It had taken most of the morning to reach Mr Miyaki’s place. The brisk autumn air chilled me despite the spirits. Fingers numbed from the unrelenting pre winter cold fumbled at my wallet. Sluggish hands managed to free it before I retrieved my library card.

It was an odd thing, made entirely of some metal I couldn’t quite identify. I had always assumed it steel but never asked. Strange geometric shapes and characters from some strange language covered its surface save for a box where I had written his name. For whatever reason the sharpie that spelled my name had never faded or worn off. I shrugged away the questions I pressed the card to a box painted on the wall beside the door. The knob turned easily despite no indication it had ever been locked. I was unsure what kind of device was placed inside the wall but it would only work if the card were fully flush against the wall and completely inside the painted box.

The odd door was unimportant as it always was, so I made my way inside. Though this library was a private collection owned by Mr Miyaki all it took was an interview and a contract to get a library card. The contract was just an agreement to not damage take the books from the library. It was a good deal from where I stood as this library had far more to offer than the public library. The only thing it didn’t have was public records but since i had almost no use for those I had opted for the larger selection.

The library opened up into a massive grand hall. Past the front desk the towering shelves of books loomed like this where some ancient forest. Lacquered wood of dark oak and mahogany among others made up the majority of the furniture and shelves. A high vaulted ceiling loomed up past the second floors. The second floor was split into what I could only describe as two balconies connected around the edges of the room. Hand painted murals of native hunters on horseback chasing bison. Their spears held proud to the skies as they galloped free on the open plains. I had always thought the way each man was so distinct must have been the product of different men brought in to as to model for the art. Hand carved tables and chairs of matching dark woods were arranged in the center of the room under the exquisite paintings. Spotless glass coated the surfaces of all the tables. Thick blackened metal gas lamps were affixed to the floor at the end of each bookshelf. The room was mostly empty before lunch but even on its busiest day I had barely seen more than a dozen people at one time. This time of day the library was lit from exterior windows that let in light. A few well placed mirrors in key places made it just as bright as if there were electrical lights like any other building.

I nodded to the man at the front desk. I held my hand up in acknowledgment, the library card still between my fingers. I might have missed the man right there is no for the shine on his bald head. His skin tone was comparably as dark as the wood around them. I would describe his dress as business casual but the man’s well toned forearms and thick muscular neck were peculiar for a librarian. Who knows, maybe lugging books without a cart was just great exercise?

I reached into my pocket I found the crumpled piece of paper I kept to organize my search. The unfolded note had a list with dozens crossed out entries. I had already checked off dream interpretation books, psychological case documentation tomes , and even a few volumes of philosophy. Every word worthless to my pursuit. As the dreams continued to grow in intensity so too did my desperation grow to match. Today i would read collections of documentation from the ravings of men driven to madness. It was the findings of doctors, if you could call the people who worked in the mental health field at the turn of the nineteenth century doctors, who worked at the various asylums across America and Europe. I would dip into my flask as I skipped over the specifics of they recommended “treatments.” It boggles the mind the kinds of things a misfiring brain could produce and in such agonizing detail.

There were visions of the rotted depths of the ocean, desolate tundra filled with blades of ice, visions of nothingness so empty hardened soldiers of the Great War held no resolve before it. The old Nietzsche quote flitted through my thoughts as barely a whisper to my inebriated brain. The terrors of men grew worse as I delved deeper into the maddened psyche of long dead men. The reddening light was beginning to be overtaken by the lamp light when a passage caught my attention.

It gazes upon me always. Not just as it did in my dreams it’s fiery gaze creeps inexorably closer even now. It speaks through a thousand visages. It gives form to madness. It plucks at men like it were playing a tune. We dance among the flames like puppets to its sinister song propelled by malicious intent. It is chaos manifest, the holder of a Great Key.

“I am it’s play thing like any who catch it’s maddening gaze.” The words spoken aloud as I read, a voice raspy and wrong as he slowly looked up from the passage. A thin man sat across the table. He beamed a smile that seemed a touch too wide. He wore a crisp white suit that looked like it should be worth more than a luxury car. His deeply tanned face and hands gave off the impression that he had spent a considerable time in the sun.. Dark unblinking eyes stared down at the book in my hands. He swept a hand over his bald head before a slow smile every bit as white as his suit split his face.

“Franklin, as you can clearly read there, was quite the poet when he wanted to be. Could have made it big if, well, he wasn’t committed so long in life.” His dry voice grated on the ears. I continued to stare at the strange man, unwilling to move. The stranger stared back for a long moment before he asked, “What did you say your name was?”

