Composition Qtr 1 Week 6 Essay, Secret in the Old Library

 

            One night, I fell asleep in the old library.

            This was a particularly amazing feat, considering how creepy the old library is. During the day, Mr. Calder, the rather weird and scary librarian, is always sitting in the same spot, but somehow everything is perfectly shelved and organized. He almost never speaks. He almost never moves, except when he quietly and quickly checks out your books (While staring at you. He never looks at what he’s doing, and he never makes a mistake.), until 7:30 every night. Then he just gets up, turns off all the lights, and leaves. I’ve watched him.

            Everything is tidy and perfect, but the guy never moved from his seat.

            And when you walk past the library after Mr. Calder has locked it up for the night, you can hear eerie, faint music, like a single violin, that comes from nowhere. You can smell something musty and dusty leaking out of the air vents.  Occasionally, the lights come on unexplainably, illuminating the windows. That’s about the time I run.

            On Sunday, when the library isn’t open…well, that’s the creepiest. The doors are locked, but all the windows are open from the inside. Along with the faint music, you can hear a squeaking, a grinding, and sometimes a whispering that makes you feel like you’re losing your mind. You can see shadows crossing back and forth in the windows, like a bunch of ghosts are dancing around in there.

            The library had a secret, for sure. I wouldn’t know ‘till morning what it was.

            My sisters couldn’t believe it when I told them I’d been stuck there for a whole night, and my mother was just relieved that I had been out all night only by accident, and at a sophisticated, safe place like the library.

            I wonder what my mother would think about the old library if she knew the truth.

            Here’s how it happened…

            I was researching a five-page paper I needed to do on ancient Egypt, and somehow found myself reading the single most boring, lengthy book ever written, probably since the time of ancient Egypt. The tiny print, the soft, warm light in the corner of the library where I was sitting (and, I’ll admit, hiding from creepy Mr. Calder), soon lulled me to sleep.

            When I woke up, the library was completely dark.

            Uh oh, I thought.

            I got up, and froze. Fear creeps up on you in a dark place you aren’t too familiar with. I was petrified…especially when I heard that faint violin music that had always freaked me out on the street as I walked past on my way to the gas station. And then I smelled that dusty, musty smell, just like molding books or the inside of a haunted house. The strangest thing was that you never smelled it while the library was open. I wouldn’t know ‘till morning why that was.

            I stood there, scared and stiff, until I realized it would be far worse to stay in the old library, especially with that haunting music tickling my ears, so I took a step.

            That single violin grew louder the instant I moved.

            I guess I’m a coward, because that really did it. I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled like some seven-month-old going for the world record, grinding my teeth and trying to ignore the beautiful but eerie music that got a little louder every inch I crawled. I finally somehow made it to the door, and tried to open it.

            Locked.

            I didn’t panic until I realized the old bolt, the one I always admired because it looked like a lion roaring, was designed that it could only be locked or unlocked with the key. The key that, to my knowledge, only Mr. Calder had.

            I was trapped.

            I whipped around and pressed my back up against the door. I was breathing hard; my heart was pounding like a percussion group on steroids. I’m not afraid of the dark, or violins, or dusty musty smells. But I am desperately afraid of what might be in the dark, haunting violin music that comes from nowhere, and what might be causing a dusty musty smell only at night in an old library!

            Simultaneously, the lights burst on, the music stopped, and the dusty, musty smell was suddenly stronger. I screamed like a girl and was blinded by the sudden brightness, cowering against the door like a sniveling wimp.

            “What are you doing here?”

            I yelped, and opened my eyes, trying to focus on what I saw. It was a girl; a tall girl in a long, flowing blue nightgown, with skin almost as white as fresh paper, thick blonde hair, and large, unnerving brown eyes.

            “Wh-who are you?” I squeaked.

            “What are you doing here?” she repeated, crossing her arms angrily. “No one is ever to be in the library at night,”
            “I can’t get out!” My voice was still two or three notches higher than usual. “And…wh-what are you d-doing here?”

            She glared at me like she hadn’t just scared me out of my mind and this was all my fault.

