49: That'll Pigging Do, Bob.

Garry is striding through the dark. He can hear Rosalyn keening somewhere over to his left, but something is telling him he must carry straight on. His hands outstretched, they finally come into contact with the wall.

But it isn't just the wall, and the noise isn't just Rosalyn.

Garry stops, and sniffs.

He can smell Brut. And he can hear panting and shuffling.

'Just a little bit more!' someone says. There's a groan, and the noise of something soft and large falling. A torrent of swearing, and then a laugh.

'I'm in!' Bob says, 'for the love of pig!' It worked!

Garry freezes. He can hear Bob picking himself up off the floor. Garry hurries, feeling the strange boxes and levers on the wall in front of him. He will not be robbed of his glory. Today, he thinks, is Garry Day. Garry holds his breath and pulls the levers down.

There is a crackle, a fizz, a pop, and then the electricity hums into life and the basement is flooded with light.

Garry is standing in front of the fuse-boxes. Bob is in front of the lift. There are a couple of borrowers lying on the floor as if they are asleep, scattered at his feet like fallen skittles.

Rosalyn is on her knees. She has her hands over her eyes. The lights haven't been on down here in years, perhaps decades.

'Garry!' Bob says, 'you beauty!'

Garry blinks, his hand still on the levers. He feels something. A strange feeling. It is swelling in his chest. His heart is expanding, getting bigger and bigger. It is making him spread his legs and stand up straighter. He lifts his chin, feeling like a Roman Emperor. He lets go of the levers and puts his hands on his hips.

'That'll do, Bob,' he says, with great dignity. 'I've got everything in hand now.'

Rosalyn stands up, shakes out her hair and walks shakily towards Garry. Garry doesn't notice her. He is too busy Making Eye Contact with Bob.

Bob seems to shrink and crumple. Katerina is shouting down the lift shaft.

'The lights! The lights are back on! The tills are working!' she says. She sounds delirious with happiness, but neither Bob or Garry answer.

Rosalyn leaps towards Garry. She curls her arms around his neck and kisses his cheekbone. She stands on tip-toe and lets her hair tickle his neck.

There are no words to describe Garry's heart now. He has never, ever been kissed before. He thinks about The Staff Manual. Wasn't there something in there about Relationships Between Staff? Some dire consequences?

Rosalyn smells like a grove of citrus trees and he turns and pushes her hair out of her eyes. Garry puts his hand around her waist. In the light, Rosalyn is a very beautiful woman. Rosalyn puts her head in the space between Garry's chin and his chest. She kind of burrows in, as if she doesn't want to look at Bob.

'Garry, you plumb. She's bad news! Leave it alone!' Bob says.

Garry places one arm around Rosalyn's shoulders and points at Bob with the other.

'Oi,' he says. The kiss has made his voice deeper, more manly somehow. Bob shrinks some more, and then nods.

'Lets get back upstairs,' Garry says, and presses the button on the lift, 'come on Bob. This lady,' he lifts Rosalyn and carries her into the lift, 'needs a hot drink, and something to eat.'

'Are you coming up now?' Katerina's voice bounces down the metal tube and booms around them, 'come quick! John's gone mad!'

48: A Genius, A Superhero, And A Dream Of Keyboard Shortcuts

The journey to The Office is taking a long time. Mike is sure Linda is stalling on purpose. She seems to need a Little Rest every seven steps. She is having another one now, and this time, Mike has decided to join her, rather than stand and waste his energy, or his Maglite battery.

In the darkness, he can hear the quiet sound of her breathing. She is far less annoying like this - quiet, and invisible. Mike pretends he’s in Call Of Duty 4, and Linda is a beautiful survivor he’s saved from some blast or attack. She comes from a place where technology is not freely available, so she thinks he is a genius, a wizard. No, not a wizard, he doesn’t want to go down that road. Mike tuts as he thinks of role-players, and of how the moronic general public lump anyone with one iota of IT knowledge into the same pigeon-hole. He can feel his knuckles tensing in the dark.

‘Okay, I’m ready for the next flight,’ says Linda.

‘Yes, M’am,’ drawls Mike as he gets to his feet. He is being ironic, but is not sure it will be taken that way. His experience of Linda in the past has always had him biting his fist in exasperation at her ability to take everything literally. But she doesn’t reply. Mike senses her proximity in the enclosed space. She is at his shoulder, she is following him. Mike can feel the gentle pressure of her against his hip. In the dark, he is free to imagine her out of her regulation dungarees. He thinks of all the things he will teach her; click-and-drag, the right-mouse button, and all those keyboard shortcuts. He is excited.

