Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
I fell in love with the library the moment I saw it. Every time I walk past it, I sneak a peek inside, biding my time and waiting for an opportunity to take a better look. I've only been working for the Woodburns for a few days, but curiosity is killing me.
So far, I've managed to creep past the living room, the drawing-room, and a spare bedroom without getting caught. Inky darkness envelops me when I finally manage to sneak into the library. The door shuts, and I take a deep breath to steady my nerves.
Where is that music coming from? Gretchen is upstairs watching TV, and there are no neighbors within earshot of the house, but I swear I can hear the guitar riff from the old Van Halen song, Panama. Weird.
It's quiet again, so I scan the shelves with a flashlight, staring open-mouthed at the delicious spectacle. Gah! So. Many. Books. It's incredible. The shelves are packed to the rafters. If this were my library, I'd attach a basket to a pulley system so I could fill it up with everything I need. I grab ahold of the ladder's guard rail and clamber up the narrow rungs, careful not to lose my footing.
The upper shelves are full of reference books and manuals. The middle shelves have picture books, art books, and other hardcover books, and the lower shelves are full of paperbacks. Surely, they can't all belong to Gretchen?
Okay, let's start with this shelf. Aha! The science section. The Elegant Gene, Origin of Species, A Brief History of Time.
Next shelf? Hmm… What do we have here? I flip the heavy tome around to look at the title. Game Engine Architecture, Algorithms: Their Structure and Interpretation, The Pragmatic Programmer.
"Computer manuals? Not my thing …. but that's okay." The ladder is on casters and pulling myself from shelf to shelf is easy. Where's the fiction section? "I'm searching for books with faraway places, daring sword fights, magic spells, and a prince in disguise!"
Whoops. There I go, muttering to myself again. A tiny giggle escapes when I realize I'm muttering to myself, pretending to be Belle. It's a good thing no one can hear me.
I expect the library to smell musty, like crinkly old paper and dry, leather-bound books. But there's a hint of citrus, bergamot, and something else…something…. Um, no, that's just crazy.
What I think I smell doesn't make sense. First, I hear music, and now I'm smelling things? It's probably my overactive imagination, as usual. Get your head out of the clouds and your feet on the ground, girl! You'll never amount to anything unless you — blah blah blah.
Ugh! I can practically hear my dad's critical voice ringing in my ears, and I've just about had enough.
Mrs. Woodburn and I hit it off during the job interview. Gretchen is warm and funny, basically the polar opposite of my dad. She praises every tiny thing I say or do, whereas he points out my flaws at every opportunity. Gretchen told me she interviewed many applicants, but no one was suitable, and though I'm not a qualified healthcare worker, I couldn't refuse when she offered me the job.
I'm no stranger to housekeeping duties, and I welcomed the opportunity to put distance between my dad and me.
As it turns out, Gretchen doesn't need much. She's perfectly capable of looking after herself. The house, on the other hand, well, it's enormous. I had no idea how I'd manage to clean three levels on my own, but it turns out no one uses most of the rooms, so it's easy.
Loud scrapes and creaks echo in the room as though someone is dragging a heavy wooden chair across the floor. The hair at the nape of my neck lifts. I sweep the room with the flashlight but don't see anything.
Huh. Go figure. It must have been my imagination. I let out the breath I was holding and prepare to shift a couple of steps closer to the ground in case I need to leg it. Something glimmers at the back of the shelf, capturing my attention. It's wedged behind a couple of dusty old tomes.
Oh, ho ho! And what's this? Geez, wonder how long this old thing's been hiding? Holding it carefully, I clamber down the ladder and use the hem of my skirt to dust off the label. It's a bottle of whiskey.
A frustrated sigh follows the sound of paper tearing. Huh? If the house is haunted, I want to know, and if there's a creeper watching me from a hidden window, well, I want to know about that even more.
I twist around and use the flashlight like a searchlight in a prison yard jailbreak. "Who's there?" My eyes dart around the room. It's silent and dark, but not for long. I put on the bravest voice I can muster and call out, "Hello? Is anyone here?"