The old librarian Mrs Peterson walked to the back of her office and came out with a book, a couple of minutes later the book looked old like an artifact, a mystery journal or maybe an encyclopedia she opened it and swept through the dusty rough brown pages which looks like it hadn’t been opened for a long time,
“Mr Jonathan, we’ve lost so many students, and kept records of them all. Their deaths were caused physically by things that could kill people, some died through accidents, some a health situation. Jane on the other hand is the only death we still can’t understand the cause of death till today. One moment, she was in the library, the other moment she was found lying dead there with that inscription on her palm. One of her favorite days for visiting the library was Saturday evening.
After she died we’d searched Her apartment – hoping to find any clue or something related to why she died. We found nothing…” she paused.
“After a few more attempts, the police closed the case and everyone moved on, but if she’s reappeared again it could only mean she wants to send a message or her spirit still hovers around the school…”
She kept on turning the pages, until she came across a spread and stopped. She handed over the book to me. I glanced through it; It had a pictorial representation, signs and symbols, then writings. I couldn’t understand any of it, then she came and sat beside me and continued her story.
“Here, the first second, and third line of librarians that guarded this library all served under one code had a chain of order and beliefs. When each Librarian passes on, he would have to hand over that responsibility to the other librarian through some sets of incarnation, after which the chosen librarian would be sanctified and given some certain powers to carry out his/her task…”
She paused,imparting a sense of patience upon the moment.
“I know you’re confused. The task of guarding a library is no ordinary task, this was found out by the first librarian. He had confided in me, that some of these books you see on these shelves are alive and and can communicate with people who can listen very carefully. The inscription of Jane’s hand is a line from an ancient magical book: The Coven. It was after the investigation that I made some research and could put the piece scraps of information together. Maybe the book called to her and possessed her…”
She paused reflectively.
“Here on fifth line it says, “…To contact that which is dead you must pass through that which is alive…‘’’
“What does that mean?” I asked out of fear and enthusiasm.
“It means to contact the dead soul, you need to connect to something of the deceased, which still lives. After the case was closed at night, I started hearing strange voices and footsteps, children playing, musical chords, sounds of events like a wedding, war, different sounds coming from every corner of the library. That was when I found out the books had been awakened. I went back in to NJ, her former apartment and searched again on my own to know if I could find anything…”
“So did you find something?” I asked again, she could sense the fear in my voice and continued.
Read Also: WHO IS JANE FORD? | Part 1
“I found a diary, she seemed to be writing down each and everything that had been going on in her life down, from the day she was born down to her death…“
She went behind her office table and brought out a box locked with a big silver padlock, she removed her necklace, a pendant with an extractable key and opened the box. She brought out the diary and handed it over to me.
I looked at it. Too scared to accept it.
I couldn’t open it at first. I couldn’t believe I had gotten myself into all this. My hands trembled and my body shook.
I was trying to keep my fear from reflecting on my body.
After a prolonged moment, I summoned enough courage to accept the book from her.
“You are the only one that can set yourself free and set her free too. She needs your help Jonathan. You will go with that diary, open it when you get home at the exact time which you made love to her…”
I became more terrified and stood up from the couch and walked to the window.
“Why can’t I open it here and now? why my apartment?” I asked in an anxious manner
“Because the book will talk to you, she will be summoned again and guide you on the process, you need to clear your mind from every doubt and fear, you are the only one that can end all this, son…” She reiterated plaintively.
I took the journal and left the library to my apartment. I locked the door and went into the bathroom and washed my face. I looked into the mirror trying to believe it was only a nightmare. I walked into the bathroom and took an extended shower.
Back to my room, I opened my laptop and logged into my twitter account again and wrote:
“hello, I don’t really know what’s happening to me or what is going to happen in the next few days, months…. After my night with my fantasy girl’, something bad happened, and now I’ve been chosen by some witch coven to rescue her soul from a book. I know it sounds crazy but I will be busy in the next few days starting tonight…. I’ll keep you all posted about everything”
I tweeted that and went to bed and laid down.
My brain started reminiscing; going over my strange week and how it all happened. Jane Ford went to the library on Saturdays to study in the evening; that was the same day I had met her there. In the evening too. She had died on a Saturday evening and her body had been found in the library there. That was the same night we had sex; before she disappeared the next morning.
I brought out the journal from my backpack and held it in my hands for a while.
I panicked a lot before opening it; on the first page, there was a sentence.
It said: “Hi you can only read me on Saturday evening”
I swept through the page and found the rest of the writing. On it were signs and symbols. In the exact same script typeface, the artifact the librarian brought had been written in it too. I checked my bedside calendar.
It was Friday 30th Oct 2014; time was 11.45pm
I dropped the book on top of the table and laid down on the bed.
This time there was nothing strange, and I slept and woke up the next morning.
It was Saturday.
Quickly, I glanced through the book to know if I could understand anything – but nothing was remotely comprehensible in the assorted symbols.
I needed to wait till evening to see what would happen.
I remained in my room all day, waiting for the right time to open the journal.
Soon enough, evening came, and it neared the exact time I had met her in the library.
I brought the journal; I could feel the sweat from my body dripping down to all corners of my tense back.
I opened it and glanced through the first page, I had read already and then I opened the second page.
The wordings were still arranged in signs, icons and symbols.
I got up and banged my fist against the wall, angry and frustrated.
“What do you want from me” I demanded at no one in particular and threw the book at the wall.
Then I plonked back on my bed, and sobbed relentlessly, until I remembered what the librarian told me:
“Some of the books are alive and can communicate with people who listen very carefully, you need to clear your mind from every fear and doubt…”
I took the journal back and opened it again. This time ridding myself of the fear and doubt. I looked at the inscriptions closely and they started moving and arranging themselves into letters. The pages swiped by themselves until every inscription was translated to an English word.
I now went back to the first page and began reading
“My name is Jane ford, I was born in Venice on 30th Oct 1995…”
To be contd……
WRITTEN BY EMERIE EBUBE