Chapter Text
Curiosity: a common word in the English language. By definition, curiosity is the natural drive or desire to learn and often to learn what does not concern. This natural drive is often the leading cause of many mistakes made by humans daily. Not just daily. These mistakes are a constant, a repetitive force influenced by this desire for the unknown. It is inevitable that we as humans fall into curiosity the moment we address the unknown.
At least, this is what Derek will soon realize.
Today was like any other day. Derek had finished his morning classes around two in the afternoon, granting him just enough time to return to his dorm room, change, and arrive on time for his shift at three-thirty.
Derek worked at his small public library. Well, in actuality, their library wasn’t that small. The building itself sat around four thousand square feet. Height-wise, it was probably around forty feet tall. It was a two-story library, which Derek initially found enchanting. Ever since he was a boy, he had been mesmerized by the library. Not just the books inside, but by the community and staff that always welcomed him with a smile. Working within that community felt like a dream come true.
As the darker man pushed through the doors, the scent of papers and leather wafted over him. It always felt like coming home every time he stepped inside. He adjusted his messenger bag by the strap, boots thumping softly against the carpet.
“Welcome in- oh! Hey Derek!”
Derek lifted his head. On the other side of the front desk, a warm face greeted him. Their skin was slightly lighter than his own, and their eyes more rounded around the edges despite their narrowed detail. He was sure it was just their makeup that made them seem that way. Blue streaks popped through their inky black hair like hydrangeas. Derek returned their warm smile.
“Afternoon, Grace.” He nodded back.
His coworker spun slightly in their chair as he stepped behind the counter. “How’s your day been?”
Derek shrugged off his bag. “It’s been well. The weather outside is perfect- no troubles in traveling to my classes.”
“Man, I don’t know how you do it.” Grace slumped in their chair. “Full-time and physically attending class? I think that would actually kill me!”
Derek chuckled warmly, shaking his head. He knew Grace was a student as well. The only difference between the two of them was that Grace managed online school. That meant they spent most of their time either at work or at home. At least, that was what Derek assumed; he never saw them anywhere else.
“How’s your girlfriend doing?” Derek lifted his head, turning his name badge between his fingers. “I heard about her accident. Please send her my condolences.”
Grace’s face softened two tones. They nodded slowly. “She’s been doing better. Still in pain, but she’s getting better. And I will, thank you. I’m sure she will appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
Derek clipped the cold metal onto his turtleneck. The tip of the metal pin on the other side grazed his chest as he threaded the needle through, attaching it there. He then made his way to the computer to clock in.
“What all needs to be done?” He turned his head to Grace, who had now moved to one of their other computers.
“I think Adrian asked us to sort through the bins upstairs. Pull out any damaged books and put them aside in the recovery room.”
Derek nodded. Easy work. Probably just busy work for a quiet day like today.
The darker man clocked in and had already begun his ascent upstairs, leaving his coworker downstairs to handle the front desk. This wasn’t uncommon; usually, one to two librarians manned the front desk at once. Seeing as it was completely dead, Derek was certain that Grace would not need his help. If anything, they would linger at the desk for half an hour more before finding him again or seeking another way to pass the time. Maybe by shelf reading.
Sorting books was never a hard task. Derek always found himself skimming the pages of the new arrivals. Anything that looked clean or relatively new, that is. Each book was a treasure to Derek — an adventure awaiting anyone lucky enough to pick it up and indulge in its offerings.
Derek was mid-stroll with the cart when he felt it. A sudden, soul-depth feeling sprouting in his chest. Like a wave of paranoia, as if eyes were watching him. He lifted his head to peer around. The front doorbell had not gone off. No patrons had entered within the few minutes Derek had been alone upstairs.
He turned his attention to the camera in the corner. The manager’s office was located downstairs in a far, secluded corner just to the left of the front desk. Sometimes Adrian would pop onto the camera to asocially watch over whoever was on the floor. However, the red light, which usually indicated the camera was actively on or being used, was turned off.
“Grace?” His voice wasn’t any louder than a soft call. Just loud enough to hear downstairs if one was listening keenly. However, it was loud enough for anyone within a four-foot radius of Derek to hear.
The darker man got no response. The watchful feeling lingered. Derek could feel his patience wearing thin.
