Softball bouncing, indistinct whispers filled his head; he heard a lot of random words that made no sense. It built up layer by layer till it got louder overshadowing his thoughts, the environment started to spin upside down, he couldn't take it anymore and that was when he shouted at the peak of his voice "Stop"
The whispers stopped abruptly; it was completely silent, but something seemed off to Alex. He was in the library, but it was dark. Emma had left him there probably because he slept off while reading. While he was trying to figure out how it got so dark within a few minutes of conversation with Emma, he heard the softball bouncing again in an unusual rhythm. The sound of the ball got louder towards the left side of the bookshelf.
He stood and called out "Is someone there?"
There was no response, still he followed the sound of the ball with caution. As he got closer to the shelf, the sound reduced till it was almost nothing but the wind blowing. He noticed the shelf for staff was left unlocked. There was no way Emma would leave it open. While he was thinking about what to do, whether to close the shelf or leave the library, he heard a loud thud behind him that gave him goosebumps.
A book laid by its side raising a bit of dust. He picked up the book and looked at the title, 1995 Mystery. This is obviously a dream, and he had to wake up. He looked up and saw that the dust had become a fog. He barely saw the shelf or the reading table and to his horror something grabbed his leg in the fog. It had a strong grip like it wanted to rip his skin off.
Alex couldn't see what was holding him, he struggled to free himself, but it was futile, it dragged him, and he could do what was to use the book he was holding to hit whatever had his legs as he groaned in pain. He was hitting and screaming furiously then the grip loosened. The fog started to clear; he saw her sitting on one of the reading tables, the weird girl he met in the bathroom the other day.
She wore this weird smile, holding the 1995 Mystery. He wondered how she got the book he had in his custody a few seconds ago. She stood up and dipped her hand into her pocket, bringing out a red ball then rolled it over to him. The ball stopped at the tip of his sneakers; he didn't take his eye off the girl, and she didn't either.
"Play with me," she said in a weirdly convincing voice.
"No" He started, "I'm not going to do that."
"Play with me." She said a bit of course this time.
Tension grew; he felt the darkness in her words. He took a few steps backwards.
"I'm not playing with you." he affirmed his previous statement, "What are you?"
She looked angry; he could tell in her expression. The light in the library got dimmer and dimmer; she was almost blending in the darkness. He heard bone rattles and to his horror she was growing bigger. Her body began to grow uncontrollably; it was as if the evil spirit inside her was expanding, using her as a vessel to become something monstrous. Her feet cracked the wooden floorboards; her head scraped the ceiling beams. The library groaned under the weight of her transformation.
Her voice was lost in a guttural growl that wasn't hers. Her fingers clawed on the table. The shadows in the room twisted and writhed, as if alive, feeding off her terror.
"Play"
"With"
"Me"
It came charging at him, crashing everything blocking its way. It stretched it clawed hand at him as if to rip out his face; he was trapped. The shelf enclosed him in a tight fix; its claws was few inches to his face…
***
He woke up with a gasp, the kind that scraped the throat raw, as if he had been running in a place with no air. The library ceiling loomed above him studded with slow-turning fans that clogged. A book lay open on his chest, its pages breathing against his ribs. For a moment, the nightmare clung to him. He squeezed his eyes shut until the images loosened and slid away.
"Hey. You are alright, son?"
The voice belonged to a man standing at the end of the table. He wore a cardigan too warm for the hour and carried a ring of keys that chimed softly as he shifted his weight. The man's face was tired, the kind of tired that had settled there for years.
"You fell asleep," the man said, nodding at the book. "Reading time's over."
The boy sat up, rubbing his eyes. "When did you get here?" He asked without thinking.
The man paused, then offered a small, practiced smile. "Emma left," he said. "I filled in for her." He glanced toward the tall windows, where the evening had gathered like ink. "Come on. We're closing."
Alex stood, the dream's chill still riding his skin. He slid the book back into its place, the shelf accepting it with a soft, hollow sound. As they walked toward the doors, the library's familiar comfort felt thinner than usual.
Outside, the corridor was louder than it should have been at that hour. Voices braided together, urgent and hushed at once. Alex slowed down. Ahead, a knot of students had formed; their faces tilted upward toward the administrative wing. Someone sobbed. Someone else whispered her name, though he couldn't tell who.
"What's going on?" He asked no one in particular.
The crowd parted just enough for him to see the open space before the principal's office. A girl stood there; her backpack slumped at her feet like it had been dropped in a hurry. Her hair stirred in the draft from an open window above, and for a second, just a second; she looked almost peaceful, as if she were listening to something the rest of them couldn't hear.
It was the girl from his dream; she was dead, hanging from the roof. That was horrifying enough till he saw Jake looking almost terrified holding a red ball like the one from his dream.