            “Go away,” she ordered.

            “I’m trying,” I said, my fear diminishing as I got truly mad at her.

            She balled her hands into fists and made an angry noise. “Ugh…you have to go away!”

            “I can’t!” I shouted.

            “What is your name?” she demanded. “No…wait…you’re Alex, aren’t you? Alex Turpin. Yes. You were here before the library closed.”

            “H-How’d you know that?” I stuttered, taken by surprise.

            “I know everything,” she said. I didn’t believe her, but I did believe she knew a lot more than I did.

            “So…who are you?” I asked, still pressed up against the door.

            “I am Eloise Calder.”

            “Oh. Are…you related to the librarian?”

            She gave me a long look. “Yes. He’s my father.”

            “Oh. Ok.” I had never imagined Mr. Calder having any family. He seemed like he existed solely to bring the library alive Monday through Saturday every week, and imagining him in any other concept was difficult. “So…can I go now?”

            “I’m afraid not,” Eloise replied.

            “What?” I squeaked.

            “You’re stuck here until morning, Alex Turpin. Then we’ll have to decide what to do with you.”

            I gulped. This Eloise Calder was one scary piece of work. I wouldn’t know ‘til morning how true that was.

            She turned her back on me, and I noticed a long scab running down her neck, disappearing into the collar of her nightgown. A scar not fully healed. She started to walk away, and the lights went out abruptly.

            Ok. I screamed.

            “Where are you going!?” I yelled.

            She didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure what to do, but finally, I decided to run after her while I could still make her out…looking luminous and unreal in her nightgown, like a ghost.

            “Wait up!” I said. I noticed as I got near her that the dusty smell was much stronger. I looked closely in the dark and noticed she herself was pretty dusty. Every time she walked, a bit of powdery white dust fell from her nightgown.

            “Oh for crying out loud…what is the matter with you?” she snapped in a caustic tone.

            “I…I don’t want to stand at the door all night. Is that so wrong?” I inquired.

            She ignored me. We walked down the library, through that scary door marked STAFF ONLY-ZERO ADMITTANCE that had always puzzled and frightened me. She walked through the almost pitch dark like she had been born knowing them better than she knew herself. I wouldn’t know ‘til morning how true that was.

            We came to a door that had a sign on it, but it was too dark for me to read. “What’s this?” I asked, shattering the oppressive silence.

            “Basement.” Eloise replied. Then she opened the door, which took some doing, because it was heavy and sealed tight against the doorframe. As soon as the door was open, I was knocked backwards by the nauseatingly powerful scent of musk and dust. Clouds of dust burst into the hallway like gusts of snow. Eloise didn’t hesitate. She began to descend down a dark, steep, narrow staircase.

            “Um…Eloise?” I said, not wanting in the least bit to join her on that dark death trap.

            No answer.

            “Eloise?”

            She just kept going, and suddenly, she vanished.

            I yelped like a wounded puppy and dashed down after her. It’s a miracle I didn’t break my neck, but just in time I saw that the staircase curved sharply, and swerved around the corner. I nearly barreled into Eloise, who had not vanished, but simply turned out of sight.

            “Watch it,” she snapped.

            I coughed hard, feeling like I was breathing paper. “This can’t be healthy!” Even in the dark, I could make out the dust swirling thick through the air.

            “No one invited you to join me,” she said coldly, and continued down the stairs.

            The music started up again, that haunting violin solo, and Eloise let out a little gasp. She started to run, faster than I had when I first took to the stairs, which looked difficult and dangerous in her long, cumbersome nightgown.

            “Hey, wait up!” I called. “Careful…you’re going to hurt yourself!”

            “You don’t understand this, Alex Turpin!” she said, her voice shrill.

            “Stop!” I shouted, getting mad. My greatest peeve is people who have no concern for their own safety, and Eloise was about to kill herself!

            “Eloise, stop!” I repeated.

            She responded by speeding up, tripping down the stairs like a deranged cocker spaniel.

            That did it. I lunged forward and grabbed her arms.

