Drawtober 2023: Moth-Bitten library

I spend a sleepless night searching through some of the rooms in the House before I realize what a foolish tact that is. The House is massive. It is less a building than a tree, roots and limbs spreading every which way. A brute force search will do nothing but aggravate the dust and the dead that reside here. I will never find a single interloper with such a strategy. No, I need something more efficient.

When morning dawns, it finds me with tea in hand, shuffling toward the library. Few other residents of the House are up this early, but those who are—Dusthollow, the brownie who cleans the fireplaces, and the spirits of a pair of young women in ghostly bell-bottom jeans—nod to me as I pass. I nod back, trying not to let my anxiety show. I don’t want them thinking their Keeper is losing her touch.

The library stands behind an unassuming oak door in a far-flung corner of the House. The brass knob is shiny and smooth from years of use—the room is a favorite among the House’s residents. Jack, the Keeper before me, tried at one point to install a television set, but something about the House’s location meant that it never worked. As a result, our primary forms of entertainment here continue to be dances and books. Books are generally easier to come by.

Inside, shafts of sunlight lance through half-draped windows, showing dust swirling in the air. Shelves twice my height and just as broad line the walls, with books of every color and size stacked upon them. A series of cozy chairs and tables are scattered almost haphazardly in the chamber, with a cluster concentrated by a big stone fireplace. I’d once asked Jack why the House let a fireplace exist in a library. That seemed to me like asking for trouble. He had merely shrugged.

“The House does what it does,” he’d said. “I don’t question it anymore.”

I let the door fall shut behind me and scan the shelves. Among the many tomes here are the journals of all the previous Keepers. Somewhere in there, I am sure one of us has encountered something like this before. If I can find a similar event in the past, perhaps I can figure out how to catch the uninvited creature who’s found its way into the House.

A sudden whirring fills the space, and from deeper in the library comes a sliding ladder speeding along the copper track set on the shelves. On it, brassy hair streaming and lion’s tail whipping behind him, is a smiling hob. A long, dark blue cap trails off his head, his drooping ears peaking out from beneath it. The ladder comes to an abrupt stop, and the hob leaps off, landing and giving a bow so low his snout nearly touches the floor.

I smile, unable to help myself. “Hello Rumblewrit.”

The hob grins back, showing pointed teeth. “Hello Keeper. It’s been some time since my ears have twitched to your sonorous step. What brings you to seek out bookish company? You crave a romance, perhaps? Or an adventure on some distant shore? Or a cozy mystery, something to send shivers down your spine while you lie safe in your bed?” His whiskers twitch in amusement.

“I’m not here for fiction, alas.”

“It is to be reality, then? What a dreadful, doleful thing that is. But Rumblewrit will help you still. Are you seeking animal, vegetable, mineral? History, geography, philosophy, cartography—”

“I need to look at the Keepers’ journals,” I say, cutting him off before he can go too far.

“The journals. Whatever do you need those for?”

“There has been an…irregularity in the House that I wish to investigate.”

He hums to himself thoughtfully before nodding. “Very well, Keeper. As you wish. Take a seat, and Rumblewrit will bring them to you.”

It doesn’t take the hob long. The large, red-leather volumes pile up on the table before me like snow in a blizzard. I pull tome after tome from the pile, leafing through them. Most Keepers had the good sense to add an index, and I seek out rumors and stories of interlopers. There are a few—tales of an errant loup-garou who’d stumbled in one night, or a poltergeist who fallen down the chimney. The trouble is that most of the Keepers knew exactly what they were dealing with from the start. I only have a few footprints and the vague sense that something has gotten in without me knowing. It’s like an itch in the back of my mind that I can’t scratch.

After a few hours, I push the journal I’d been reading—Keeper Lightman’s—away from me with a huff. Useless. All of this is useless. I had hoped to circumvent a mere brute force search, but now it seems that’s the only way.

“Not finding what you’re looking for?” Rumblewrit appears at my elbow, setting a mug of steaming tea down beside me. “Or finding too much? Both can be problems, you know.”

“The former, I’m afraid.” I take a sip of the tea, tasting peppermint.

“Hmm. It’s always worse when you can’t find what you’re looking for, especially when its right beneath your nose.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Rumblewrit, do you know something you’re not telling me?”

“I know very little, Keeper.” He grins at me with his sharp teeth. “Did I ever tell you that I put all my brains into a book and hid it somewhere in this library, and only when I find it will I be allowed to leave the House once more?”

He had told me that story before. “Is that a lie?”

“Fairies cannot lie, Keeper. Not even to ourselves. Unlike you mortals.” He scans the journals strewn over the desk, pulling a volume toward me. “Why not try the most recent one? You haven’t looked at it yet.”

“I have no need to read my own journal, Rumblewrit.” I lean back, staring up at the wood-paneled ceiling. A chandelier, its lights flickering, sways above us, showing a few moths drawn by the electric glow. “I need to find a way to lure it out,” I mutter. “Something it can’t resist, no matter what it is.”

Rumblewrit scratches his whiskered nose. “If luring is what you seek to do, then you must consider your bait. No fish comes to an empty hook.”

I blink, opening my eyes wide. That’s it. “Rumblewrit, you’re a genius.” I start up, hurrying to the door.

“Hey now!” the hob calls. “You ask for all these books and now you can’t even help Rumblewrit to put them back?”

“I’m sorry, but I have to start now,” I shout.

“But where are you off to?

“The kitchen!” I let the door fall shut behind me, feet moving fast.

The first lesson I ever learned coming to the House had been the nastiest. I was out on the grounds and I got too near the large fishing pond in the front. There was a horse in the water, I remember. A beautiful thing with large, dark eyes and a soaked mane. I was young then, and I went to lay a hand on its withers. The horse had grabbed my arm with its teeth and pulled me beneath the water. I thought I was going to die until Jack Grimm wrenched me out of the water and away from the horse—a creature I later learned was actually a kelpie.

Jack had taken me back inside and wound me in warm blankets, putting a mug of hot cider in my hands. Then, he’d knelt before me and told me the most important thing a Keeper must remember. The creatures that come here, be they Fae, mortal, or spirit, all have one thing in common.

They are all hungry.