#eeriesilence

The university library was always quiet—unnaturally quiet. Even during the day, with students cramming for exams, the silence hung thick in the air, like something alive. But it was after dark that the library transformed, taking on an eerie, almost sinister presence.

Hannah had heard the stories, of course. Everyone had. Whispers about strange occurrences late at night—unexplained noises, disappearing books, even rumors of students who’d gone missing. But she didn’t believe in ghost stories, and finals were looming. She needed the peace and quiet, so when she lost track of time and the clock struck midnight, she convinced herself to stay a little longer.

The library’s ancient architecture didn’t help ease her nerves. Gothic arches loomed overhead, casting jagged shadows under the dim lights. Rows of shelves seemed to stretch endlessly, the books on them older than any of the students, some even older than the university itself. Most people avoided the lower levels, but Hannah had found a nook on the second basement floor—a place no one ever ventured.

Tonight, it was deathly still.

The air felt stagnant, as if no one had breathed in this part of the library for centuries. The only sound was the soft rustle of pages as Hannah turned them, immersed in her study. But as the minutes ticked by, something began to change.

At first, it was almost imperceptible—a soft sound, like the faintest of whispers. Hannah dismissed it, chalking it up to the creaking of the old building. But then it grew louder. The sound seemed to come from the shelves themselves, as though the books were murmuring among themselves. She looked up, scanning the empty aisles, but saw no one.

Her heart quickened. The whispers continued, a low, hissing chorus that seemed to rise from the very walls around her. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable—urgent, insistent.

Hannah stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. The sound echoed through the empty library, only to be swallowed by the oppressive silence. The whispers grew louder, surrounding her from every direction. She clutched her bag and turned toward the exit, but before she could take a step, a voice—clear and distinct—rose above the rest.

"Don’t go."

She froze. The voice was right behind her.

Slowly, she turned. There was no one there, only rows of old bookshelves and the faint flicker of a dying light bulb. But the voice persisted, now coming from all around her, each shelf carrying a different whisper.

"Stay. You need to know."

Her mind raced. She was alone. Wasn’t she? Her breath quickened as she looked around, panic creeping into her thoughts. The whispers closed in, no longer just noise, but words, forming coherent sentences that chilled her to the bone.

"The library keeps its secrets."

"They never leave."

"You’ll never leave."

She backed away, her heart pounding, trying to drown out the voices. She glanced at the shelves, her eyes darting over the ancient books, and that’s when she noticed it—a book she hadn’t seen before. Its spine was cracked and faded, its pages yellowed with age. But it wasn’t its appearance that caught her attention. It was that it seemed to be…moving.

Trembling, she reached for the book, almost against her will. Her fingers brushed the cover, and as soon as she made contact, the whispers stopped. The silence that followed was suffocating.

She opened the book, her hands shaking. The pages were filled with cramped, handwritten text, the ink smeared and blotchy as though written in haste—or fear. But it wasn’t the words that terrified her. It was the names.

Dozens of names. Hundreds. Some scratched out, others fresh. And then, at the very bottom of the page, she saw it—her own name.

Hannah Thompson.

Her stomach turned, and she slammed the book shut. The whispers returned, louder now, their tone urgent and malicious.

"You’ve seen. Now you must stay."

A cold draft swept through the library, and the lights flickered. The air felt heavier, pressing in on her chest. Desperately, she ran toward the stairwell, her footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. She reached the door to the ground floor and shoved it open, but when she stepped through, her heart sank.

She was back in the basement.

Her breathing grew ragged as she tried again, running faster this time. She threw open the door—but once again, she stood in the same eerie nook where she had started.

The whispers were deafening now, crashing over her in waves of sound. They hissed and spat, mocking her, taunting her with half-formed truths.

"You belong to us now."

She fell to her knees, clutching her head, trying to block out the noise. It was no use. The library had her now, just like it had all the others. She thought of the missing students, the unexplained disappearances, the names in the book. The library didn’t just keep knowledge. It kept them—the students who stayed too late, the ones who uncovered too much.

With a final, desperate scream, Hannah bolted toward the shelves, searching for something—anything—that could free her. But all she found were more books, more names, more secrets that no one was ever meant to know.

The last light flickered out, plunging the library into darkness. The whispers faded, replaced by a deep, oppressive silence.