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Katie Yusuf

Journal of a Library's Legacy

Amelia stood in front of her grandpa’s private library, clutching the crumpled letter. His lawyer had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday with instructions to come here and read it:


‘My dearest Amelia,

Happy birthday, sweetheart. If you are reading this, I’m not there to share this milestone with you. Now an adult, my library has opened for you. This library is our family's legacy…your legacy. Branches of our family have been acquiring books for many generations. This library was built as a safe place to bring and store them for protection from all forms of worldly harm. Our family line was chosen as guardians of these literary treasures. Rules, including no children and no unaccompanied visitors, were created but being from a different era with different priorities, they are sorely in need of updating. I wish I had fought harder for this so I could have shown the library to you years ago and experienced it with you for the first time.

These books are from every corner of the globe. Some are first editions whilst others are rare out-of-print manuscripts. Many are just beloved stories of their time or curator. I have read quite a number over the years, but was unable to accomplish my objective of making it through them all. Perhaps you will be able to achieve this lofty goal.

With your father's early demise and mine, you are now the librarian of our family’s books. Read them, add to them, but most of all protect, cherish, and love them. I have full faith in you and remember, through these pages, I will always be near you.

I love you my dear Amelia,

Grandpa


Overcome with emotion, Amelia rolled her lips tightly together and stared at the mahogany doors she had run by hundreds of times as a child. She had always been curious, but never brave enough to enter. Grandpa had made it clear that that room was off limits. Whenever he disappeared inside, however, he came back with stacks of wonderful and exciting books for her. Her heart ached and her body clenched from suppressed sorrow. Missing him so much, she hated that he had left her and yearned to be close to a part of him again.

Amelia reached tentatively for the library door. Even though Grandpa was gone, it still intimidated her, like entering would be trespassing into his personal space. Placing her hand on the smooth veneer, the energy emitting from the library surprised her. A rhythmic thump-thump, thump-thump coursed through the wood and flowed into Amelia’s palm, taking hold in her veins. Soothing her heart and relaxing her taut muscles, the unwavering beat calmed her trepidations and eased her pain.

Boldly grabbing the cool brass handle, Amelia pushed open the solid wooden door. Hit with the lingering cinnamony aroma of grandpa's pipe, she was instantly transported back to bedtime and listening to his deep baritone voice read to her. Closing her eyes, tears pooling around the edges, Amelia inhaled until she thought her lungs would burst. She never wanted to let that smell go and wished she could bottle it to keep with her.

When her eyes finally cleared and she looked through the door, Amelia was awed into paralysis. Grandpa’s letter alluded to a large library, but this was grander than she ever could have imagined. The large, round library was divided into two sizable floors by a metal wraparound walkway. Towering, dark-walnut bookshelves, with honey-colored wooden ladders leaning against them, lined each level. Her senses tingling in anticipation, Amelia stepped into the room.

Trying to absorb the many fascinating things surrounding her, Amelia’s head swiveled like an inquisitive barn owl. She watched the sunlight shine through the convex glass ceiling. It caused prismatic ripples to dance across the wine cork floor, which was cushiony and springy under her feet. Glancing around the library, Amelia's spirits lifted when found she was ringed by hundreds of shelves of unique rainbows. Each was formed from an eclectic mixture of books mixing their own varying personality of color, girth, and height. Giggling, she did a little twirl in her kaleidoscope of colors and words.

Suddenly, Amelia was tugged by the electricity in the room, like a tractor beam, to the far wall. It drew her to a specific row of novels, and she gently ran her hand down their colorful spines. Some were wrapped in slippery paper sleeves and others were bound in hard cardboard covers. Amelia touched a book hugged in a soft brown leather binding and warmth caressed her fingertips. Plucking it from the shelf, she saw the book emitted a pulsing golden glow and appeared to be the source of the room’s energy.

Wondering why this strange illuminated and electrified book had called to her, Amelia bubbled with curiosity and excitement. Flipping the book over, she saw the back cover wrapped around the side, fully enveloping the deckle-edged pages. It was held closed by a leather strap wrapped around and tied in front. Untying the binding, Amelia carefully folded back the flap and opened the cover. Staring at the title page, the script was emblazoned, almost burned, onto the paper: ‘Chronicles of the Westerfield Library: Told Through the Journals of its Librarians.’

