I work in a library. When the customers left for the day, I started hearing their whispers.

We’ve had a few problems at the library in recent days. I’m not sure if I’d call them problems, exactly … strange occurrences might be more accurate.<br><br>Maybe it’s all in my head. That’s what I’ve been telling myself anyway, and for the most part, it’s worked. It’s just one of those things that don’t make sense, and so, your mind figures out a way to deal with it, to make it seem normal. But it’s not normal. I know that now. And I’m starting to wonder if someone – or something – is playing a trick on me. I just hope that isn’t the case.<br><br>I work in a library, and I’ve been there for over ten years. I love my job, you know? You get to be surrounded by books all day, and my coworkers are incredibly kind. I wouldn’t trade my career for anything in the world. I get to sit among the stories of thousands of different people. From self-help books to short stories. There’s nothing like a good read, and I’ve been privileged enough to read my fair share of them. I go through phases, reading a certain type of book. It all started with horror. I devoured those books. I loved the feeling that it gave me – the feeling of being scared. I loved how it sent shivers down my spine, quickened my heartbeat. It was like a drug. I devoured every horror book that I could find until I had to move on to something else, to satisfy that feeling. I moved on to books on true crimes. I read every true crime book that I could find, and that also took up a good portion of my time. Maybe that’s what sparked my interest in true crimes. Maybe I just felt like I was getting a more accurate portrayal of what really happened. I don’t know, but I devoured them. I even found myself reading articles of crimes and comparing them to the books that I read about them. More often than not, the books were wrong, and the articles were right. I also watched countless hours of documentaries.<br><br>After finishing up with true crimes, I had to move on to something else. I couldn’t read true crimes forever. I moved on to books about the paranormal. I started reading books on ghosts and demons. I read books about exorcisms and possessions and hauntings. I loved reading all of the different stories that people had about their experiences. I read books by experts in the paranormal, and I watched countless hours of documentaries on the subject. But the books were where it was at. There’s just something about reading the words that interests you that really sets it in your head. I loved it, and I even found myself exploring the idea of other dimensions. I read countless books about other dimensions and the thought that there could be other worlds that exist. I read about all of the different theories that people have. It all makes sense. In a strange way, it does. Some say that time travel would create another world, another dimension. Some say that there are endless dimensions, and each time that a decision is made, there is another world that exists where the other decision was made. I liked that idea. I thought that it was interesting to imagine the possibilities that there could be. Of course, it’s not possible to prove any of this, but it was fun to imagine.<br><br>Once I finished reading the books about the paranormal, I moved on to books about mysteries and unsolved crimes. I loved pouring my heart into them, trying to figure them out. Of course, I never did, and I’m not the first person to try, but it didn’t stop me from at least trying. I thought that maybe I could be the person to crack the code. I’m not, of course, but a person can dream, right? I read about the Zodiac Killer, Jack the Ripper, the Green River Killer, the Golden State Killer – anything that I could find. And then… the disappearances. Oh, God, the disappearances. There are so many stories of people just vanishing into thin air. I read about the Sodder Children and the Martin Family and the Princeton Big Kids. I even went back to reading about true crimes again. I devoured them all. I read every true crime and unsolved mystery/disappearance book that I could find. I read articles and watched documentaries. I even went to some of the places where these events occurred. I saw the places where the bodies were found. The places where people disappeared. I even went to the places where the Sodder house used to stand. I can’t even describe to you the feeling that it gives you when you’re standing in the spot where something so tragic happened. It’s indescribable.<br><br>That’s my life story, really. I wake up every day and read. I go to work and read. I come home and read. I read until I go to sleep, and then I do it all over again the next day. I love it. There’s nothing else that I’d rather do, and my job provides me with the perfect opportunity to pursue my passion. I love it.<br><br>So… that brings us to the strange occurrences that I was talking about. It all started a few days ago. I was closing up the library by myself. We’d just moved into a new building a few months ago, and it’s much bigger than our old building was. It didn’t take me long to notice differences between the two buildings. Our new building had a much more modernistic look to it, and everything is bright and clean. It’s beautiful, and I couldn’t be more grateful to work there than I already am. But… after our last customer left, I started to hear these faint whispers. They were very quiet, and I couldn’t make out what the people were saying. It sounded like a bunch of random words being tossed around. There was one voice that was louder than the others, but it was still very quiet. I heard something about “time is running out”, but I have no idea who or what they were talking about, or what they were talking about at all, for that matter. I heard the words “green river” being tossed around. I can only assume that they were talking about the Green River Killer. I don’t know, though. I heard a lot of different names being mentioned. Ted Bundy, Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer… the list goes on and on. And they mentioned disappearances. They mentioned the Martin Family, the Sodder Children, and the Princeton Big Kids, along with others.<br><br>That night, I didn’t think much of it. I thought that I had just worked a long day and was hearing things. But… I was also intrigued. I wanted to know more. I wanted to know what they were talking about. They went on and on and on. I ended up sitting at my desk and listening to the voices and trying to make out what they were saying. They talked about different dimensions. I heard them mentioning other worlds and other realities. It was all very strange, but it was interesting. They talked for over an hour, and I got to hear a lot of what they were saying. I was able to make out a lot of the words, and, like I said, it was very interesting.<br><br>The next night, I made it a point to sit and listen again. I sat at my desk and listened to the voices. It was like they knew that I was listening. They were talking louder. I could make out most of the words that they were saying. They were talking about all of the things that interest me. They mentioned all of the serial killers that I had read about, and all of the disappearances that I had read about. They were talking about the different dimensions and theories surrounding the idea of other worlds. I was in awe. It was almost like they knew me. They were talking about the things that I loved to read about. It was almost like they were my shadow, following me around and listening to my thoughts. They were talking about the books that I had read, and the things that I had learned from them.<br><br>I’ve been sitting and listening to the voices every night for the past week. I don’t know who they are or where they’re coming from, but they don’t sound very nice. They sound agitated and angry. I’ve been hearing them talk about me lately, and it doesn’t sound good. I don’t know what they’re planning, but I don’t want to find out. I’ve loved my job for the past ten years. I’ve loved being surrounded by all of the books and stories. But now… I don’t know. I don’t know if I can keep working here. I don’t know if I’m going to be safe. The voices … they’re starting to scare me. I don’t know who or what they are, but I don’t like them. I don’t like the sound of them at all.<br><br>I don’t know if it’s just my paranoia speaking or not. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Maybe. But I don’t think so. I think that there’s something more going on here. I don’t know what that is, yet, but I’m going to find out. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. And if I’m not back in a few days… call the police.