Cracking the door carefully, you slip into the room. The record player is still crackling and merrily singing its song. At the moment, it’s merely a familiar musical instrumental, but as you begin to move about the room, searching for anything that might be of use, the words begin:
I see the bad moon a-rising.
I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightning.
I see bad times today.
Humming along with the chorus, you begin to right the tables that have been knocked over, stacking the fallen books on top of them and casually glancing at the titles of each. Alice’s Adventures in New York is the first book you pick up, followed by Hamlet II, Henry X and Revenge of the Shrew. It would seem that you’ve stumbled upon the unwritten fiction section. Odd.
I hear hurricanes a-blowing.
I know the end is coming soon.
I fear rivers overflowing.
I hear the voice of rage and ruin.
You make your way over to the other side of the room, where Benziah was standing when you saw him through the window. Again, you right a table and stack books on top of it. These books are much stranger than the ones before — some are bound in materials you can’t (or don’t want to) name. Others bear titles in langauges you don’t know, some of which have alphabets with which you are completely unfamiliar. Your mind whispers alien and you attempt to bury the thought.
One large hardcover book lies open on the floor in front of you, face-down. You reach down to pick it up and something horrible skitters out from underneath it and dashes towards the wall. You let out a small yell of fright and throw the book at it with all your might. Undaunted, the small insect-like being skitters into the wall and out of your sight — soon, its horrible clicking sound fades into nothingness.
Hope you got your things together.
Hope you are quite prepared to die.
Looks like we’re in for nasty weather.
One eye is taken for an eye.
Shaken, you continue picking up books — wary each time that something else might jump out at you. A few moments later, you hear the clicking sound again. It grows louder and intensifies with each passing second. After a few more moments, you’re sure that instead of just one source, this new sound must be coming from many. The walls of the library begin to shake and a small shower of dust falls from the ceiling. With a soft “clunk” the record player ceases playing… but the refrain of the song still echoes in your mind.
Dont go around tonight,
‘Cuz, its bound to take your life,
Theres a bad moon on the rise
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