One step at a time, they advance upwards. He can smell something citrusy and potent. It is seeping out of Linda’s pores. He feels a little high. And then he hears the sobs.

‘What’s wrong?’


‘Um...then why are you crying?’

‘I’m not .....(sniff)....crying.’

The air around Mike is empty again. Linda is much lower, now. She is sitting down. Mike joins her on the step, sitting close enough to feel her body flinch then resettle against him. She feels warm. Mike is aware of all the hairs on his arms standing up, prickling with static electricity. It’s been a while since Mike felt anything like this. It’s been exactly eleven months and three days to be precise. When it gets to a year, Mike tells himself, then I’ll be over her. Not a day before. But this, he thinks now, is sort of a practise run. It’s me getting used to how things can be for me again.

Linda is still sobbing. Mike wonders if he should put his arm around her. It’s usually what women want when they cry. We don’t want fixes, we just want to be listened to, and held. This mantra is carved into his hard-wiring now. His reply of ‘but it’s not logical’ always made the crying worse, so he has learned better of it. He lifts his arm and lets it hover a fraction of a centimetre above Linda’s shoulders. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he lowers it until he hits body, prompting a series of large breathless sobs which slowly peter out to nothing.

‘There there,’ he offers, a bit woodenly.

‘I thought I’d checked the batteries...’


‘The Emergency Lighting...it’s my responsibility to check it’s working. But it’s not working. It’s dark.’

‘Not with this it isn’t,’ Mike says, turning his Maglite on full beam. He shines it into Linda’s face, illuminating her red eyes and the mascara streaks on her red cheeks. Linda squints under the glare, clearly uncomfortable, so Mike turns it off again.

‘I don’t know what else I might’ve just Let Slide. There’s so much for me to do, maybe I can’t do it all. Maybe I’m not the Superhero I think I am?’

Mike has never, not once, thought of Linda as a superhero. He is about to laugh, but thinks better of it. Instead he pats her shoulder.

‘Things just go wrong sometimes,’ he finds himself saying. ‘And no-one’s to blame, it’s just the way things are. The Emergency Lights might’ve blown when everything else did - who knows what’s going on in this place today? So don’t be so hard on yourself. Okay?’

Mike gets to his feet and he feels Linda do the same.

‘Onwards and upwards?’ he asks.

‘Onwards and upwards.’

They race up the last flight of stairs and spill out into the corridor. Linda pushes back a memory of tribal drumming as Mike bangs hard on the door of The Office. Without waiting for an answer, he barges inside.

47: An Orphaned Ice Skater

The Boss has been standing very still for a long time. She can see through a tiny crack in the stationery cupboard door. No-one seems to be coming, although she can hear noises on the stairs. She isn't sure if they are getting closer or not. The reams of paper are pressing into her back. She thinks about an alternative career.

The Boss wouldn't mind being an Ice Skater, actually. It's a secret she's never told anyone before, not since she was a child. And then, it was all she talked about. She made costumes from tin foil and cling film, tinsel and milk-bottle tops. She practised twirling on her own, in a quiet corner of the playground. She never got dizzy. She practised, and while she was practising she waited for a man with a side parting and tight trousers to throw her upside down and whirl her through the air until her teeth rattled.

Her father told her she had thick ankles, and her mother thought the flesh coloured tights and glittering mini-skirts were 'inappropriate'. In cold weather The Boss used to pour water on the patio and practice sliding and twirling as soon as it hardened. There was an accident. The Boss frowns. It wasn't her fault, although everyone blamed her.

An orphan doesn't have too many career options.

When the door opens the Boss leaps up quickly and clambers onto the top shelf of the cupboard. There isn't enough room for her here. She hooks her knees over the top of the shelf and lets the top part of her body dangle downwards. Her neat skirt ruffles gently downwards and the hem brushes her chin. Her careful curls uncoil downwards and then spring back up again. She can feel the blood rushing to her head. She can feel her pulse hammering hard in her eyeballs. It has been a very long time since she has been completely upside down.

audience participation

Sh asked you have someone killed.

Now Sh would like someone to be kissed.

Vote in the comments. You can also say a little bit about what kind of kiss it should be, if you like. But you are not allowed to specify who does the kissing.

That bit is up to Sh.

46: Today Is Not A Good Day To Die

Garry can’t see anything. All he can do is feel his way along the walls, trying to get away from the banshee. He ran at first, but now he’s shuffling along, hoping there is another Way Out. It took him a while to realise the walls were not walls. It took him longer than it would probably take anyone else to realise, because his antibacterial hand gel is upstairs somewhere, and he didn’t want to come into contact with anything for very long if he could help it. In the end, it wasn’t the lack of uniform shapes or the feel of the things that revealed their true nature. No, it was the smell, that musty old scent of years and years of knowledge and age old ink that told Garry that these walls were made of books, and lots of them.

