“Hello. You're both back, aren't you?" The Librarian said this as he snapped his fingers repeatedly in Sharon's and David's faces. They each blinked.

Sharon gasped, as if she had just surfaced from a long dive. “This whole place is a freakin' mind game!” she announced.

David’s first words were more reserved. "Oh. I remember everything this time," he said.

The Librarian retrieved the tuning fork from the top of the desk and tossed it back into the file drawer. He then proceeded to reload the file draw with the junk he had previously dumped on the floor.

"That's to be expected," he said. "And would you say less—?" He paused, searching for the right word.

"Dreamy?" Sharon finished his sentence. They both looked at her.

“Elaborate!” said the Librarian.

"The first time," started Sharon, "it was all inconsistent. Like a dream. The scene kept changing. And it was all angsty."

"'Angsty?'" the other two queried.

"Yeah, you know. I'm-naked-and-I-can't-find-my-locker sort of situation."

"I had a bathing suit on!" David protested.

"This time," Sharon continued, "it was humdrum. Just sitting in the playground. Nothing unusual, except—"

"The traffic light worked," said David.

Sharon faced the Librarian. She prodded his chest with her index finger. "What's happening? Are we going to keep flipping in and out like this?"

"No. No, you're done for the rest of the day. Maybe longer," said the Librarian.

"Why?" said David.

"You've both had two deep dives into—well, what we call a tidal pool. It's doubtful the whiffle will take you down a for a third dive any time soon, lest—"

He stopped, bit his bottom lip and shook his head.

"Lest—what?" Sharon was adamant. "What happens if we go down a third time?"

"It's like any sort of dive," said the Librarian. He closed the file drawer and kicked a few stray bits under the desk. "You need time to depressurize."

"And if we don't?" said Sharon.

"Little bubbles of alternate reality build up within your system,” said the Librarian. “The pressure builds until you explode, scattering little bits of you throughout all of time and space. Very messy. Only seen it happen once and that was enough to convince me I'd never want to see it again. But not to worry. It's very unlikely. Mostly.”

His eyes took turns resting on David, then Sharon, then David again. He sniffed, took a deep puff from his (still empty) pipe and said, “What I’m going to tell you next will require a hot cup of tea. And some cake.”

The Librarian turned on his heels and disappeared between two ceiling-high shelves of books. David and Sharon looked at one another. Ariadne sat, gawking at the two of them.

A moment passed. The Librarian peeked out from between the books on yet another shelf. “Well, come on, two! Tea time!”

David was first to head into the narrow passage between book shelves. He turned back and motioned for Sharon to join him. She appeared hesitant, but followed. Ariadne picked up the rear.

A short distance among the stacks of books, David reached a T intersection. Sharon joined him. “Should we even be following this guy?” she whispered. “What if he plans to kidnap us and—I dunno—turn us into soup or something?”

David nodded. “We could just leave. And wait for the whiffle to take us on another dive,” he said.

“No. Let’s go. Left or right?” As she said this, Ariadne scooted between her feet and headed down the right of the T intersection. “I guess the cat knows,” said Sharon.

They continued this way for several minutes. Sometimes Ariadne would skitter ahead and wait for them at the next intersection. Sometimes she would hang back and sniff the base of a bookshelf. David lost track of how many left turns and right turns they had taken.

As they delved deeper into the stacks, the passageways between bookshelves grew narrower. David found no walls, only books and shelves. Occasionally, he would see a handwritten sign and with an arrow: “ACCOUNTING” or “BIOGRAPHIES” or something else. Ariadne always went the other way.

They passed through a section labeled “PREHISTORY.” David’s eye caught a title, etched into the spine of a thick volume: “CATS OF BENT FORK.” He thought it an odd title to find in such a section. However, he didn’t afford himself the luxury of pursuing that thought any further. Ariadne was already at the next intersection, facing them and meowing. David couldn’t say how he knew, but the cat seemed to be growing impatient.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Just how big is this place?” Sharon said.

David didn’t know what to say. He had been thinking the same thing. It seemed as though they had covered more distance than the size of the room could allow.

Ariadne lead them through a space between the ends of two bookshelves. David found his eyes adjusting to a sudden increase in light. He looked around.

They were in an alcove. There were still no walls in the conventional sense. The boundaries of the alcove consisted entirely of bookshelves. Most of the shelves were filled with books. But other shelves were filled with culinary items. One shelf near David’s elbow was covered with what appeared to be tiny spice jars. Another shelf supported various jams and jellies. A third shelf, tea pots and tea cups.

The Librarian stood at a circular table near the centre of the alcove. He was pouring from a teapot into three cups which he had placed on the table. David found his eyes drawn to the centre of the table. A loaf of coffee cake sat on a wooden cutting board. Several slices had already been cut. David noticed he had been feeling peckish for some time.

Once they had seated, prepared their tea, and David had started on his second slice of cake, the Librarian cleared his throat. He look at David. His face was serious. David stopped chewing.

“David, your Grandad should be the one to explain this,” the Librarian said. “But as you know, he’s unable at this time.”

