There, again for the fifth time. I can hear someone creeping around, feel their eyes upon me. But each time I look up there’s no one to be found. There must’ve been though…I think; which makes me all the more paranoid. It didn’t matter, not really. Frankly, I’ld kill for a distraction. Anything. But there isn’t the time, there’s never the time.
I take my seat again, behind the large stacks. You know, the ones on the third floor, on the west side. The ones that need those ladders with the wheels on the bottom so you can reach those shelves that extend to the ceiling. When I was a kid I imagined they were endless rows that stretched beyond the sky. An endless supply of books, each with their own secrets and knowledge to spring on the unsuspecting patron. I miss those days, but they haven’t all left.
I look down at a heap of paper. No progress. It wasn’t that I’m having difficulty organizing my thoughts, I know what to say, I just can’t seem to figure out how to place them in words.
Floating thoughts, like clouds, dancing in my mind surrounded by black negative space. Anytime that I fly closer to discovering the nature of them, they simply drift further into the void. It’s all so futile, and even if I could manage, it’d all be for…for what?
Shifting in my place, the vinyl upholstery mimics subtile flatulence. I grow cold for a moment. Up from my chair again and peeking between the shelves. I skim dow the rows like a television spy. Still no one. Not that it mattered, much. I mean, I didn’t, but if someone were to have heard… How likely would I be able to explain that one? ‘Pardon me ma’am, but it really was the chair. Honest.’ Even if I did though, even if I had really been the source of the noise, that’s a perfectly normal function of the body. Should I feel so ashamed?
I look down at my paper once more.
“Ugh! Words!” I try to keep my voice low.
Sometimes I talk to myself, but isn’t that a normal thing as well? Not all the time or anything. Mostly when I’m alone, by myself. The room doesn’t feel nearly as empty when you fill it with words and sounds. Occasionally I’ll just talk and pretend the letters simply drift from my mouth. They spout in brilliant colours, fonts, and sizes. Little by little they begin to pile and I have to open a window to let them out. No need to suffocate on your own words. The page, however, remained blank.
I sigh. Sighing never really makes me feel any better but I do it compulsively. Its like I run out of breath, even though my lungs are at capacity, and all I’ve been doing is sitting here. There’s this weight on my chest. I thought I was asthmatic for a time. They said I wasn’t.
My phone’s a lifeless block before me. If only someone would call. People don’t often visit this section either, which is one of the reasons I like it so well. My own little world back here. Ah, but if only someone were to happen by. ‘Good afternoon,’ I’d beam. ‘My name is Tyres,’ and I’ll pretend to tip a hat to them, welcoming them to my corner of the world. How awful it is to converse with one whose humourless. They bore me so. Don’t get me wrong. I like to talk to people. I love people, in fact, though I may do without the boorish natured ones. No excuses to be uninteresting.
I lift my pen with a new sense of clarity and conviction. Something, anything to get me started. It’s a process best handled by diving straight in. It can be utter shit. I can certainly accept that by now. I need to get in the right mindset. Understand what I’m really looking for and— I got it.
‘There’s no expectation that you’ve heard of the town of Sanserita. A single road passes through, its a great assumption there’d be a reason to visit, and those that stay have nowhere else to go.’
Shuffling from the stacks from behind. Darting back at the source to find a puzzled patron. Instead, there isn’t a soul to be seen. ‘You’re hearing things,’ but I know it was real.
Out of my seat again I pace back and forth across the rows. Sometimes I do that just to think. People start to stare, then I act like I found a book I was looking for. I begin walking down a row, a roundabout way back to my spot.
The shelves are more of a vast jungle of postmortem trees. Push past a few limbs, you can peer further into the dense foliage. Dim hanging light fixtures only so often brings terrific shadows and shade. Once untamed wilderness, slowly conquered, one title at a time.
I can’t explain this strange feeling to one whom has never experience it. I swear there was someone behind me. I’m not making that up. And it’s not shrouded in fear. More of my own damned curiosity. I know he’s around; she; it; whatever; but why? Why do I know that? Why do I feel this…thing? Am I losing it? Shit. I know I’m not crazy. I’m not. ‘Where are you?’
Clambering, never in front. My heart skips a beat as does my footing. I twist around and catch myself in time. I don’t believe it. A cat? A black cat. Screeching as it leaps from the shelf, taking off in the opposite direction. Ruffled and awfully thin, it looked neglected. Where’d it come from? I mean, I just walked by…how’d I miss that? My eyesight’s fine, and I like to consider myself rather perceptive. I’ve never seen him, assuming its a boy, maybe a girl, here before. And where was she, it, off to now? My writing can wait a little longer.
I tear after the black feline just as it disappears around the corner. Bounding past, he’s, let’s just assume he’s a boy for now, leisurely strolling down the aisle. Its like he knew I’d follow, like he wants me to follow. Stranger by the second.
Right! Which one was it? I know it’s one of them, tracing his path. Trying to hurry while crouched. No need to spook the little guy, or draw attention to myself for that matter. I can only imagine; what a sight!
He knows I’m following now. What’s his game? Another corner, I catch him just in time. He’s trying to lose me. Barely discerning his next maneuver I chase him another direction. A series of stacks, no time to pay attention to their contents. These endless halls begin to look the same and I’m starting to wonder if I’m the only one here. Not a soul to share as witness.
A left, then two rights. I’m gaining on him now. At least I think. He’s always just out of reach, only a matter of time. End of the aisle, he’ll have to make a decision. Dashing left, I’m only a second behind. Already winded, I can’t wrap my mind around the chase he’s giving me. Can’t keep this up. I take the turn and make it a few meters before stopping in my tracks.
Dead end. No chance of escape. Where was he? I’ve got to catch my breath. What the hell? He’s gone. The shelves! I run my hands on the spines and covers as if there’d be a secret compartment. Removing a small collection does nothing.
I don’t get it. How’d he disappear? And that fast? It doesn’t seem possible. I’m missing something.
“Tyres!” Carried in a whisper.
I jump. “Mrs. Taluca,” one of the librarians. I can’t imagine her elsewhere.
“Tyres, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”
“Mrs. Taluca, did you see the cat that just ran past here?”
“You can’t bring a cat into the libr—“
“I didn’t bring it in here. It leapt from the shelves; came out of no where. Didn’t you see it?”
“No, I didn’t see it.”
“It just ran past…”
“There aren’t any cats kept here.”
“It looked like a stray, real thin and black as the—“
“Tyres”
“I’m serious. Ask around! Maybe he’s been living here…somehow.”
“We’ve yet to hear any patrons mention something about a cat, and I would’ve certainly heard if a staff member—“
“You don’t think he could be hiding around this place?”
“I don’t think you’re in any condition to be drawing such ridiculous conclusions. When’s the last time you got some sleep?”
“That’s not important.”
“It is Tyres. Especially when you starting running around the place disrupting people and going on some tangent about some mythical cat wandering the stacks.”
“Mrs. Taluca…”
She starts to leave.
“Get some sleep sweetie and stop the roughhousing, otherwise they’ll kick you out again.”
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