Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
But I sure as hell want to know. The secrets of this town inspire the stories that come to me. Every moment I get I write the thrilling short stories and give the spirits a way for their silent screams to be heard. I’ve written seven now under a ghost penname. No one knows it’s me and no one needs to know. It matters to me though. To hear their tales, tragic and otherwise and share what they wish to be known.
A footstep scuffs on the floor behind my back. Out of instinct I almost forget and turn around, but I don’t. I move along the back aisle instead, to the place where Hazel touched my hand earlier today. A warmth flows through me at the thought. A short groan threatens to leave me as my eyes close.
I cannot think about her without getting hard. It’s an instant reaction. I brace myself with a hand on the shelves, close my eyes, and inhale the scent of her.
It’s been hours and hours since she was here, and the library is full of old books and older wood and stone. With the heat all the way on for the recent cold snap, all I should be able to smell is warm radiator.
But there she is. The scent of her, teasing me.
My eyes open slowly as a thought hits me: Is it the ghosts playing a trick on me?
I can feel them getting closer. They don’t have to be able to read my mind to see the effect Hazel has on me.
She’s had that effect for a long time, ever since she first walked through the door of the library years ago. Her presence is calming and yet all consuming. She’s beautiful and intelligent and of all the people in this town, she would understand I think.
How my life changed when my parents passed, how I hid in books as a child. How I searched for them and yet found myself here. They’re gone I know, and I am at peace with that. What I’m left without them is a gift most do not have. Peace with the dead and an energy that welcomes spirits. They have comforted me, befriended me in some ways. And given me powers I cannot explain.
The living do not intrigue me as much. Or at least they didn’t used to. But then she came in. Hazel.
It was like lightning struck me when I first saw her. The shock kept me still. She was there, between the two aisles that everyone else avoids. The aisles where the spirits rest. And she was at home there, searching through the texts for a story I might have already known.
And I… Didn’t make a move. I merely watched. What was she doing and why did they give her peace in their home here. I had to know, but I didn’t even know her name.
It was easy enough to get her name from some of the ladies in the knitting club, and even easier to find out that she took over the Bewitched Boutique, and even easier to walk down the street on one of my breaks and glance in the window of her shop.
The bells chimed as I came in for a cup of coffee in the corner of her shop. It didn’t take long for me to feel comfort with her as well. The allure is addictive. Watching her in the library on dark nights. Sharing stolen glances. I’m sure she understands the dead in the way I do.
Hazel has been studying the history of the town, and its most well-known coven, for as long as she’s been here.
I let out a curse into the books as the floorboards creak again. They know my fantasies of Hazel. They know what she does to me.
I’ve thought of a thousand different ways to approach her, and none of them seemed right. She doesn’t come here for me and I don’t wish to startle her and scare her away as the ghosts do to others.
But then today…
She came in, and I felt it. I felt curiosity coming off her in waves. I’ve felt it before, but I didn’t want to assume it was about me no matter how many times I caught her looking.
Today, I knew. I can still feel her fingers brushing against mine like it’s still happening. This darker side of me is only one aspect of my life. Of course I have a life to share with someone. Friends and a home where I host parties and poker nights. With a PhD in archival studies and the occasional course at the local universities, I have a life I could share with another. They’d never have to know this secret of mine. But I’ve never wanted someone only to hide from them. Then there’s her and I just know if I were to tell her, she would understand. Although I fear I’ll scare her. It is not often I think of her so much. I close my eyes and grip the edge of the counter, there’s something in the air tonight.