            She screamed and started thrashing, nearly killing us both. I braced myself against the wall, trying to get a good grip on her. The violin got louder, faster, more insistent. I wouldn’t know ‘til morning what that meant.

            “Let go of me, Alex Turpin!” she screamed.

            Finally, I managed to throw her over my shoulder and struggled to get down the stairs in a safe, somewhat reasonable fashion.

            Naturally, Eloise was having none of it. She pummeled my back with her fists, but I just pulled the collar of my hoodie over my nose to filter out some of the dust and kept going. It wasn’t easy, but I found that the faster I went, the slower the violin got and the calmer Eloise was. She still wasn’t happy, but I guess she gave up after a little while; though she still punched me in the shoulder from time to time.

            As we went, it seemed the stairs were eternally long, so eventually I started talking to her.

            “So. What’s it like having Mr. Calder for a dad?”

            Eloise was quiet for a moment. “I love him,” was all she replied at last.

            “Does he love you?” I asked. I guess I wanted to know if I was the only one whose dad loved them with slobbering affection.

            “Oh, yes,” Eloise replied. Her voice sounded like she was smiling, but it was also a little sad. “I think he loves me too much. He’s given up everything for me. I think he should just give up on me and my life. But he’s so close. He’s almost done.”
            I wouldn’t know ‘till morning what she meant.

            “How old are you?” she asked me.

            “Seventeen,” I replied. “You?”

            She was quiet for a little while. Finally, she said, “Nineteen. I guess.”

            I wouldn’t know ‘till morning why she wasn’t sure.

            “What’s your family like?” Eloise asked.

            “They’re ok,” I said, grinning. “I have four sisters, three older and one younger. My dad thinks I’m the greatest thing ever since I’m the only boy, and my mom is always worried about me. But they love me, and we eat tacos every Friday night,”

            Eloise giggled, which I think is the nicest sound I’ve ever heard. “Tacos,”

            “What do you and your dad eat?”

            “Whatever he wants us to eat,” Eloise replied. “What’s it like having a mother? I mean…a real mother?”
            I wouldn’t know ‘till morning why her mother wasn’t ‘real’.

            “It’s pretty good. She washes my clothes, cooks meals for me, and only yells at me when she thinks I deserve it. I’m not as close to her as I am to my dad, but I love her,”

            Eloise sighed. “I wish I could meet her,”

            “Maybe you can,” I said, a little bit wistfully myself. “Someday.”
            Maybe by this point you can see I was falling head over heels in love with Eloise Calder while I carried her down the unending basement steps of the old library. I wouldn’t know ‘till morning why it just wouldn’t work out.

            The violin became soothing and beckoning, and we went on and on, talking and laughing and I told her secrets I’d never told anyone before. I wouldn’t know ‘till morning that Eloise was telling those kinds of secrets, too.

            Finally, we made it to the bottom of the stairs, and I gently set Eloise on the ground. I guess we both knew I could have put her down a while back on the stairs, but neither of us said anything about it.

            “Thank you,” she said quietly. It was dark, but her skin was so pale, it seemed to glow, and I could see her smiling at me. I hoped she could see me smile back.

            “So…where to now?” I asked.

            She took my hand in hers, which felt as cool and rough as a page in an old book, and led me down the dark hallway, towards the source of the violin. If she hadn’t been holding my hand, I probably would have been afraid. I wasn’t sure how long we’d been walking, but I felt very tired and my legs burned a little bit from all those stairs. I guess it was long enough for us to go from hating each other and being afraid of each other to…well, holding hands.

            It got darker as we went, so dark that not even Eloise could glow in the dust and the black. I started to cough a little through my hoodie, and I felt Eloise’s grip tighten around my fingers. “I hope you’ll be alright. No one else has ever been here before.”

            I figured I’d be a real jerk if I keeled over after that, so I did my best to breathe through the dust, which had actually gotten so thick, you could feel it in the air brushing your face. I had to close my eyes to keep the dust out of them, and I let Eloise lead me.