“Grace, if you’re here, this is not amusing.”
Once again, Derek was met with silence. A sharp, irritable huff escaped him. Realistically, he could go peek downstairs. Maybe he was just imagining things. Grace was surely still at the front desk. Probably scrolling on their phone, seeing as the cameras were not in use.
Just as Derek went to step away, he felt a rather sharp, uncomfortable twinge in the left side of his neck. His face twisted into a grimace. He reached up for the spot, rolling his knuckle over the suddenly tense muscle. That was odd. He never had issues with random strains before.
Even weirder, for a moment, Derek swore he heard a breath. He paused his ministrations, hand frozen on his neck. Every sense in his body tingled. His eyes darted back and forth between the shelves to his right. To his left, The Vault. A secluded, mostly unused section of the library. It was filled to the brim with old, tethered books of war and poetry. Bibliographies and autobiographies of ancient souls of the damned. Once a month, at best, a student would request access in search of a quick study source.
Derek stared down the door of The Vault. It was nothing special: just a set of bland, undecorated double doors. Each door had a window covered with thick, black curtains from the other side. It wasn’t meant to seem mysterious or eerie. Just forgotten.
Just staring at it made Derek’s skin crawl, which never happened before. His eyes narrowed for just a moment. Had the curtain moved just now?
He quickly shook it off as his paranoia. No, of course, the library was not haunted. He had been working there for four years now; surely, he would have noticed paranormal activity by now. Perhaps it was simply the AC kicking back on.
Derek turned his head away. That watchful feeling never ceased. If anything, it grew. Like whatever, or whoever, was watching him was furious with him for attempting to leave. The breath he had heard could have simply been the AC, just as he had blamed the jostle of the curtain. He would have gladly continued to think so if he hadn’t heard it again.
This time, it wasn’t a breath. It was a whisper. A direct call to him.
Derek.
Derek whirled back to The Vault. His heart thundered in his chest. That was unmistakable. That was a person. Someone had called his name.
“Grace.” His voice tremored. His words were meant to be a question, but they came out as hard as a statement.
“Yeah?” Grace’s voice called back. Farther. Softer. Below.
This wasn’t Grace. That voice had not belonged to Grace. Then again, the volume of the calling had been no louder than a whisper. A brush of air, but it was unmistakably a calling of his name. Something wanted him in that vault. Something was trying to lure a curious soul.
Derek’s breath stilled. He turned back to the cart beside him. He could resume his task. He could continue his stocking and play off the sound as if nothing had happened. However, Derek knew himself better than that. If he stepped away now, leaving this mystery undiscovered, he would continue to think about it all day. It would eat him alive.
Drawing a deep breath, Derek decided. He set down his pile of books back onto the cart and returned his attention to the double doors before him. Every step closer made a new wave of goosebumps coat his skin. Maybe it was just a patron stuck inside, he told himself. Someone who had wandered their way in by mistake and noticed his name tag through the window.
The doorknob was chillingly cold under Derek’s fingers. He jiggled the oddly shaped handle. Unnaturally, the door clicked with access, meaning it had been unlocked. Odd. They always made sure The Vault was locked.
Derek pushed his way inside. The air inside was stale with lack of use. It smelled heavy of dust, handmade books, and mildew. His nose wrinkled; they really needed to clean in here sometime.
“If someone is here, you are unauthorized to be. I ask you once to come forth and leave without struggle.” Derek announced.
Silence welcomed him. The paranoid feeling did not falter. Derek’s face twisted as he reached for the light. Everything about this screamed danger with bright, neon lights gleaming in his face. Derek simply turned a blind eye.
Upon turning on the light, Derek found the room empty. Old, worn shelves filled with old, worn books loomed taller than him. For a moment, he swore he could see clouds of stirred dust swirling in the illuminated room. Still, that unease was buried deep in his chest. If no one was inside, just who had called his name?
Derek.
His body grew stiff. Even in the hushed tone, the voice felt closer this time. It was easier to locate. It didn’t fill the room as his voice had mere minutes ago, shouting what he had thought was an intimidating warning. No, this whisper chose a spot and stuck there. Unnaturally.
Derek turned his head. There, on the far left, was a book. It seemed out of place. Fairly new. Curiosity buried itself deeper than any concerns had once before. How strange. How did a new arrival end up in The Vault? Perhaps it was a new hire or a volunteer simply trying to help out.
