Lester looked around carefully before ducking behind the library and down the cement stairs that dipped below ground level. At the bottom, he removed a single silver key from his pocket, stuck it into the lock of the rusty steel door set into the building’s stone foundation, and slipped inside.

The library’s basement was the size of a warehouse. Long tubes of fluorescent lights hung down from a high ceiling, stretching off in both directions across the vast space. Unfortunately, nearly half of these were burnt out, creating random islands of flickering light separated by large stretches of darkness. A labyrinth of tall gray metal shelves wove across the old factory floor, and the steady sound of dripping water echoed from every direction. This dungeon-like atmosphere, combined with the overwhelming smell of mildew and wet paper, ensured visits from the volunteer library staff were seldom and brief.

Lester wound his way through the shelves with practiced ease. They were piled high with books and old pipe organ parts covered in dust. Unperturbed by the lack of signs or markings to show the way, he turned left and right at various junctions. Sometimes he counted rows on his fingers before suddenly changing direction. Last summer, he’d spent weeks here helping the library update its book catalog. A box full of index cards, several number two pencils, and an Elvis clock that kept time by swinging the singer’s plastic hips had been his only company.

The shelves parted at the center of the basement to reveal a small oasis. It was sparsely decorated with a wooden table and matching chairs, sitting atop a circular rug. Beyond, the maze continued into the darkness. But thanks to the warm light of an antique floor lamp, Lester’s old work area seemed almost cheerful in comparison.

“You're late,” Amanda said. She sat alone at the table.

“Sorry,” Lester apologized, taking the chair opposite her. “I had to wait until I could sneak out without being noticed.”

“Did you bring it?” asked Amanda.

Lester opened his backpack and removed a plastic sandwich bag. Inside was a square piece of paper. He placed it on the table, and Amanda spun it around with the tip of her finger.

They had waited until they were sure their fathers had truly gone before climbing down from the skate ramp and cautiously crossing into the alley. Standing behind The Mortician’s Eye, neither Lester nor Amanda had been sure what they were expecting to find. There were no scorch marks, glowing cinders, or other signs that the area had been engulfed in fire moments earlier. Even the scattered piles of dry leaves had appeared untouched.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“What is that?” Amanda had asked.

Lester, who’d been pacing around, had looked down to find himself standing in a pile of white dust. “I don’t know. It almost looks like some sort of ash.”

“Oh, gross, Lester!” Amanda had shrieked, jumping back and grabbing his arm. “Do you think it’s —”

“No,” Lester had said. “It can’t be. The amount of heat required to reduce a — well, you know — is astronomical, and nothing else here is even singed.”

“Right,” Amanda had said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Still, maybe you should move. It stinks like rotten eggs.”

As he did, Lester had noticed something stuck to the bottom of his shoe and bent down to pull it free.

“Don’t touch it!” Amanda had said, her face twisted in disgust.

“Relax, I told you there’s no way it’s him.”

Lester had stuffed the paper into his pocket and then tilted his head towards the street. A faint wail of sirens sounded from somewhere in the distance. Smoke had still been pouring out the back door of the pub, and someone must have called it in.

Deciding it would be difficult to explain why they were hanging around in the alley at that time of night, they’d grabbed their bikes and made a hasty exit. The ride home had been long, and it was late by the time they’d gotten back to Giles Hollow.

“Amanda, are you okay?” Lester had asked, standing at the end of his driveway. There’d been no moon, and he’d been unable to see her face in the dark. She hadn’t spoken since they’d left Elmwood, not that Lester had blamed her. His own thoughts had been overrun by a seemingly endless march of questions, for which he had no answers.

Amanda had taken a long time to respond. So long, that at one point Lester had thought she might have gone home.

“When I was little,” she’d finally said, from somewhere in the black, “I believed in the Tooth Fairy. Then I got older and discovered she wasn’t real; that it’s just a story parents tell their kids to make them feel better about losing their teeth.” Her voice had been distant in a way that’d made Lester concerned she might be in shock. “Learning the truth was sad, but knowing also made me feel a bit grown-up. Of course, there’s not a tiny sprite going around sneaking into kid’s rooms at night.”

“Amanda, I am so sorry,” Lester had said, wishing he could see her expression.

“Lester? What did we see tonight?”

“I — I don’t know.”

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t fairytale magic, was it?” Amanda had asked.

“No. I suppose not.”

Lester had sensed it too. Beyond the preposterousness of what they had witnessed, underneath the wind and the heat of the fire, there had been something else. From the moment their fathers had chased the man from The Mortician’s Eye, Lester had been overcome with a sense of what he could only describe as grief. It had been as though he were mourning a great loss he couldn’t remember suffering. The feeling was palpable, like being caught in a rainstorm that clung heavily to your clothes, only not with water, but sadness. He’d known why Amanda had spoken of it in hushed tones. For whatever it was, wherever it had come from, it had been unnatural and foul. And Lester was certain of one thing. It had wanted more than just their lost teeth.