Garry is 91% anxiety now. He would feel better if he knew the books were covered in cling-film, if there was only some kind of barrier between him and them. He tries to convince himself they have been stored in a protective covering, but when he reaches out his hand, there is only paper.

There have been so many twists and turns on his run that he imagines he’s in some kind of maze. He has no sense of where he is at all. He wishes the music would start again. He knows he would be okay if the music was there. The music made him invincible. Now, he thinks, he is going to die down there. He wonders will he ever be found, or will he just be another name in a list of missing persons? He can’t go on. He doesn’t know which way is forward, which way is back. He can’t even see his own hand in front of his face. The darkness settles on him and pushes him further into himself, into his despair.

Garry thinks about the baked potato he was going to eat by the side of the river, on the bench he was going to cover with cling-film. He thinks about his heart. Today, his heart has been all sizes. He thinks how it started out this morning as a withered thing, something that was beyond all hope. And then it swelled when the music came, and nearly burst out of his chest. Garry imagines all the white blood cells doing a repair job inside him, inside the chambers of his heart. He knows they were there. He knows his heart is a stronger heart than the one that entered the library earlier that day. Thinking these thoughts brings his anxiety down to 73%.

Garry decides that he will not die today. He decides he will face his fears and try to find his way out of the book-maze. He feels his heart bumping quickly in his chest. By just thinking about the music, Garry has harnessed its power and made himself brave again. All that matters to him now is finding his way back to the monitors and getting the power back on. He has never been part of a team before, but he likes it a lot. He likes the feeling of working for the greater good. He will fix the power for the greater good of all his new workmates. Even though he had no intention of changing jobs when he awoke that morning. He only went to the library to do research on his ailing heart. But now Garry feels that working in this library is something he was born to do. He doesn’t even mind that he has to be called Garry from now on. He didn’t like his old name much anyway. Reaching his hands out to touch both walls of books, he shakes his head like a lion and strides back in the direction he came. He is 51% pure adrenaline.

45: Not Green but Puce: A Story of The Incredible Hulk and the Zombie Borrowers

'You stupid bint!' says Bob, struggling with the doors of the lift. He has them open now, and is holding them apart. There are large sweat patches on his shirt in the shape of continents. Katerina fumbles with the string.


'Go and tie it to the edge of the counter. Bring the end over here. Tie it to...' Bob looks around, 'tie it to the edge of that shelf, will you?' he shakes his head. His muscles are trembling. Bob looks like the Incredible Hunk just before he bursts out of his clothes, except not green, but puce.

Katerina knows better than to ask questions. She runs back out into the library and ties the edge of the string to the counter. She nearly slips in the paint and she can hear the sound of something being dragged over the carpet towards the back of the library, but before she can wonder what it is, she hurries to unroll the string behind her. Before she is back near the lift, before she has tied it to the edge of the metal shelving unit, she can hear shuffling.

'The borrowers are coming!' Bob says jubilantly. And he is right.

The borrowers are following the string, holding into it with their hands and shuffling blindly where it leads. Katerina ties the knot quickly.

'Line them up, sugar-breeches,' Bob says, 'think, The Enormous Turnip.'

Katerina pauses. It's getting late, and the sun is going in. The heating in the library isn't working. She's feeling chilly and she wonders about her cardigan, forgets to remember John, and watches the borrowers come edging forwards, wobbling slightly but finally taking their place behind Bob.

'Get a couple on these doors,' Bob grunts, 'and tell the one behind me to hold onto my feet. Lower me down. Human rope. Pigging fantastic!'

44: Dead Zone

Back when John first started working at the library, The Boss gave him a little lecture about 'Dead Zones'. These are the places where, for one reason or another, the borrowers don't seem to loiter. Perhaps they are dark and the air smells differently there. Perhaps it's something to do with a draft. 'Dead Zones' need special attention. They need displays and face-out stock. They need racks of community information and other delights to tempt borrowers to browse them.

This library's Dead Zone is far away from the issues desk and the front door. The books are always very tidy because no-one looks at them. The Borrower Who Takes Books Out and Puts Them Back In the Wrong Place never ventures into the puzzles and games section. Masturbating Borrower used to come here a lot, but Linda had him banned from the library and he hangs out in the Samaritans' Office now.

