger Ackroyd to lessen Mr. Linden's suspicions of anything being stolen; she rarely went to the library and did not check anything out.

As she walked out with her bright yellow umbrella in hand, a sudden chill came upon her as if someone had walked over her grave. She thought nothing of it and continued home.

As soon as she got home, she made dinner for herself. A simple instant noodle container shall do, she thought. She slurped her noodles and before she knew it, it was bedtime. She walked up to her room with the titleless purple book in hand.

As soon as she opened the book, she noticed the strange writings inside. She flipped through the pages and did not understand a single word throughout. Suddenly, she dozed off, book beside her. Branches and leaves started growing out of the book rapidly and Marie could do nothing. He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late. Marie awoke screaming, but the vines silenced her before anyone could hear. Marie caught a glance of Mr. Linden, holding the deadly book and putting a finger over her mouth.

"Oh, curious Marie, if only you'd listen."

She was gone.