As the Undead Roam the Stacks - A Library Halloween Story

I stood in the 780s staring at a row of books that according to the card catalog didn’t exist. Martial Arts for Paranormal Crime Fighters the first title read. Karate for Shapeshifters, Kicking Zombies Back into the Grave, and the reportedly bestselling Vampire Hunting in Stilettos: the 21st Century Chick’s Guide to Dealing with the Undead followed.

I’d discovered the books only the day before. Karate for Shapeshifters ran 330 pages with illustrations. Fully indexed, with a table of contents, even the title page looked legit. Printed on good quality acid free paper with a sewn binding; they didn’t make them like that anymore. I looked at the spine; Dewey number 758.132, karate with paranormal content, which without reading the book seemed to be correctly cataloged. If the books were a joke, it was a pretty elaborate one.

I peeked over the mezzanine railing watching the well dressed business man browsing through the mystery section. His three piece suit and Italian leather shoes made him suspicious. No one came into my library looking like that. But his gleaming white teeth precipitated my mad dash to the mezzanine and search for Vampire Hunting in Stilettos. Sharp fangs sparkled when he smiled and they didn’t come from too much flossing.

Three floors below the elevator began clanging, its morning ritual as it cycled through the building’s floors. It sounded like a swarm of drug doping bees lifting weights. Behind me the elevator arrived on the second floor. The rollers, flattened from infrequent use, thumped rhythmically as the doors opened.

“Finally,” a female voice said from the elevator. “I just can’t get the hang of pushing those buttons.”

Medium height, her grey hair pulled back in a tight bun, a pencil stuck out of the woman’s bun like a sword strapped to her back. Her white, pleated, high-collared, starched blouse buttoned up to her chin, a large silver Celtic knot broach held it closed at her throat. A long black skirt hung to her ankles, black leather oxfords peeping out from beneath it. The fact that I could read the elevator buttons through her torso was just a little disconcerting.

“Good morning, Emma” I said.

Her eyes flicked across me and glanced around the stacks, gazing lovingly at the books. “Really Jen,” she said, “I wished you’d get rid of that thing. Librarians don’t wear,” she hesitated. “whatever that thing is in your nose.”

“It’s a stud,” I said.

“Right, librarians don’t have studs in their noses. Or tattoos for that matter.”

“Yeah, and they don’t roam the stacks sixty years after they died either,” I said. The wolf tattooed on my forearm dug its claws into my flesh. It didn’t care for the Ghost of the Librarian past. Or maybe he was afraid I’d slug her, I wasn’t sure.

“Well, in my day,” she sniffed, a sound I’d only read about people making in novels, Victorian novels to be exact.

“This isn’t your day anymore,” I cut her off, not wanting to hear the same lecture about appearances from Emma that I got from the library board every day since I’d taken the job.

Emma had been the first librarian to ever preside over the Library. She’d been hired straight out of library school in 1890, the year the library opened its doors. She’d ruled the place for 60 years, finally dying at the circulation desk in 1950 at the age of 82. She’d fallen face first into the ink pad, the date stamper clutched in her hand. Rumor had it her last word was “shhhh.” Like the book in my hands, they didn’t make them like Emma anymore. At least that’s what the library board said.

She peeked over the railing, looking at the business man in mysteries. Her pale gray eyes flicked across the room settling on a spike haired punk standing by the video games. She sniffed again. “Vampires in mysteries, zombies in the whatever those things are,” she added pointing at the game display.

“Don’t forget this one, “she said pointing to a book at the end of the shelf. The Superhero Librarian’s Guide to Saving the World the title read. “I found in invaluable in my day, especially when the undead start roaming the stacks.”

I pulled the books off the shelf and rose to carry my stack down to the desk. The elevator doors opened behind her, and Emma stepped into the elevator. “Oh, and dear,” she said, “I keep the cape in the file cabinet.” She smiled at me, “You’re going to need it.” The elevator door rolled closed in front of the Ghost of the Librarian past. “Happy Halloween,” she called as the elevator descended back into the basement.