Puzzles and games? John lets Complaining Borrower's Legs flop to the floor and stops to think. It is hard. He is tired. Complaining Borrower isn't what you'd call a light load, and John is well aware his Manual Handling Training Certificate is out of date. On top of that, he is absolutely starving.

John likes to frown when he thinks, but the skin on the side of his face is hot and tight. Thinking takes a long time. There is something about puzzles and games, about the books in the Dead-Zone, the 793s in particular, that he needs to remember. He isn't sure what. His files have been zapped. All the pages are in the wrong order. All his knows is that The Complaining Borrower belongs here, in this quiet, little-visited part of the library.

John bends and props him up against the shelves. The soft part of his face is troubling to look at, so he takes a book down and props it open over the area.

It's fine. Borrowers sleep like this in the library all the time, their faces hidden under books like masks. John takes one last look at him, his brown coat with the pockets stuffed with carrier bags, 101 Games For One resting over his face. John feels better. He turns away to find Katerina. For some reason, he is wearing her cardigan and he can't remember why.

43: Big Ball Of String

Katerina is on a string-finding mission. She knows they keep a big ball of string behind the counter. She is not going to use the string instead of rope - it would never take Bob’s weight - but they are going to need string in the very near future. It is Bob’s responsibility to work out how to get down the lift-shaft without actual rope. Katerina is only responsible for procuring the string. She made that very clear.

She walks past the line of borrowers and starts rummaging behind the counter. None of the borrowers speak, but Katerina becomes aware of their eyes following her every move. In the growing darkness, and without the spell of the music, the borrowers have formed themselves into an orderly queue. They seem confused, like they’ve all just opened the fridge door and instantly forgotten what they were looking for. Katerina rummages a bit more quietly. She makes her movements slow, hoping to free herself from their gaze.

The string is behind the stamp tray, which has a big empty space about the size of one of the date stamps. She thinks about Linda and her ‘Everything In Its Right Place’ speech and winces. Holding the string to her chest, she backs away from the counter, stepping in a big pool of red poster paint on her way back to Bob and the lift-shaft. She glances one last time at the borrowers, still swaying in their line, hoping they haven’t seen where she’s gone.

42: Rosalyn Versus The Stranger

Rosalyn needs to find the lemon. The music needs her, and without the lemon, she has no power. It is too quiet. As she sweeps her hands across the floor, she feels bits of something sharp piercing them. It is the glass from the observation monitors, the observation monitors that the stranger broke.

Rosalyn doesn’t know why the stranger wants to damage her things. She stays low on the floor. It is her strongest attack position. Her back legs are very very strong. She has had a lot of time to practise her jumping.

There is something Not Right about this stranger, though. His presence makes Rosalyn do those strange whimpers that she has no control of, and her hair feels like it is standing up on end, even though there is too much of it and it is too heavy to do that. She sniffs the air for clues. She is confused. She can’t smell him. He has no scent. Except....there is something she can smell. It is almost shiny. No, not shiny. It just makes things shiny. He has been at her polish!!

Rosalyn begins to shake, sitting back on her haunches. It is completely dark now he has broken her observation monitors, but she is used to it. Her eyes can see the outline of the stranger. He is saying things. Rosalyn only wants to make the music, she doesn’t want to say words. She hisses. She wants him to go away. The shape of him moves backwards and she watches him. He is moving too slow for her. She pushes all her strength down into her legs and waits for it to be ready. She is not going to let him damage any more things. She is a coiled spring. As she propels herself through the air, all she hears is a strange scream. And then Rosalyn hits the wall. The stranger is not where he was. Rosalyn can feel her teeth wiggling in her mouth. It hurts. In the distance, she hears the thump of volumes hitting the dusty floor. The stranger has found his way into the maze of books.

41: Onwards And Upwards

The Emergency Lighting is not working in the stairwell. Linda is sure the little red ‘battery working’ lights were on when she did her weekly Health And Safety check. Although, now she comes to think of it, the memory of ticking the boxes is a blur. She can’t remember actually going into the stairwell. She hazily recalls sitting on the stairs while she had a drink. It was nice and quiet, and she knew she would never be disturbed on the stairs. She often eats her lunch there, if she’s not in the mood for Bob and his squat thrusts or Katerina and her pretty dresses. Sometimes, she thinks it’s just nice to be alone, to be away from all the responsibilities and expectations.

She feels like she is practically running the library most of the time. No one else seems to care about Fire Alarm tests or Inductions or Restricted Items. She is certain most of the staff have only skimmed through the Staff Manual. With the exception of John, that is. She knows John takes these things seriously. But a fat lot of good he is now!

