The Library After Midnight

Tuesday, October 14 – 11:52 PM

Evelyn Carter had always been the kind of person who found comfort in quiet places. While most of the city drifted into sleep or staggered out of neon-lit bars, she preferred the dusty corridors of the Belgrave Public Library. Its carved oak doors and marble lions had greeted generations of readers, but tonight, they greeted only her.

She was used to closing the place down as she finished research for her graduate thesis on forgotten folklore. But tonight, the silence carried something heavier, as if the library itself were holding its breath.

Tuesday, October 14 – 11:59 PM

Evelyn gathered her notes, sliding them into her satchel, and glanced toward the tall windows. The city’s streetlights flickered like dying fireflies, their glow hardly reaching the vast shelves that towered around her.

She stretched, and that’s when she heard it—a whisper.

At first, she thought it was the wind sneaking through the old window frames, but the words were too distinct, too deliberate:

“Stay.”

Her heart jolted. She turned, but the aisles were empty—nothing but endless rows of books staring back at her.

----

Wednesday, October 15 – 12:00 AM

The whispering grew louder, weaving around the corners of the reading room, echoing off marble floors. Evelyn stepped carefully toward the central atrium, where the grand staircase spiraled upward. The portraits of the library’s founders seemed to follow her with their painted eyes.

On the central desk lay a book that hadn’t been there earlier. Its leather cover was cracked and brittle, its title burned away by time.

As she reached for it, the lamps above flickered, and the air grew colder. Her fingers brushed the surface—warm, impossibly warm, like skin.

Wednesday, October 15 – 12:07 AM

She opened the book. The first page was not written in ink but in a delicate, silvery script that moved across the paper as she read. The words seemed to crawl, rearranging themselves:

"Every reader leaves a trace. Every story takes a life."

Evelyn’s pulse quickened. She flipped through the pages and froze.

There, etched in the shifting script, was her own name—Evelyn Carter—followed by a description of her night, down to the clothes she wore and the satchel she carried.

The words ended with a line she had not yet lived:

"At 12:13 AM, she will run, but she will not escape."

-----

Wednesday, October 15 – 12:10 AM

Panic surged through her. The library no longer felt like stone and wood but like a living thing, breathing, watching.

The chandeliers swayed though no wind passed through, and the sound of footsteps echoed above—heavy, measured, circling.

Evelyn slammed the book shut, but the whispers only multiplied, now dozens of voices overlapping, chanting, pleading, warning. The shelves seemed to bend inward, narrowing the aisles into a maze that hadn’t been there before.

---

Wednesday, October 15 – 12:13 AM

She sprinted toward the exit. The grand staircase stretched impossibly long, as though the building had reshaped itself. Every step felt heavier than the last, as if the floor itself wanted to trap her.

She stumbled, clutching her satchel, and burst into the main hall. The massive clock over the circulation desk glared down at her—its hands frozen at 11:59.

But her phone told a different story: 12:13 AM.

Her breath caught. The prophecy in the book had found her.

Wednesday, October 15 – 12:14 AM

She pushed through the front doors, the night air cold and sharp against her face. The city outside was eerily still. Not a car passed, not a pedestrian stirred.

Behind her, the library loomed, its windows glowing faintly though no lights remained inside. Evelyn dared to glance back only once, and that was her mistake.

In the reflection of the glass doors, she saw herself still standing inside, staring back at her with wide, frightened eyes.

The other Evelyn smiled faintly.

And just before the doors shut tight, she heard the whisper one last time, soft but clear:

“We’ll finish your chapter soon.”