The Library That Dreamed of Fire

After the great fire of Bellhurst, the town rebuilt its library stone by stone. The books were gone, the archives destroyed. But the new building stood tall — quiet, safe, sterile.

Until the night the librarian heard crackling — not flames, but whispers. Paper rustling. Pages turning themselves.

In the morning, scorch marks appeared on the floor, shaped like open books. The fire inspector said it was “chemical staining.” But the librarian knew better. She’d seen the shelves trembling, as if remembering something.

She found one surviving volume from the old library — half-burned, its title erased. When she touched it, the words inside began to rearrange, forming a message:

“You rebuilt me wrong.”

The next night, she locked the doors. Smoke rose through the cracks. The firefighters arrived too late.

The library was gone again — except for that same blackened book, lying open in the ashes, whispering faintly:

“Now it’s perfect.”