Mike pulls a Maglite out of his pocket. It is as bright as a full moon on the dark stairs. He leads the way upwards and Linda follows closely behind. He doesn’t smell like Bob smells - stale sweat drizzled in Brut. Mike's scent is one of trees and moss. It is a scent Linda actually finds quite pleasing. She sticks close to him as he guides them up to The Office, still a little disturbed by the lack of Emergency Lighting.

After four flights of stairs, Linda starts to feel dizzy. She realises she hasn’t eaten since her Morning Break. She sits down. Mike, sensing the emptiness behind him, doubles back and shines the torch in her face.

‘I need to have a Little Rest,’ she sighs. She rummages in her dungarees for her bottle but still can’t find it. Mike is still shining the torch into her face. He is thinking that she looks too red, but then decides maybe it is just the light. Linda shields her eyes with her hand and Mike lowers the beam. Their feet are lit up now. They are inside a circle, like they have been caught in the spotlight.

Linda thinks about tap dancing. She looks at her shoes. They are not tap shoes. And the stairwell is the last place that dancing of any kind should take place. She wonders where the music has gone. She thinks that if the music was still there, she might just flout all the Health And Safety Regulations concerning dancing on the stairs. She thinks she might enjoy that a great deal. But there is no music, only the shallow breathing of her own tired lungs, and the shuffling of Mike and his moon-light torch.

‘Okay. I’m rested. Shall we Make Tracks?’

‘Yep, I reckon. Better to get it all sorted before it’s dark outside.’ Mike is concerned about them all being stuck in the library. He has plans, and they don’t include spending any more time than is necessary with these inept loons.

‘Onwards and Upwards then!’ says Linda, getting to her feet. She inhales a deep nose-full of dark forests. It seems to energise her.

‘Onwards and upwards.’

40: Adjacent to Miss World

For John, all isn't well with the world. They've left him alone. He can hear Katerina laughing somewhere very far away. He thinks of his field and her green dress. There is a meadow, speckled with blue and white flowers. It smells beautiful. It is exactly the right kind of meadow. It looks, he decides, like a fabric-softener advert.

And then there she is, standing under a tree waiting for him. She is swirling her skirts about and laughing, but she is not laughing at him!

John realises very slowly that Katerina is laughing because he has been away somewhere else for a long time. Somewhere where his face hurts, and his back hurts, and his neck hurts, and humiliation rubs him all over like an old towel washed without fabric softener.

Fabric softener. That smell isn't the meadow, it is Katerina's hair, which is waving softly around her face. She is laughing because he's back from that place, and she is glad.

'Bob,' she says, with the curl of a smile in her voice, 'Linda would have you sacked for making a remark like that!' she laughs again, and it it a little tinkling that sounds just like the library bell.

There is another noise. Like someone patting a horse. Horsebook. No. It is the sound of hand against skirt-covered buttock.

John opens his eyes. He opens one of his eyes. The other is sealed shut. It hurts. John is sitting on the floor of the computer room. Katerina's cardigan is draped over his knees. It smells like fabric softener and her hair. He clutches it, and listens. Her voice is coming from very far away. From near the lift in fact.

This is as bad as G-----. Not worse, but just as bad.

John gets up painfully, and limps out of the computer room and into the library. Through his one good eye, he can see the path through the bays, around the counter, past the Enquiry desk and into the back room. He imagines the rest. The seventeen steps to Katerina's desk. And a sharp left, to the lift. That's where the sound is coming from.

Through his bad eye, he doesn't see Complaining Borrower approach.

'I've been waiting here for twenty minutes!' the voice startles John, and he turns, almost falling.

'You do realise, don't you, that it's my council tax that pays your wages?' Complaining Borrower says.

'Yes,' John says, truthfully. He is well aware of this. Someone points it out to him every day. He used to keep a tally, but he ran out of paper.

'You're a public servant, aren't you?' Complaining Borrower snaps.

'Yes,' John slurs.

'Serve, then! Come on!'

Complaining Borrower takes John's arm and pulls him back towards the issues desk.

'I've a good mind to complain,' he says, and pushes a pile of books at John. 'Book barricades! Those are my books! Who paid for them? Me, that's who. What's wrong with your face? Does your supervisor know this whole establishment is staffed by a gaggle of loons and misfits?'

John didn't know 'misfit' was one of his trigger words until Complaining Borrower hurled it at him. He can still hear Katerina giggling and this is now worse than G------. He reaches out his hand and lets his fingers curl around the first thing they touch.

'Misfit!' John says, hitting Complaining Borrower in the face with the metal date-stamp. 'Misfit.' (again) 'is' (again) 'right' (you get the idea) 'Next. To. Miss. World. In. The. 19. 94. Dewey. Decimal. Subject. In.dex!'

