horrors2

Combat_Wombat.The_Librar.tex

  1\chapauth{Combat Wombat}
  2\chapter{The Library}
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  8My name is Luke Bavarious. I'm a PI, a private investigator. I
  9wasn't always a PI, I used to be a cop. A damn good cop, the best
 10on the force. But that was the past. There's no point dwelling upon
 11the past. It's not so bad though, a PI is like being a freelance
 12cop.
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 16I had a new case, it had come in this morning as I was trying to
 17murder my hangover with a coctail of aspirin and coffee. The phone
 18pierced the silence and drove deep into my head with the force of a
 19semi-truck going 55 miles per hour. I swore never to get this drunk
 20again. I remember I had fought down the vertigo and struggled to
 21make sense of the words coming out of the earpiece. ``This was worse
 22than the time I killed myself in the alley,'' I thought to myself.
 23At least I hoped I thought to myself. What if I spoke it out loud?
 24I looked at the phone in my hands in horror. My hand trembled. It
 25suddenly became too much weight to bear. I remembered mumbling
 26something close to ``I'll be there'' and slammed the phone headset
 27back on it's cradle. At least I hoped that's what I said. It was
 28all too much to deal with.
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 32I was struggling to piece together what the voice on the phone had
 33told me. The voice said something about noises in the library.
 34There were children there, they were afraid it was a stalker. The
 35police had found nothing and they couldn't watch the place all day.
 36That's where I came in.
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 40I grabbed the bottle of aspirin and twisted the child proof safety
 41cap off. I downed the entire bottle and washed it down with the
 42remained of my coffee, now lukewarm and disgusting. Odd, I thought.
 43I just made this pot.
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 47I grabbed my berretta and palm slammed a clip into it. As I made my
 48way towards the door with grim purpose I was accompanied by the
 49sounds of aluminum cans being crushed underfoot, cans that lay
 50scattered across my apartment like ammo shells. There had been a
 51war here last night, Coors were the bullets. I was the victor and
 52the defeated.
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 56When I got to the library it was deserted. It was a cold, desolate
 57place lit only by the night lights. Rows upon rows of books lined
 58the shelves. Each one was like a tombstone, the library a masoleum.
 59It was all too much.
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 63If there was a stalker I would need to stake him out. I searched
 64the library and found the perfect place, a hallowed out section of
 65a bookshelf that I could fit myself into. I removed the books and
 66squeezed myself into my new hiding place. As I began piling books
 67to cover myself up my fingers brushed against the covers of all the
 68books. I could feel the grain, the texture. The embossed lettering.
 69I hate embossed lettering. Some of the books had jackets with
 70embossed lettering on them. I tore those off and hid the jackets.
 71The books were much better without them. There wasn't anything I
 72could do about the ones that had embossed lettering on the covers
 73themselves.
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 77Soon I was perfectly hidden, a specter. A ghost. Now I had to wait
 78and watch. My berretta felt cold and heavy in my hand. It was my
 79constant companion, my only friend in this cold, terrifying
 80world.
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 84I waited out the hours. The cold blackness of night soon gave way
 85to morning and the library opened. Librarians streamed in and began
 86sorting the returns and placing them on the appropriate shelves.
 87Dewey Decimal would have been proud of these librarians.
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 91Soon the place was filled with adults and children. My eyes were
 92sharp, alert. I had picked a perfect spot with a clean view of the
 93checkout counter and much of the library itself. I would find this
 94stalker.
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 98I could see the effects of his presence, clear as day. People
 99looked around worriedly as if they were aware of someone watching
100them. No, not someone. Something. I could feel it too. A deep,
101murderous intent hanging on the air like heavy cobwebs. A cold,
102unrelenting malice that permeated the very air. A thick, undulating
103smog of contempt. It bore down on me, on everything. It terrified
104me. I swallowed the vomit that threatened to climb up my
105throat.
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109I could feel it everywhere. I could feel it's eyes on me. I could
110see no trace of it, though.
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114The police came again, I guess they decided to take another look.
115They inspected the place. They were dutiful and attentive, but my
116hiding spot was too good. The stalker's must be even better. Soon
117they left.
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121The stalker was still here.
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125Hours continued to crawl by like a wounded semi-truck limping down
126a gravel road with a flat tire as oil, precious blood to the
127vehicle, vomited forth from ruptured lines and leaving a death
128trail on the rocks. My finger rested uneasily on the trigger of my
129berretta. I had to be ready.
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133I was startled to attention by the voice of the head librarian as
134she picked up the phone and punched in a number.
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138``Is this Luke Bavarious?'' I began to tremble. {\em No{\ldots}
139no!}
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143``This is Pamela Dufrost at the Metropolitan Library, we've been
144hearing strange noises and it's frightening the
145children{\ldots}''
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149As I felt the icy grip of fatalistic, militant terror grip my heart
150I could hear laughter. Was it coming from my own lips? No, it
151couldn't be! I screamed, the noise erupting from my throat
152like vomit.
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158Edit - I guess it has a very weak link to respecting children. Not
159being a creepy time travelling stalker is an important message
160right? 
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