text: 12:23. My watch face blinks up at me in flashes of green that feel out of place amongst the golden lamplight around me. When had it gotten so late? Glancing up at the massive main clock, mounted on the far wall at the other end of the library, I was surprised to read that it displayed the same time. It ticked morosely. Leaning back in my chair, I stifled a sneeze - reluctant to disturb the titanic quiescence consuming the library - and removed my glasses to rub at my eyes. The thick Neuroscience encyclopedia on the desk in front of me that had consumed my attention for the past hours now seemed to be a leather-bound mockery of my destructive studying habits: the test that I was studying for only called for knowledge on a few topics about the brain, but somehow I’d gotten sidetracked and been reading about a menagerie of interesting concepts and hypotheses that wouldn’t be in my exam. Down the road of knowledge I’d ventured, taking my curiosity for a walk as though it were a dog, letting it lead me so far from my initial spot that I’d forgotten what I came here to study for. The grand clock ticked, echoes like calls reminding me of how late it was. The library was empty, and I suddenly felt isolation press onto me with a thousand icy fingers. I remembered the librarian having left a while ago, and the other inhabitants of the building leaving much earlier than that. I rested my head on the desk before me, tuning my ears into the reassuringly stable percussion of the clock- “You should go home.” I leapt to my feet. I looked around. Carefully, I peered into each shadow for a figure, a source for the male-sounding voice that I’d heard, all the while my breaths quivering. Nothing. Nothing but tall wooden bookshelves and empty desks and the clock and me in the room. Had I imagined it? My mouth opened instinctively to call out ‘hello’ then snapped shut as my grandmother’s face appeared in my mind’s eye. ‘Never reply to a spirit,’ she dictated, sapphire orbs glittering, ‘you don’t know what could happen. I don’t want my granddaughter stolen by some duppy,’ She kissed her teeth. Shaking my head, I forced a chuckle. I was clearly overreacting - like my grandmother always did. I was in an old library, it was past midnight, I was alone and I was tired. Understandably, my imagination was on overdrive. “Maybe I should go home, ha,” I joked to myself, picking up my books and stuffing them into my slate shoulder bag. Carefully, I placed my fountain pens and ink into the deep pockets of my nude trench coat, pulled on my plaid gloves and made my way over to the librarian’s deserted desk. I hoped to borrow a few books, so I decided to try to navigate the library computer system myself. I jiggled the mouse and the bulky, old-fashioned grey monitor flickered to life. It immediately displayed a password prompt and I groaned slightly. Of course - I didn’t know the password. I became acutely aware that the ticking of the grand clock was suddenly absent. Should I just borrow the books without adding them to the catalog? I bit my lip. A faint whiff of cinnamon wafted past my nose. After a moment, I began to scour the desk drawers for any sign of a post-it note or a notepad with the password on it. Then a frigid spark snaked down my spine. The cinnamon scent intensified. I was no longer alone. “Didn’t I tell you to go home?” _________ My stomach dropped. My mouth tried to formulate words but I found myself unable to breathe. “A-ah-” “Shut up,” the voice was definitely male, and right behind me now. My blood chilled and willed me not to move, but I forced myself to turn around. My eyes met with a pair of dark ones. Dark, slightly irritated ones. There was a guy standing in front of me, wearing a plain white shirt and dark trousers. But below the trousers was empty space. He had no feet - his body simply faded into nothing. I could almost see through him. I laughed. “Ha. Ha!” I pointed at him and giggled, “Y-you’ve g-got no feet! Ha!” The spirit’s expression grew stormy, but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop laughing. Snorting, I cackled, “I- I had too much c-coffee this morning... ha... who k-knew coffee w-was a hallucinogenic-” Bonk! A fist hit my head. “Idiot,” the spirit intoned without contempt or disdain, as though he was simply stating a fact. “I- ow,” this sobered me, and I murmured “I don’t care if you’re a spirit or whatever, don’t bonk me, alright?” The spirit raised his eyebrow. After a pause, he replied, “Fine. The computer password is g-m-u-x-1-4-8-6.” Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows, “T-thank you?” He rolled his eyes again, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Just take your books and get out of my way.” I stared, heart pounding, not moving. I couldn’t help it. He was captivating. He was tall, but not quite taller than me, and slim, probably around my age. His skin was pale and his features sharp like the edges of paper, but contrasted his hair - dark and messy and seeming to defy gravity in spikes around his head. From what I could tell, he was worlds apart from the multiple-limbed, many-mouthed and upside-down beings that my grandmother had always told me stories of. “Hey... stop staring.” he intoned, averting his eyes and scratching the back of his neck defensively, “...Just take your books and leave.” “I-” I tried to reply but my throat closed up as the reality of the situation crashed down on me, and I was once again stricken with anxiety. Deciding that it was best to obey him lest he do... something to me, I typed the password that he’d told me into the computer, not taking my eyes off the gloomy spirit whose eyes followed my every move. An aura of deep-rooted dissatisfaction seemed to surround him, and I could almost feel it seeping into me. Hands shaking, I scanned the barcodes on my books and authorised my borrowing them in the system. All the while, he watched me, deathly still. “Good,” he intoned flatly when I was done, “Now... go.” I nodded and glanced up at him. That was a mistake - once again I found myself fixated. After a moment or two, he glared at me. “Why are you staring? Shouldn’t you be desperate to leave?” “What does it matter to you?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. The spirit’s eyes narrowed. “I - don’t you want to get away from me?” he said, voice rising in volume. “I... I do.” I replied truthfully, but my body was rooted to the spot in awe of what I was seeing. “Then leave. Just... stop staring at me! It’s weird.” he growled. His cheeks flushed. My heart thundered, but my curiosity had already peaked, “Are you self-conscious? About being a spirit?” “I... Shut up. This is stupid. I don’t have time to talk to you.” “Then why did you come to speak to me?” “Because I need you to leave.” He began to drift away from me, across the hall. “Why?” “Because,” he growled, “when midnight comes, this is my library. It’s the only time I can read without being seen or heard.” He turned to me, glaring daggers. But although my legs shook, my voice disobeyed all logic and didn’t cease speaking. “So... you normally like to read alone, but today you’re lonely, and that’s why you approached me?” “What?” he hissed, exasperated, “That’s not what I’m... just shut up and leave.” He glanced away. “And stop staring,” he emphasized. “Okay.” Finally, I managed to tear my eyes from him and made my way towards the wooden, ornate double-doors of the library. But something weighed down in my chest, a sympathy for this miserable, solitary spirit, a sentiment that I needed to spit out, “Y-you know, I come to this library most Saturdays. “I don’t usually stay this late, but... I can stay until midnight next week, if you want... instead of being all alone in here...” He stared at me, mouth slightly open, for one shocked moment. Then his expression became guarded once more, and he turned away from me and picked a book from the nearest bookshelf, flipping it open, “Whatever.” Feeling a strange disappointment, I lingered beside the door for a moment in case he changed his mind. But he seemed engrossed in his book and uninterested in me, so I opened the door and stepped out of the library. And that is the story of my encounter with a library spirit. A cold, unfriendly, antisocial ghost who just wanted to read in peace. But there’s one part of this story that I’ve never told. Because as I left the library, pulling my coat tightly around me and stepping into the rain, I felt a cold shiver snake down my spine, and caught the scent of cinnamon. “Next Saturday. Midnight. Come alone. I’ll be waiting.” I turned towards the voice, but the library spirit was gone.