John raises his hand to keep hitting, but the Complaining Borrower isn't there anymore. Where he stood is now just another space in the library. Has he disappeared? John looks down and there he is again. He chuckles, and drops the date-stamp.

He'd better move the body before Linda notices the mess on the carpet.

39: A Head in The Clouds

The Boss likes being up at the top of the building. The stairs are steep and take a long time to climb. The lift is old and clanky and there are rules surrounding its use that means she doesn't get bothered too often. The Boss can sit at her desk and bask in the brightest sunlight in the world. Her office is the only room with a proper window.

And what a window it is. A sky-light that takes up the whole ceiling, slanted against the roof. A ceiling wall papered with blue and clouds, and at night, the black and the stars and the orange glow of city light pollution.

Often, The Boss will lie on her back on the desk and look at the day turn into night and back again. She will chant the Dewey Decimal System. She will conjure classifications eleven decimals long. They work like spells.

Today, The Boss has been feeling twitchy. It started in the morning with a new recruit and a bouncing ball. She'd taken a trip downstairs to see Rosalyn, and make sure she was all right for food and water. Rosalyn had seemed odd. The Boss had wondered about offering her an extra day's leave, or perhaps sending her on the Pre-Retirement Course, but then Linda had nearly caught her on the stairs, and she'd forgotten about it.

She'd slept, most of the day. She'd rested her feet inside the wastepaper basket and held a hole punch against her heart while she dozed. Music. There was the most beautiful music.

And now? Now the electric lights aren't working and there is a noise on the stairs. The Boss sniffs the air. She tries to sense what is coming. She does not want to do another induction. She doesn't want to give advice about Google. She is not very interested in new search terms or keywords. She used to think about Service Performance and User Surveys and Event Evaluation Monitoring. There are forms for all these things. She pats her desk and looks for the forms. The grids and tick-boxes are comforting. Nothing. There's nothing there.

It is as if the lights have gone out in her too.

The Boss opens the stationary cupboard and gets inside. It smells of Heavily Supervised Items in here. Printer paper. Toner cartridges. Elastic bands. She closes the door behind her, and waits.

38: A Rescue Rope made of Nylon Stockings

Voting is still open for the Kill Someone In Chapter 40 Competition.

'John's not right.' Katerina says, 'look at him.'

Linda looks. John is still on the floor. His muscles are twitching. He can't seem to decide if he wants to keep his eyes open or closed.

'Is it that the electric shock he had, do you think?'

Bob finally rights himself and stands up. He stretches, as if he didn't fall on the floor, but was doing some special back exercise on the carpet.

'Nah,' he says. He raises a hand to clap John on the shoulder, and thinks better of it. He puts his hands in his pockets. 'He's just upset, aren't you John?'

John doesn't answer.

'I think Garry's gone downstairs,' Linda says. 'He isn't in the library. Not unless he's behind a rubber plant.'

'He won't have gone downstairs, will he? No.' Katerina says. She bites her lip and looks at Linda, 'you were the one who volunteered to do his induction.'

'I didn't volunteer,' Linda said, 'I was asked,' she raises an eyebrow and gestures at the ceiling.

'So you should have covered Forbidden and Restricted Areas!' Katerina shouts.

Bob is watching. Bob is hoping the girls are going to get into a cat-fight. He winks at Mike, and John moans slightly.

'Listen,' Mike says, 'he might not be down... there. You never know. He could have gone upstairs. We should split up. Bob's the man for figuring out how to get into the basement without a lift, aren't you Bob?'

Bob feels himself being led, being 'handled', but is too excited about the prospect of swinging down a lift-shaft on a rope made from Katerina's stockings to complain about it. He touches the brim of an imaginary hat. 'I'm onto it,' he says.

'And Linda, you can lead a second party upstairs. Maybe we'll find him there. He's new. He might have wanted to talk to The Boss.' Mike whispers the last two words.

The librarians form themselves into teams. Katerina takes off her cardigan and places it over John's knees. She pushes him backwards slightly so he is leaning against the wall. Then she joins Bob and goes through the main library and the back room where she works (that horse book seems like months ago, rather than just this morning) to examine the lift.

Linda and Mike walk slowly, with trepidation, caution and reluctance, towards the stairs that lead up to the next floor. Mike has realised that while there is no power, there is no revolving door out either. He isn't sure if Linda knows this. He decides not to tell her.

'Let's go and see if he's there,' Mike says. They leave John sitting on the floor. In the main library, someone is ringing a bell, but they ignore it.