David nodded.

The Librarian sighed. “You know, I remember my own Camping Trip.”

David raised his eyebrows. “You had a Camping Trip?”

“They were much more popular when I was your age,” said the Librarian. He turned toward Sharon. “The girls had them too. When they turned 12. You have relatives here in Bent Fork?”

“My aunts,” said Sharon. “Actually, they’re older cousins of some kind. Phyllis and Doraleen.”

The Librarian smiled. “Oh yes! I know who they are. Never took you camping, though?”

“No,” said Sharon. “I was here once when I was a kid. But no camping.”

The Librarian studied his tea cup a moment. He looked at David again. “Your brothers each went camping, didn’t they?”

David nodded.

“And tell me, David. How did they seem when they got back.”

David thought about how Alex had appeared to have grown, and Donnie had learned to play the piano. He thought about the strange language they had shared after they had both had their Trips.

He shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

The Librarian leaned toward David. He looked David in the eye. “Is that the best you can do?” he said.

“Well,” said David. “They seemed to have been gone a lot longer than they were.”

“How so?” said Sharon. “You missed them that much?”

“No,” said David. “It was as if….” He stopped, took a bite of cake and sip of tea. He swallowed. “They had changed as if … they had been gone longer.”

The Librarian topped up David’s tea. “When the kids come for their camping trips, we take them on dives,” he said. “Time runs at different rates in the pools. You can spend months on a dive and come back only a few minutes later.”

Sharon took a bite of cake. She was still on her first piece. It was taking her longer to eat because she had to stop to pick out the raisins. “So, this whiffling into tidal pools — that’s par for the course?” she said.

The Librarian arose. He took his tea cup and began to pace across the tiny space. Droplets of tea fell from his cup as he walked. Ariadne inspected each spot on the floor where a droplet landed.

“No,” he said. “When Young David walked in here with a whiffle box—that took me by surprise.” He stopped pacing and stared into space. “I don’t like surprises.”

The Librarian resumed his seat and sipped on his tea. He turned to Sharon. “Was there anyone else in the first tidal pool when you got there? Anyone other than Young David here?”

“It was a classroom. Full of people,” said Sharon.

“Did anyone else seem—more like they knew what was going on?” said the librarian.

“Suzie Kavanaugh!” said David, sputtering crumbs from his third slice of cake.

Sharon explained that the real Suzie Kavanaugh was a colleague of hers from school. “The Suzie in the tidal pool was much younger. And more annoying. If you can believe it.”

The Librarian nodded and mouthed, aha!

“This Suzie sounds to me like a graft,” he said.

“A what?” said the other two.

“A graft,” said the Librarian. “The tidal pools are teeming with those little critters. They’re mostly harmless. Sometimes one of them will latch on to some insecurity in the back of your mind and that’s how you’ll see it.”

“Hold it there!” said Sharon. “A graft models itself after an insecurity?”

“So how did this graft end up as an adolescent version of Suzie Kavanaugh?” said David. He turned toward Sharon and flashed an impish grin.

Sharon crossed her arms and looked away.

“We’ll take kids in groups to the pools when they come for their Camping Trips,” said the Librarian. “It’s not uncommon for them to find grafts. The kids will chase each other around with them until one of the kids gets stung. Nasty! A graft can be handy if you need a lock picked or a puzzle solved. Just keep ‘em at arm’s length. You can’t entirely trust a graft.”

David sucked the crumbs off his fingertips. Sharon added to the growing pile of raisins on her plate.

“So what happens now?” David said.

“I promised your Grandad I would take you diving,” said the Librarian. He turned to Sharon. “You’re invited too.”

Sharon shook her head. “You mean another of those creepy dreamlike experiences?” she said. “No thank you!”

The Librarian chuckled. “You had one adolescent boy stirring the water of your tidal pool,” he said. “Imagine chaperoning a half dozen of them!”

The Librarian topped up her cup and David’s cup. Then he refilled his own.

“An unexpected whiffle dive can be disconcerting,” he said. “I promise you a tamer ride. You’ll enjoy yourself.”

The three lifted their cups in unison and sipped their tea. David reached for a fourth slice of cake.

“Mr. Librarian Person,” David began. He realized he still didn’t know this fellow’s name. “You mentioned that a whiffle sings.”

The Librarian nodded and took another sip.

“Does a graft sing?”

The Librarian smiled. “They’re not known for it.” He turned to Sharon. “Why? Was your Suzie singing?”

Sharon nodded. “I remember a song. It got loud. Something about water.”

David bit into his slice of cake. “Sons and daughters—something.” It was coming back to him.

Sharon laughed. “Fishing! It was a song about—”

Sharon didn’t finish her sentence. David felt a hot, wet splash against his arm. It was preceded by a crash. He turned to see the Librarian’s teacup lying on its side on the table. A puddle of tea dripped off the edge of the table.

The Librarian’s face had grown sallow. The air of self-confidence he always displayed had disappeared. The Librarian stood up. His hands were shaking.

“Put down the tea, kids. We have to leave. Now.”