An old woman walked casually into the library, using her cane for support. Her silver hair was pinned back in a neat bun, her glasses sat on the edge of her nose, and her weakening eyes still shined a bright blue. She wore a high collared blouse, a green knit sweater, and a freshly-ironed gray skirt, which hung to her knees. Black stockings covered her thin legs, and simple, black flats completed the outfit, making her look like an old-fashioned schoolgirl. With her she carried a single book that looked like it could be at least a century old, with uneven pages and a worn cover. Besides the silver hair and the cane, one could hardly tell her age, because her pale face showed little evidence of wrinkles.
She made her way, unnoticed, to the back of the library, and cracked open a door that said: Employees Only, Do Not Enter. Making sure the coast was clear, she slipped through the door and shut it carefully behind her.
She found herself standing in a hallway, with doors to offices on either side. Thankfully, the workers either weren't in their offices, or if they were, had their eyes glued to their computer screens, typing up reports, or whatever librarians do with those newfangled machines. The woman walked down the hallway without making a sound, till she reached another door that led to the basement. She proceeded down the stairs–– there were 26 of them––till she reached the concrete floor. Light shown in from some small windows along the far wall. All around were cardboard boxes filled with books forgotten long ago, covered with layers of dust. Almost no one ever came down here, except for maintenance on the water heater that stood in the middle of the room.
The woman walked in between the rows of boxes, till she reached the corner farthest from the steps, and the darkest one, too. No one would have thought to come looking here. There was nothing here but dust and cobwebs. Or, so most people thought.
But not the old woman. She brushed away the cobwebs and felt the wall until her hands brushed across something wooden. A door. A very old door. She felt around for the rusty handle and pushed. The door gave easily, and soon the woman found herself looking into a tiny chamber. She stepped inside, and, feeling around, pulled a familiar chain that turned on an old lamp.
The floor was wooden, as well as the walls. It was probably ten feet square with an eight-foot ceiling. The room itself looked much older than the rest of the library, furnished with nothing but a small round table and a chair against the back wall and built-in bookshelves lining the side walls, filled with ancient books. The lamp stood on the table, and next to it the woman placed the book she had been carrying. She brushed her hand over the smooth table, covered in dust. She inhaled deeply, taking in the musty smell of a room that hadn't been aired out in years. What memories it evoked, only she knew. Turning the lamp off, she walked out of the room and shut the wooden door for the last time.