Emma is still on holiday. She is somewhere quite hot and sunny. It is raining here. When it rains very hard, it actually rains inside my house. So I am feeling like Getting Up To No Good. I am going to do something bad while Emma is away. I am going to do Sabotage.

I am going to kill one of the characters.

Please vote for a character to be killed in Chapter 40. If you like, you can write the chapter. Or you can just suggest a name in the comments.

37: When the Music's Over, Turn Out The Lights

Rosalyn steps forward. Garry can see by the light of the observation monitors that she is holding a pair of red leather gloves. She is ignoring him. She seems to be searching the ground for something. She is making strange noises under her breath. They are squeaking, foxy, animal noises. He thinks she is saying 'lemon' but that would be silly.

'Are you all right?' Garry asks. 'Bit dark down here, isn't it?'

Garry looks towards the observation monitors. There are lots of electrical panels and little flashing LED lights over there. He is thinking logically. He is problem solving. In his interview for the library job he claimed that logical thinking and problem solving were the main assets he could bring to the Library. Now, he thinks, is the time to prove it. There is a puzzle here, and he is the man to sort it out. But first he needs to turn on the lights. Using logic, he thinks the best place to look for the light switch is near the observation monitors.

The observation monitors are flickering. He can see the main library area in one of them. He can see Complaining Borrower ringing the bell at the counter. He slaps it with the palm of his hand, over and over. There is no sound, but Garry can see how hard he is pressing the bell. Nobody comes. Lots of books have spilled from the shelves and are scattered onto the floor.

In another of the observation monitors Garry can see into the computer room. He can see Bob pick himself up from the floor. He can see Mike stand up. He can see John crouching in a corner. He can see Linda and Katerina. None of them seem to hear the bell. Perhaps, Garry thinks, the other librarians think it is part of the music - perhaps they haven't noticed that the music is over.

Rosalyn crouches on the floor and starts to sweep her hands across the concrete. She looks like a woman who has lost a contact lens. Her noises are howly, but quiet. The sound is quite like a baby who has been ignored for a very long time, and has almost no energy left for attracting attention. Where is that light switch?

'I'll be over in a tick,' Garry says, and then the observation monitors explode. There is a crackling noise, and in the dark Garry hears glass and plastic hit the floor. He can feel shards bouncing off his jumper. Something scratches the side of his face, but he isn't hurt.

Now he can see nothing. He is completely in the dark. When he turns all he can see is Rosalyn's eyes, low down because she is kneeling on the floor. It is quite like, he thinks, The Silence of The Lambs. Gary saw that film once, when he was quite young. His mother had told him not to, but he had crept downstairs after she went to bed and did it anyway. He was more adventurous back then. Now he comes to think of it, the thing with the cling-film started after he watched that film. It probably wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that The Silence of The Lambs made Garry into the man he is today. The timid, 86% anxiety man he was on the brink of abandoning.

Garry wonders where his antibacterial hand gel is. Garry clutches the Staff Manual to his chest.

'Hello?' he says, 'seems like there's been a power cut. Is there a fuse box down here? Or a button. For an emergency generator. Type of thing. You know. Hello?'

There is no answer. No noise but the snuffling sound of breath through clogged up nostrils, and dry hands sweeping a rough floor. Garry realises that the lift back up to the library won't work if there is no power. The darkness expands around him.

36: A Charred Man, but a Man all the Same

Katerina watches as Bob lies on his back. He is trying to get up, but at the moment, he is looking more like a turtle that has been rolled over onto its shell. Ugh. So undignified.

Katerina glances at John. John is clawing at the side of his face, and whimpering. She feels a stab of pity. She never knew John was so strong, so brave. She doesn't know exactly what sent him doo-lally this time, but she knows a man who is willing to fight for something he believes in is a rare thing.

Mike sits up, bumps his head on the underside of the desk and removes the last key from between his teeth.

'It's a power cut,' he says, 'an overload. I can fix it. Don't worry.'

'Are you all right?' Linda asks, ' I think I'm going to need to get the First Aid Box. Shut that door, Katerina. We don't want Complaining Borrower to see this. He'd have a field day.'

Katerina shuts the door.

'Wait,' she says, her hand still on the handle, 'listen. The music has stopped.'

Linda looks at her. Out of habit, she reaches for her special green bottle, but it isn't there.

'Where's Garry?' she says, trembling.

35: Sweetcheeks

This is the second part of Duncan Cheshire's submission. Thanks Duncan!

John stops screaming and swears profusely. John never swears. Holding his hand to the side of his face he looks around and sees Mike dragging himself under a desk. John growls and lunging forward, grabs Mike's ankle and pulls him out. Snatching up a keyboard, he brings it down across Mike's head, keys flying everywhere from the shattered board.

