She’s dead. She’s dead. That’s just great. Wait,does that mean I’m dead? Oh he-
“No,Michael that doesn’t mean you’re dead. Yet.”
“What do you mean by yet? ”
Rachael sat back.
“I mean you’re being stupid. Everything you write comes to life.Everything.”
“Well,I’ll just leave then.”
There was a shadow approaching their table …”Oh no. You couldn’t possibly do that. I love your work too much. You must finish it.”
The old woman was back. And she wasn’t letting up this time. Rachael just watched her. With fear in her eyes.
Michael noted it. And brushed off the subject.
“Hey let’s go read your book,huh.”
When they got to the library
He grabbed Rachael’s arm.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Listen. Every book in this library was written by a tenant. Someone who is now trapped here.They all died terrible deaths. They all built this place with their work. Hotels. Weather patterns. Murders. I was part of that. My death was written…I drowned in the bath on my honeymoon…while working on a summer in yellow…now you know.”
Michael felt sick….
“What do you mean? We can’t leave?”
“No…there’s got to be a way…maybe someone wrote a way…maybe there’s a loophole. A pattern or path.”
“You could burn the library…”
“Yeah.It is what is holding the records. If there’s no records here’s no chains. We could leave .”
“But I may be dead for good…” Rachael said dryly.
“The library is all that’s keeping me here. But it’s also what brought me here.”
I can’t do it
“Yes you can Michael.you have to…other wise – we all die. Because we become forgotten. You have to remember us.”
She lit a book and set it on the shelf…the fire spreading …
“Now go you idiot…”