Discovering she would finally learn some history about her family and the library’s legacy, Amelia’s elation grew. She gingerly carried the journal over to one of the plush, navy-blue couches in the center of the room and sat down. Hefting the two-inch book a few times, she furrowed her brow in confusion. This book couldn’t hold more than one or two journals, so where were the others? She scanned the library for a few minutes before deciding that finding them was a problem for another day.

Opening the cover, Amelia was startled when she touched the pages for the first time. The paper, very smooth and opaque, was high quality. She thought it strange the author would use this for essentially an old personal diary. The state of the book was also shocking. The journal was in pristine condition and barely had signs of something written a few years ago, let alone a few hundred.

Heavy-black imprinted text appeared again on the first page: ‘Journal of Pieter Westervelt, Philadelphia 1720-1740.’ For the second time today, Amelia was thunderstruck by a family secret. No one ever told her the family name changed from ‘Westervelt’ to ‘Westerfield.’ What other secrets was this library hiding that the journals might reveal? Her interest piqued, Amelia settled in for a long afternoon of reading.

In a light feathery script, Pieter told how the construction crew of his family’s new library had unearthed this leatherbound book at the dig site. Wrapped in a pelt and tied with a strand of turquoise beads, he had chosen to see it as a good omen and use it to record this historical event. This library was meant to safeguard his large family’s growing book collections. The family was sparing no expense, so Pieter needed things to be perfect. He noted every miniscule detail of the project, allowing Amelia a different view of the library.

Sprinkled in with the tool talk and design choices, Pieter shared stories from his childhood. Growing up, Pieter noted, his house was filled with things to read: prose, novels, manuscripts, etc. Such an integral part of his father’s life, he felt it was important Pieter was raised with an appreciation for all types of literature. Amelia could feel Pieter’s love and adoration reflected in every word and story he wrote about his father.

As she thought of how Pieter’s dad had sparked and nurtured his love of books, Amelia’s heart ached and her eyes misted. Her grandpa was like that. Whenever he had given her a new book, he had gotten truly excited and his eyes had twinkled. When she brought it back and told him how much she had enjoyed the book, he had become giddy. Amelia caught a phantom whiff of his pipe wafting through the air and let it embrace her.


Before she continued reading, Amelia noticed something rather peculiar. Throughout the day, the left side of the journal had grown no thicker than one sheet of paper, even though she had read over two hundred pages. Rubbing a page between her fingers, Amelia established they were the same thickness as other books. Her brows shot up when she tested turning more pages. Laying them on top of each other, the pages melded together into one sheet, taking up a minute fraction of the space. She experimented with flipping it back and could tell no difference in the page. It merely melted back into the bulk of the book.

Adding more mystery, the new unexplainable feature of the book sparked Amelia’s inquisitiveness and her anxiety. A churning unease was growing in the pit of her stomach. She felt the librarians might not be the ones in charge here. Skipping to the last written page, Amelia gasped when she saw her grandpa’s crisp handwriting: ‘Signing off, Albert Westerfield June 1960.’ Tracing the letters lovely with her fingertips, she tried to wrap her spinning mind around what this meant. Apparently every journal, two hundred years of writing, was somehow in this book. Amelia’s head ached from the overload of today and was about to explode after this revelation.

Unexpectedly, Amelia was struck with a strange compulsion to turn the page even though nothing was written there. After a moment of staring at the blank paper, a thin tendril of smoke drifting in the air caught her eye and a hint of burning paper reached her nose. Letters were singeing and paper edges curling while Amelia witnessed a new entry was being etched on the page: ‘Journal of Amelia Westerfield, Philadelphia, PA 1960-’

Not believing what had just occurred, Amelia forcefully shook her head to see if she was hallucinating. Chancing a second glimpse and seeing the writing still there, her nerves ignited in a fire of foreboding. No person knew she was the next librarian or about the journal—she didn’t even know until today. Only the library had known and protected both secrets.

Peering nervously around the gloomy, dark room, Amelia felt she was experiencing the true library this time. Nightfall had eaten stripped life and color, leaving behind only stacks of menacing shadows. Involuntarily tightening her grip on the book, the journal’s pure magnetism and radiance was entwining her body and seeping into her being. Amelia’s skin erupted with thousands of crawling spiders as she discerned the frightening reality. The journal had bound itself to her.

Author: Katie Yusuf

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