The grey clouds watch me as I walked through the small street. It is empty, for a supposedly busy morning, and I kept hoping that another person would come. Fear is impractical, I know, but it comes to everyone eventually. The old library with ancient architecture looks eerie even in the morning. It’s old, built maybe during the Early British Era. The clouds above hit each other in slow motion and the first drops of monsoon spill on to the Earth. I like monsoon particularly for its beauty and lush greenness. When the insects flutter their wings or the clack of their claws, many may and definitely do find them eldritch, but it helps me calm down. Many see me as weird for that reason particularly. Shaking my head, I smile and walk in. The library’s empty except for the librarian herself. She is maybe in her thirties, but she has a little bit of grey hair in her temples and wrinkles around her eyes. She doesn’t wear glasses which is unlike any other librarian I might have met. She has dark brown hair and watery grey eyes. She’s also wearing a pair of classic jeans and formal white shirt with a black coat. Unusual for a librarian, I thought. She looks a lot British, but I couldn’t say for sure. She is definitely a new employee, maybe, because never in my life, I have seen her before. I try to start a friendly conversation, “Hello. New employee?” She smiles a bit, “Hmph,” I can’t tell if that was a yes or a no. I shrug and she smiles more while saying, “Been to this library before?” Her smile is bone chilling, like Pennywise’s petrifying smile. My mouth turns down as I say murmur something and turn to go into the library. She stares at me as I walk in. I still can’t get her smiling image off my mind.
The rain falls in relentless icy sheets. I can’t see out of the window through the rain, but I can hear the flip-flop of sandals and boots against the water puddles. The ground shakes lightly when the purple thunder hits the Earth, not far from here. I settle down in a plush blue chair, stacking all the books I collected neatly, in the order I want to read them, on the table. Some of the books are old, no wonder. Their covers coming off and the writing fading already. I don’t think it’s recent but it is not too old either. Probably from the 1700’s or later.
The television is turned on, a news channel is playing in the background. I shake my head in disapproval and mumble to myself, “No use, news never gives good news.” But seeing the flash of breaking news, I grab the remote, which was actually beneath the table, I turn up the volume. A\ reporter is being broadcasted live; he’s talking to himself on his earphones. The background is familiar, too familiar, I realize. I went there just day before yesterday, a school trip actually, and have
decided never to go there again. It's a mental hospital, of course. Cheerful! I do not want to talk about the incidents that occurred there, some embarrassing, some unspeakable of. I was actually held back there for reasons I did not understand. They showed me a knife smeared with blood a little while later. Then, I understood. The reporter’s serious face is on, he says, “I am now reporting live, from the ‘Modern Research for the Especially Abled’ hospital.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “Just a few hours ago, a patient who is said to have a terrific past has escaped the hospital. She is even said to have a history of murders.” I sigh. That hospital is far away. Like about 15 kilometers. But I don’t care. It’s not like she’s going to come and kill me. What did I do to her?
The thunder shakes the ground again. This time I mutter something random like, “Butterflies are also dangerous” or “Things happen for a reason”. I lower the volume, not a lot but enough so that I can study, but also listen if there’s something important. The librarian walks in in quick, small steps. She uses two fingers to make a small slit in the screen. There’s a sign of mischievous activity in her eyes, as if her mother is going to come and scold her for breaking her favorite vase. She walks towards me and smiles in that Pennywise way, “Have you seen the news yet?” Seeing the TV on, she makes an ‘o’ of her mouth and says, “Don’t worry I’m not the mental patient.” The TV reporter is back on and he says in a quick, stiff voice, “We have more information now. The patient was seen running out of the back gate at approximately nine-thirty today morning. She might be wearing anything.” He whispers, “Be careful people.” And the reporter is out. Then it clicked. I laugh under my breath and say, “Of course you’re not,” I take out a crystal-clear shaving blade out of my pocket. “No, you’re not, I am.”