Another Friday, since the breakup. Another trip to the library, since the breakup. Another book to offer Brad some temporary reprieve from his broken heart. It has been over a year since he started this weekly tradition after his fiance left him for another man. Her reasoning, while cold, was quite reasonable. Since high school she pushed Brad to become more ambitious and pursue his interests. However, after years of disappointment from Brad dropping out of college (twice), making no sort of effort to pursue his passion for art, and not developing into the man she had once envisioned he would be, she decided to leave him. This shattered Brad’s world, and his ability to understand her frustration in its most simple form, she wanted a man.
I wonder what time it is...He was lying to himself, and he knew it. He didn’t care, the thought of her was too tempting, Brad pulled his phone out and clicked a button on its side. A picture of a small girl with fair skin, hair and eyes made of milk chocolate, smiled back at Brad. Over her head the time sat, 4:00 PM.
In an attempt to win her back (someday) he began taking the steps to become a man. He quit his job at Best Bargain, and moved out of his parents into a small townhouse with his friends. After a month of job searching with no luck, he came across a posting for a local mailman in Mooresburg. An easy job (for the most part) with decent pay and great benefits, the ideal job for Brad.
When Alice left, Brad’s youth seemed to follow. His once smooth black hair began to thin, causing his hairline to recede. What confidence he did have was no longer there, causing his posture to slouch over in a sense of defeat, prevalent in all aspects of his life. On top of that, years away from the soccer field changed Brad’s body from a muscular to a skeletal built. The one good thing was that he was able to grow a full beard, which went surprisingly well with his thin wire frame glasses.
The walk to the library from Brad’s apartment was a rather short one. The longest it ever took Brad was five minutes, and that’s because he had to stop and tie his shoes. Quiet and relaxing, the hallmark characteristics of Mooresburg, and just the way Brad liked it. Wooden effigies in various shapes and formations, ranging from stick figures, triangles, squares, circles, and simple Xs to more obscure abstract shapes that true name eluded Brad. Though Brad’s conscious thought lacked the ability to comprehend and identify these jutting contortions, his gut knew what they were and did it’s best to steer Brad from approaching them any closer.
The short walk down mainstreet captured the full quirk and charms of the quiet steel town. There was almost always some sort of fog blanketing the town and area around it all times of the year, and there was a layer of dirt and grime coated on every building, and even some of the people. Not quite what most would imagine when they thought of a small American town, but Brad didn’t mind, to him it was Heaven on Earth.
According to local legend, Mooresburg was founded as a haven for witches and monsters escaping persecution during the Salem Witch Trials. But, Brad knew better than to believe in superstition, no matter how bad he wanted it to be the truth.
The nondescript red brick of the buildings were flanking Brad on either side, acting as blinders from any deviation from his weekly trip to the library. The windows revealed the various goods on display from the local retail stores. Most of what was for sale were knick knacks and clothing marked up and marketed as ‘local’, ‘unique’, and any other buzzword you could imagine to generate an emotional incentive to buy the product and support a neighbor. Periodically, Brad would pass under the signs of the store, with each one coming close to smacking his hairline back a few inches. Jane’s Baby Boutique. Authentic Individual. Gary’s General Goods Store.
He knew all the owners from them being on his route. Jane (fucking bitch) was a new mother with a rich husband, who decided it would be a fun hobby to run a baby store. Jimmy Destal, the owner of Authentic Individual, was some local kid who studied fashion in New York and returned home with the goal of making Mooresburg the epicenter of his fashion empire (ambitious, but delusional kid). Gary Winkler is a local, his family were some of the first to settle in the town, since its inception, and have run the General Store ever since. He was a nice guy, but he was odd. He looked like an obese Mr. Clean, and always smelled like he got done taking a bath with some fruity bath bomb (Brad doesn’t mind his odd smell, it's actually refreshing getting a whiff of freshness on his route).
Gary’s store was the largest on the stripe, its property could easily be divided up for three other stores, and took up the corner parallel to the library. Brad stopped at the crosswalk to look both ways before crossing the street. Nothing from either direction, good. Safe to cross. No matter how small the town is, or how thin the fog it is always safe to check before one crosses.
Like every other Friday, Brad’s mouth opened in wonder and awe at the sight of the building. Unlike the rest of the town, the fog didn’t engulf the library, revealing the breathtaking architecture to Brad. A grand weeping willow with purple leaves and orange flowers sat on top of a large hill in the center of the lot. The hill wasn’t natural, it had been shaved down to the dirt on four different sides, surrounded by a moat of dark water that conveyed there was much depth beyond the surface. Roots from the tree struck out from the exposed area of the hill and anchored into the water below.
The crosswalk led to the sidewalk surrounding the library’s moat, where a pathway of limestone stepping stones led to the door of the library. Brad watched the placement of his feet with each step, doing his best to avoid falling into the murky abyss below. Beneath the opaque liquid Brad saw the smooth slithers of a creature, or creatures, in the water. It could be a fish, but it didn’t quite move like one, and there were too many moving appendages for it to be a snake. Whatever it was, Brad had no desire to find out. All he wanted was to get inside, find a good book, and go home.