I swallowed hard. “ I didn’t give you my name. We have never spoken before.” A cool sweat rolled down my back. It was one thing if he had snuck up on me as engrossed as I had been, but it was too much for him to have known where he was reading and the next few words. The book had been turned away from where he now sat. There was no way he had read it in some reflection. Bone deep primal fear clamped down on my racing heart as the man sat disconcertingly still. He looked like he was a photo of a man pondering as opposed to someone who was actually present as he pondered.

“You are right. You have never given me your name. Oh, what is that thing they do? Ah! Yes, it’s considered polite to give your own name first isn’t it?” He brought a finger to his chin for a moment before he continued. “ Call me Nathan Temple. It will work as well as the others.”

“Others?” Fynn parroted.

“”Unimportant.” He declared. “What’s not unimportant is you. I’ve had my eye on you for some time. Doubtless you’ve noticed. Unfortunately you are boring me. You should not be boring, so I've come to correct you. I’ve decided you won’t be hiding any longer. Do try to entertain me would you.”

“W-what do you mean?” I stammered out.  The stranger, whatever his actual name was, seemed to be talking to himself more than to me. He felt wrong, like he wasn’t real, it was like I hadn’t woken up this morning. Everything felt surreal, like I was constructing answers for myself that I would never find.

He stood, his movements twitchy and wrong.  Slowly, deliberately, he leaned over the table. A smell like rot and death came out in a breath before he spoke again. His voice more severe and his face lost some of the creepy cheer. It gave his unexpressive, doll like face an air of menace. “Struggle well and try to draw it out if you could. I would hate to see you fail too quickly. It won't be as interesting if you do. Too many interesting possibilities if you live long enough.”

He moved far more quickly than seemed possible for his scrawny form would allow he clapped his hand inches from my face. In the deathly quiet moment it sounded like thunder. I rocked back out of the chair and fell to the floor I quickly pushed myself back until my slammed his back into the end of a bookcase. My eyes were locked on the space where the man had been. He was gone no trace of him, no footstep sounds, nothing. His chair was in the same spot it had been in like no one had ever been sat in it. My back and head throbbed with pain and my heart raced. The sound of my own heartbeat was deafening in my ears.

I sat there for several minutes as the panic run its course. I focused on just my breath while my heart slowed slowly to a more normal pace. The library was empty as far as I could see. Almost no one had been in all day, that wasn’t wholly unusual with the lack of electricity. I was never sure if that was actually the case but he had never seen anything run on electricity in the library. I pulled out my brick of a phone I looked at the old monochrome display it said it was past five, I had been reading seven hours. There was no signal as usual for the building.

Shakily I got to up. The sturdy bookshelves helped get me stable. I forced myself into a steady breathing rhythm over a few moments. I could feel my heart gradually slowing from the panicked breakneck pace it had recently adopted. I straightened myself so it didn’t look like some guy had just chased me down with a chainsaw. Walking deliberately to the front desk I tried my best friendly face, I would definitely fail and I knew it. The same man sat there with the same ramrod straight posture.

I forced control on myself I asked, “Excuse me, but did a bald man in a white suit, maybe mid forties, pass by you?”

Confusion clouded his features. “No only you and a few students have come in today.”

Fear flared in my chest again and I beelined for the exit as fast as a walk would take me. Outside I sprinted a few blocks in full terror. I chose no direction, my instincts screaming to move anywhere but here. Eventually my smoking caught up to me and a hacking cough forced me to stop. I stumbled into an alley, my legs felt like jelly. I let myself slam into a wall where I slumped down on the concrete. Trembling fingers fumbled at my coat pocket. Unstable hands made the simple, practiced action of smoking particularly difficult. I was grateful no one watched me fail to light a simple cigarette. I finally took a long drag to calm my nerves. Reluctantly I reached into my pocket and pulled out the phone and dialed.

It rang for a few beats before female voice answered, “I was wondering when you’d call. Did you finally awaken?” She purred.

“You know I don’t know what you mean by that.” A bit of annoyance tinged his voice.

“True. So what is going on? This is a bit early in the day for you to have stopped one of your reading sessions. Did you find something?”

“Someone found me as I found something that might be relevant. Then he vanished like he was never there.” She was silent for a long moment. “Kyra. Can we meet in the usual spot?”

“If course, anything for someone that’s apart of me.” That felt a bit hollow with the request she had ignored for months but I was glad she would come.

“Will you tell me what you mean by me ‘awakening’ or will you say the same thing as always?”

I could almost hear her smile as she repeated the same thing she always said, “When you need to know, you will already know it.”

The line went dead as I let out a frustrated sigh. We normally got along like a house on fire but she could be so stubborn sometimes. I lit a new cigarette I carefully got up and began to walk.