Mike slumps to the ground. John, the side of his face smouldering, rolls Mike onto his back and snatches up a handful of the loose keys.

Prising Mike's mouth open, John begins ramming the keys between his teeth.

"I'll give you the fucking age of information", hisses John.

The door to the computer room opens, and Bob barrels in, followed by Katerina and Linda. They look at John, fist raised as he straddles Mike, who coughs out a key.

"What the pigging hell's going on? Have you lost your pigging mind?" Bob barks.

John's eyes are blank. He doesn't recognise them, not even Katerina.

"Do something!" Katerina shakes Bob's arm, holding onto him for a little longer than absolutely necessary.

"Don't worry, sweetcheeks, I'll look after him", Bob flexes his knees and steps towards John.

Bob moves closer to John, staying just out of reach, and then lunges, trying to rugby tackle him head on. John dips his shoulder imperceptibly as Bob tackles him and then lifts his body up and back and Bob flies through the air, completely upended, and crashes into the wall and slumps into a heap.

John turns back to Mike and raises his hand once more.

John brings his hand down, past the broken wires from the keyboardless computer and something happens. A bolt of electricity leaps from the exposed wires to John's hand, causing him to convulse and shriek before flinging him to the floor. The lights in the room grow brighter for a second and then go off, along with everything else, all the computer screens going blank.

The music stops.

Mike crawls under the desk, spitting out keys, and rests his hand on the coiled wires beneath the desk.

"Thank you", he whispers

34: Meanwhile, Down in the Basement

Garry is travelling down in the lift. The music is battering at the small bones inside his ear. As the lift moves downwards he becomes more and more certain that he is right: the music is coming from down there.

He's not worried about Restricted Areas. He's not worried about Unemployment. For Garry, this is a chance to be a hero.

The lift stops and the doors slide open. It's dark out there, very dark. As his eyes adjust to the gloom he can see something. It isn't the hidden orchestra he expected. It's a woman. A woman who can't possibly be as old as she looks, with long, long hair that is swirling around her like a cloud.

He can't see how she is making the music, but her eyes fix on him, he can see them shining like two bike lamps. It isn't possible that they are glowing with a light of their own, Garry thinks, and then he realises he is staring, coughs, and steps out of the lift.

Something falls from the woman's hands and rolls away over the floor. The music stops as suddenly as it started. It feels like Garry has been leaning against a wall and it has suddenly collapsed. A wall of sound. And now it has been taken away he wobbles, and feels small and naked in the silence.

Garry walks towards towards the woman.

'Hello,' he says, 'do you work here?'

33: A Number all of His Own

This chapter is the first part of a two parter submitted by regular Sh contributor Duncan Cheshire. Sh reminds borrowers not to play like this at home.

The air of the computer room vibrates with the crashing drums of the music emanating from below, and with John's screaming. His hands clamped around Mike's throat, John squeezes and squeezes, his palms pressing against the sinews and muscles protecting the ridged windpipe. He screams all the while, screaming about the rise of computers, about the slide into obsolescence of the library system, about borrowers being able to search the catalogue online without asking him, about this insufferable tit of a man, with his ctrl-alt-del t-shirt who burned a book before his very eyes! A Shakespeare at that!


A number all to himself.

John hasn't read any Shakespeare since his school days, but any author with their own Dewey Decimal number must be someone special.

Redoubling his efforts, John puts all of his strength into righting one of the many wrongs that had been committed against the library.

Mike's vision begins to blur, or vibrate, he couldn't tell anymore. He knows John is unable to control himself around technology, or any talk about the internet replacing libraries, or any damage being done to a book. Mike knows John grits his teeth if someone folds a page or cracks the spine of a book, let alone burns one. But Mike did it anyway! He'd shown them. He'd shown the librarians that there was no way to avoid what was coming. The future is here, demanding your attention like a boorish employer: you cannot hide from it.

Mike's head throbs slowly, every vein and artery trying to work and force blood back to his heart past the constricting hands at his throat. He flexes his neck but doesn't know how much longer he can hold out. He tries to claw at John's face, or pull his hands from his throat, but John is too strong.

Something flickers to his left. Shakespeare's Sonnets, burning quietly.

Mike stops trying to poke John in the eye and reaches over with his right hand, picking up the burning book. The fire scorches his skin, but he doesn't care. He slaps the flaming cover into the side of John's face and holds it there. John bucks and shies, throwing himself backwards to get away from the fire.

Mike coughs, rolls onto his front and begins crawling towards the door.