He crossed the room in a few short strides. The book was smooth under his fingers with the sleekness all new books bore. The leather was tough and fresh. Strangely, there was no title on the cover when he pulled it off the shelf. No author either. Just a gold symbol etched into the cover: three sweeping curves spiraling outward from a center ballpoint. They did not form a question mark, nor quite a creature, but rather something suspended between language and art.
The upper curve bends like a curious eye peering into darkness. Below it, another arc unfurled like a wing or claw, heavy with motion. The final stroke curled inward as though guarding a secret at its center. The small ring in the middle anchored the entire figure, resembling a single ember, a pupil. Perhaps even the heart of the symbol itself.
Derek narrowed his eyes as his fingers traced out the mark. It had been carved into the leather, or it felt that way at least. The gold dye (Paint? It didn’t feel like paint.) was clean in the craters of the symbol. It was unlike anything Derek had ever seen before.
His fingers curled around the edges. The room around him stilled, as if it had begun to hold his breath. A little look wouldn’t hurt, right? After all, Derek had never seen a book like this one before. Covers were all unique in their own respects, but something about this one was different. It held secrets that lay in wait. Waiting for someone like Derek to come along and indulge in the secrecy of the unknown.
How was Derek to turn them away?
The book opened with the satisfying crack of an unopened, untouched new book. The first page was blank - a protector page, Derek assumed. Most books had them to shield the pages inside should anything happen to the cover on the outside. He flipped past that blank page and stepped into the world that awaited him. Would this be a mystery book? A romance novel? A science-fiction story?
The second that the first page was turned, a scolding pain washed over Derek. He wanted to scream. His eyes felt as if they had been set ablaze, focusing and unfocusing on the words before him. His vision blurred. Was he crying? He didn’t feel like he was.
The numbing pain in the back of Derek’s head - what he had deemed just an overexhausted headache - now intensified by ten. He could feel the pulsation of the pounding migraine behind his eyes. His fingers twitched, intending to drop the book and cradle his head. However, the digits did not follow his command. They turned the page.
Page after page after page. Each brush of the paper, each subtle brush of broken air made the pain in his head ten times worse. It felt as if his eyes had been opened forcefully. He could see everything. The dim light of The Vault doubled its brightness. Every scent in the room became so strong it nauseated him. He wanted to step away. Derek wanted to throw the book across the room, burn it, do anything to get it out of his hands, but he couldn’t move. It was as though he was glued to the floor. Trapped. Paralyzed.
Ah. 'Tis seemeth that some wight hath chanced upon mine own tale.
The moment the voice spoke, it was as if Derek’s entire body had unlocked itself. He didn’t know where the voice had come from, nor who had spoken in such a sickening old-fashioned tone. The bile that crept in the back of his throat was his biggest concern.
In a wobbled rush, Derek dropped the thick leather with a thud and shoved his way out of The Vault. He barely registered Grace waiting outside the double doors or the etched expression of concern when they watched his dark face go pale. His knees buckled just as he reached the trash can, emptying himself into the plastic can.
A frail wit doth be in this wight. The voice carried on with the boredom of a high school student mid-morning lecture. Fret not. You shall accustom yourself rather swiftly.
Derek’s ears were ringing. Grace’s voice hovered somewhere nearby, maybe behind him? He couldn’t focus on it. Not like he wanted to. The thoughts, the pathways, every smallest movement clouded his mind with possibilities. He could even see how the smallest breaths would affect years to come. It only made his head ache more.
He did not want this. He did not want to adjust to this or grow accustomed to it. He wanted it out. He wanted this - all of this - gone.
Verily, 'tis a sorrowful tideth that I dare not hope. A woeful tone washed over the voice. Derek was not quite convinced it was actually sorry for him.
“Shut up,” Derek grumbled over a rather violent gag.
Grace’s voice was distant. He could hear them speak, but the words were a blur, slurring together into something incomprehensible. He ignored them; they probably thought he was talking to them or something. He continued.
“Who are you?”
The voice paused before speaking once more. Derek could practically hear the grin etched onto this faceless being’s face.
You may address me as Hastur.
It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, finally, Derek Hutchins.