            Suddenly, the violin stopped, and I could hear what sounded like a giant fan whirring and blowing. Eloise stopped, and I stopped with her. “Father,” she called.

            I suddenly felt light through my closed lids, and I opened them a crack.

            We were in a small, well-lit room with rich brown wooden floors, all coated with a thick layer of dust. We’d left footprints an inch deep in the dust behind us, so it really did look like it was snowing. All around were crumpled balls of paper, broken pencils, abandoned pens, and partially used erasers. There were bits of odd junk everywhere; stacks of books, broken lamps, and large glass bottles of rubber cement. Off to the right in the room, beneath a large, powerful lamp, was large desk. Mr. Calder sat at it, wearing one of those white work masks and a pair of safety goggles, as if he too was not as impervious to the dust as Eloise was. He was reading a thick stack of papers, gazing intently down at them like he wasn’t even aware of our presence. Next to him on the desk was an old fashioned typewriter and a small, gleaming violin, with the bow lain across it. I wouldn’t know ‘till morning why he’d been playing it.

            The most startling thing in the room was the source of the noise, and the dust, it seemed. It was a large vent in the floor, and from it blew up an unending rush of thick, white fluffy dust.

            “Paper,” Eloise said quietly, whispering in my ear. “Father shreds a lot of his work in the end. There’s a machine below us that is perpetually shredding something,”

            “Amazing,” I murmured.

            “Father,” Eloise said again, louder this time. “Father, Alex is here.”

            The fan suddenly stopped, and the dust slowly began to settle. Finally, Mr. Calder looked up. He smiled at us cheerfully. Obviously he didn’t mind that I was holding Eloise’s hand, or even that I was there.

            “Hello, you two. Good news!” He gave Eloise an even broader, very meaningful smile.

            “Oh,” Eloise said, looking a little sad and surprised. “Finally, Father?”

            Mr. Calder nodded. Paper dust landed on his thick gray hair like snow.

            Eloise did something unexpected, than. She turned to me, and wrapped her arms around me in a tight, desperate hug. “I’ll miss you, Alex Turpin.”

            “The end,” Mr. Calder said, smiling.

            There was a burst of dust in front of me where Eloise had been, and then she was gone.

            “No!” I shouted, groping at the new cloud of dust that now filled the air in front of me. My hoodie collar slipped from my face, and I choked for a moment, unable to understand what had happened. But I would soon, because, outside, the sun had risen.

            It was morning.

            I pulled my hoodie back over my face and somehow found myself sitting on the floor, dazed and still coughing on paper.

            “Alex. It’s alright. She’s fine.”

            I looked up, and saw Mr. Calder standing over me, the stack of papers in his hands.

            “Wh-where…what…what happened to her?” I murmured.

            “I finished her,” Mr. Calder replied. He smiled proudly. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? I’ll miss having her around, but she’s still very alive. So very real. My best work.”

            “Huh?” I said.

            “Come upstairs with me, Alex,” Mr. Calder said. “It’s morning,”

            Mr. Calder didn’t explain anything on the long walk. He just trudged upstairs in silence, caressing the stack of paper in his hands with tenderness and affection. My thighs were burning, my head ached, and I could hardly breathe. Not to mention my heart was all twisted up. “Eloise…” I murmured. What was going on? I was still reeling from all that had happened.

            Mr. Calder stopped, and I bumped into him.

            “Careful,” he said.

            We’d come to the top of the stairs. Mr. Calder shoved against the huge, heavy door. Fresh air washed over us, and I gasped gratefully. Mr. Calder removed his face mask and goggles, and we walked the last leg of our journey to his desk at the front of the library.

            “So,” he said. “Would you like some answers?”
            I nodded.

            “Eloise is a book.”
            “Huh?”

            Mr. Calder patted the stack of paper again. “Here it is. My final manuscript. I just finished proof-reading it. It’s not flawless, exactly, but it finally does her justice. You see, I have been writing this novel about Eloise for some time…nearly twenty years. Every night after work, I’d lock up and go around and in through the back door. Down there in the basement is the only place I could really work, even with all that paper flying around. Somewhere along that journey, I finally made Eloise so real, so very believable, she came to life. A real scary piece of work, eh?”