Taking cue from the rest of the structure, the door was the furthest thing from traditional. Within the dirt wall before Brad a stone archway adorned with celtic runes emitting a faint teal hue, the roots from the grand willow twisted into a cord of embroidery along the edges, with a few of its orange flowers spurting forth from the binding of fiber. An alluring aroma sat in the air, it reminded Brad of Gary’s scent. Brad’s nostrils couldn’t resist, and inhaled as much of it as they could. At first Brad’s head began to tingle with a tickling sensation, “Brad.” He nearly ruptured a blood vessel, but stopped when someone called his name.
Wait, did someone say my name?
Brad would swear on his mother’s grave that he heard someone say his name, but now, moments after, he recalls the droning and scraping of bark. The sound that he heard said his name, he knew that, he could feel that. Deep down, on some other level of perception, he felt the vibration of his name in that strange sound.
“Bradford, are you here for your weekly exchange?” This time he heard his name in a manner that didn’t make him question his sanity.
Brad left the embrace of the flowers for the warmth of the library. With no trace of the fog or draft from outside pouring in, the open bonfire in the center of the room was able to radiate heat and comfort with no competition. Surrounding it were piles of red semi sphere pillows with white polka dots, the center mound of the pillow bulged up, making them look like little mushroom caps.
A man well below five feet with shoulders as wide as his hip powered forth from the main desk that stood at the entrance. Auburn hair as coarse as steel wool was woven together into a tight braid that ran down his back. An explosion of hair covered his mouth, and most of his body down to his waist. In the middle of his rosey cheeks he was sporting a nose that had been battered over years of adventurous, or dangerous, living. Contrasting this effect were two gray pupils that took up more space than the whites.
Brad’s hand extended forward to his friend, the librarian, “How did you know Abernathy?” While the two shook hands, they threw their heads back in the sharing of hearty laughter amongst friends. “How’s your week been?” Brad’s feet slipped out of their comfy loafers, revealing gray socks with a pattern of Batman’s logo stitched across it. He kicked his shoes on the mat besides the entrance, following Abernathy to the fire across a carpet that was an identical replica of moss.
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Abernathy returned to the cushioned seat behind the counter to continue the task he was working on before Brad’s arrival, “Well Bradford, my week has been rather mundane. As usual, I taught some classes, did some cataloguing of the books, and tutored some kids after school.” Abernathy continued to arrange and stuff loose papers into a book without missing a beat. Before he could put it in a latch-lock wooden box, Brad was able to see the book was bound in black leather and a fragment of its title, Nec, bore itself into Brad’s mind. What is that book?
“You sure you didn’t do anything fun? No highlights?”
Abernathy’s eyes popped up to Brad’s, “What the hell is a highlight?”
Are you serious? Abernathy, read Brad’s face of bewilderment, and gave Brad a look daring him to test his intelligence further, wondering if Brad had the mental capability to do so.
“I forget how old you are sometimes. I’m just asking what your favorite part of the week was.”
The rage lurking in Abernathy’s cheeks subsided, “How old do you think I am?”
“Forty-Two,” a jovial shade of pink flushed over Abernathy’s cheeks as he released a thunderous laugh. Asshole. Came from a small voice in the back of Brad’s mind, but was drowned out by a louder voice saying, Thank god. A simple question on surface level, but by far one of the most dangerous pitfalls in a conversation, for both man and woman.
While waiting for him to finish, Brad began to rummage through his messenger bag for the book he borrowed last week, Meditations on First Philosophy.
The soft leather contoured to Brad’s grip, and with it came a wave from a past emotion he hasn’t felt in quite some time. Excitement, no? Satisfaction, kinda? Accomplishment, maybe? It did not matter that he couldn’t find the words to describe how he felt, because he needed more than one word to articulate his feelings. I feel like the ‘dominoes’ are falling into place...I can not only see the path that I am going on, but I see myself on it. I can see myself adapting to obstacles by doing some landscaping, molding the path to fit the way I see fit. I feel...good.
Abernathy didn't notice Brad putting it inside the return box.
“I can always expect a hearty laugh when I talk to you Bradford,” one of Abernathy’s stubby fingers rose up to wipe the tears from his eyes, but it found challenge in working through the remaining tremors of laughter. “While I am flattered that you think I am forty-two, I regret to say that your guess is wrong. Don’t be discouraged though, feel free to keep trying.”
“I will, and when I do, you owe me a prize!”
A rumble began in Abernathy’s stomach, and came out as another laugh. Except with a lot more wheezing and coughing than the first one, “You have yourself a deal Bradford. If you get it right, I’ll give you some sort of prize.” Abernathy combed his beard, with each push through dispelling the remnants of his laughter. “Now, where were we?”
“I was asking you what your favorite part of the week was.”
