Jeannette's Story - An Insane, Nonsensical Night of Horrors

Jeannette steps from the private quarters into the public front, leaving the freezer secured behind her. Fresh blood beads across her wounded palm as the bell gives a polite chime.

A new customer waits at the desk, an elderly man in a neat brown suit, with silver hair, round spectacles, and a weathered leather satchel resting against his ankle.

Near the register, an open ledger absorbs a thin drop from Jeannette’s palm. Blood-like ink spreads across the page, forming the dead customer’s name without a hand to guide it.

Below the name, smaller letters write themselves: received, catalogued, retained. The paper tightens like skin, and a faint pressure gathers behind the shelves.

The ledger closes one page by itself, preserving the entry. The old man waits patiently, unaware that the library has recorded and bound another soul beneath its ordinary business.

Jeannette points toward a narrow aisle marked LOCAL HISTORY. Her wounded palm remains visible above the counter, a bead of blood trembling at the edge of her thumb.

The elderly man lifts his satchel and walks toward the indicated section. His polished shoes pass over the clean floor without disturbing the quiet pressure beneath it.

He disappears between the shelves. The ledger stays shut, its fresh entry hidden inside, while the aisle’s books lean subtly toward the browsing man without touching him.