            I didn’t understand, but I tried to humor him. “You mean…you made Eloise up?” I asked, slumping against his desk.

            “Not really,” Mr. Calder replied, seating himself in front of me. “I dreamt her up. And I really made her come alive, didn’t I? Characters have always been hard for me, but forty years of writing has paid off,”

            Everything became clear, though the truth was unbelievable, jarring, and heartbreaking. The only thing I still couldn’t figure out was… “The violin?” I asked.

            “I used that to call her to come to the basement,” Mr. Calder said. “She loved to come upstairs at night. But I couldn’t have her up here during business hours. She’s far too impetuous, and she made the whole place smell like dust. The faster I played, the quicker she came. I didn’t realize you were with her tonight.” He sighed nostalgically. “She loves violin music. On Sunday’s, when I didn’t have to work, we’d do whatever we wanted to up here. We’d dance, we’d rearrange shelves, we’d even talk about how she’d come to life. She didn’t know, and I couldn’t tell her, but it was so wonderful,”

            “I don’t understand…” I murmured.

            “Neither do I,” Mr. Calder said. “I don’t know for certain how it happened…how she came alive, but she did. Thank you for being such a friend to her, Alex, though you only just met her. You made her very happy.” He finally looked at me, really looked at me, and gave me the same look he did whenever he checked out my library books; appraising and grave. “Alex, did you love her?”

            Maybe I was simply too tired to deny it, but I nodded at once, feeling numb.

            “There’s no shame in that…it’s a real compliment to me, actually,” Mr. Calder said. “People fall in love with book characters all the time…but only really good ones; only the ones who really get inside them and come alive. Thank you very much, Alex.” He patted my shoulder across the desk. “Now, you should be going home. You’ve had a very late night,”

            “Will I ever see her again?” I asked.

            “Yes,” Mr. Calder said with a smile. “You will.”

            I breathed a sigh of relief, though I still didn’t understand.

            As I turned to go, Mr. Calder called after me, “Good luck with your paper on Egypt,”

            I will never know how he does that.

            In the days and months following, I still had to go to the library, even though I both hoped and dreaded I’d see Eloise reading a book in a corner or shedding dust as she disappeared through a doorway. Mr. Calder has been very friendly and particular towards me ever since. I realize that he could have chosen not to share the library’s secret with me, but he did. It’s hard to wrap my mind around, and yet…I believe it’s true.

            For months afterwards I’d always stare at girls with very pale skin and blonde hair. I grew more interested in reading, and then writing. I wanted to figure out what it took to make characters as real as Mr. Calder did.

            That night changed me, for better or worse.

            But I did see Eloise again. Almost two years later, I received a package in the mail. In it, was a book; a book by James J. Calder, called Eloise. On the cover was a painting that Mr. Calder had done. It showed Eloise, perfect and beautiful. She sat on a low couch, smiling like she knew a naughty secret, in a long, flowing blue nightgown.

            Same old Eloise.

            The whole book is about her life…the life she had wished Mr. Calder would give up on.     

            I’m so glad he didn’t.

            I’ve reread that book over a dozen times now. My mother and sisters always tease me that I’m in love with a book character. My dad’s response for my enthusiasm about Eloise was to tell me about the years he spent in love with Lois Lowry’s Anastasia Krupnik. I had to laugh at him, but I was so grateful. It’s good to have someone who understands.

            Whenever I go to the old library, Mr. Calder and I always share that special smile, that special secret in the old library only the two of us know. Something is definitely a little weird about the old library…maybe all that dust down there is magic, or maybe there’s a ghost lurking around somewhere. I can only assume we’ll never know just how it happens, but pretty soon, Mr. Calder had another character coming alive. His name is Phillip. If you go to the old library, and you hide in the corner until the library closes, maybe you’ll see him when he comes upstairs.

            Maybe you’ll fall in love with him.

            But there’s nothing wrong with that.

            People fall in love with book characters all the time.