“Ah, that’s right! I had a rather large order come in for the ranger,” Abernathy thumbed the massive crate behind him, “This is what they came in. They arrived on Monday, and I just got done cataloguing them and putting them with his collection.”
“Wait what?” bewilderment overtook Brad, causing his jaw to drop, “I didn’t know that Ranger Winthrow was a bookworm. Also, when you said collection, what does that mean? Do you keep all of his books here?”
“Yes Ernie is quite the bookworm as well, and he keeps a sizable amount of his collection here as well but; I wasn’t talking about him. I was referring to his protege, Ranger Murak.”
Hearing that caused Brad’s brain to countdown to detonation. That asshole can read!? WAIT! He likes to read!?
Seeing that much time wasn’t left before Brad’s head would explode, Abernathy attempted to defuse the explosive, “I know it is quite shocking, I had the same look on my face a few years ago,” Abernathy placed his heavy hand on Brad’s shoulder and leaned close, “To be honest, I don’t quite see what Ernie sees in him,” Abernathy looked around the library. When he was certain that he and Brad were the only two in the room he added, “Now, keep this between you and I, but there are some mumbles that there are others who aren’t that enthusiastic about him either.”
That’s nice to know...I guess…
Brad picked his jaw up off his floor, and took a seat on the counter, “I still can’t wrap my head around that. How many books does he have? Why is his collection here, at the town library?”
Abernathy reached below and chucked a thick object in front of Brad. It was a book, but there was no leather, it seemed to be made entirely of wood. Whatever wood it was, Brad had never seen before. If one looked close enough, they’d swear the book was moving. In the center was a flower similar to the one on the tree outside.
Abernathy waved his hand over the book, causing the flower to sway, “What you see here is one of ten ledgers I use to keep track of Ranger Murak’s collection.” Brad’s hand moved to take a look under the cover, but Abernathy responded with an unexpected ferocity, “You may not look Bradford.” To keep him from trying again, Abernathy returned the book from where it came, “I apologize, I didn't mean to tease you.”
“Then why the hell did you decide to show me the book?”
“I allowed Ranger Murak to keep his collection here as long as it could be available to other libraries and key individuals for knowledge transfer. I am speaking in a general sense, as there is a lot more nuisance that you are not privy to. Adam agreed on the condition that no one, other than a select few, of which I am included, may see or have access to his collection without his approval. Even then, he must be present when those that are approved, save for the select view, wish to physically access his collection. I know you may be thinking this is crazy, and I’d say you are right in some sense but, I can assure you it is necessary.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Before you said all of that, I was having such a hard time trying to decide what I wanted to read this week. The last one you recommended went over my head, so I was hoping for something that would be an easier read.”
Abernathy sat back rubbing his eyes in an attempt to remember what he recommended to Brad, “I recommend Descartes First Meditation to you, correct? Before you tell me what you’d like to borrow, tell me what you thought about Descartes?”
Brad’s nodded his head, “I just feel like I missed the whole point of it. His whole attempt was to dispel any and all doubt, while proving our senses aren’t trustworthy, all while making an argument for God existing. It was cool though to read the part about I know I am dumb, but I would be surprised if you could find someone who can understand the argument he is trying to make.”
Abernathy stood up on his seat, both his hands went out to serve as emotional buttresses for Brad. “You are not dumb Bradford, and don’t you dare say so in my presence. Do you understand?”
Brad’s gaze kept at the moss carpet while he nodded in acknowledgement of Abernathy’s request.
“Good. There was a reason I recommended that book to you, don’t just think I was trying to make you feel stupid. I wanted to help you to take off the blinders and see the world in front of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“How long have you lived in Mooresburg?”
“A little over a year.”
“How long have you been delivering mail?”
“For as long as I’ve been living here.”
“Now, in your time spent here. Have you noticed anything you haven’t seen anywhere else?”
“What do you mean?”
One of Abernathy’s hands flew off of Brad, landing with a thud on the back of his head. Brad fell off the table, landing hard on his back. To Brad’s surprise, the moss carpet had enough padding in it to cushion his fall.
“Use the brain you were given Bradford!” Abernathy’s head tilted skyward and his hands clasped together in prayer, “Vatun please help me!”
The deity’s response could not be heard, as the howling of a wolf in the distance echoed in the library. However far it traveled did not matter, for it left no room for silence in the library’s halls. The sound resonated in the spines of Abernathy and Brad, sending chills through their body. The howl wasn’t meant to scare them, no, it was meant to warn them. The chills in Brad caused him to jump to his feet, looking at Abernathy for direction, he received none.
Brad didn’t hear the clicking of a hammer on an anvil, Abernathy’s ringtone over the howl. However, he could see Abernathy’s face. Pupils dilated. Eyebrows shot upward. Face muscles relaxing, and the loss of color in his skin. He was scared. Brad didn’t know who was on the other end of that call or what they were saying but; he could make out one word from Abernathy’s lips...moths.