The Ghost in the Library

The Ghost in the Library

Books whispered softly,

their pages folding like wings,

and I felt eyes

from invisible corners trace me.

A cold hand pressed

against my shoulder,

though no one was there,

and I shivered beneath the silence.

Shelves leaned slightly,

pressing their shadows

against the aisles,

and the floorboards hummed quietly.

I opened a tome,

and letters twisted

into shapes that could speak

if I listened carefully.

The ghost hovered closer,

its breath a mist of forgotten stories,

and I realized

it had been reading me for years.

Even the candle flickered,

its flame bending toward the specter,

and I felt the library

fold around its presence.

When I left,

the ghost followed softly,

pressing history into the night

like invisible ink on my back.