2 November 2022, Week 2: The monster

Emily was alive (not really, she’s a ghost), she was happy, she was also very very scared. Of the man in the doorway, who she told me was Henry Lawson. “Henry Lawson?” I stare at Emily in disbelief, “But didn’t he die 100 years ago?” Emily nodded, “Yes, he did. I’m confused too. But that doesn’t matter, I just want to find out why he’s looking for me, and why he’s so desperate to find me. Why is he travelling into human minds to make them look for me? I want to know.” “And you want me to find out and stop him, don’t you?” “Yes, I do. If you don’t mind.” “I don’t. But there is one teensy problem” I said, remembering the look of recognition on Henry Lawson’s face when he saw me. “What is that?” “Well, I’ve seen him.” “What?! Hillary! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Emily hopped from her seat clearly worried. “Well, until you gave the description, I didn’t know who he was. And he sorta, kinda, maybe recognised me.” Emily’s face was pale, really pale, seeing that she was a ghost. “No. No. No. No. No. This can’t - just no.” Then she took a big deep breath, but didn’t breath in any air, “Ok. Hillary, don’t worry. He doesn’t know you so he shouldn’t recognise you. So don’t worry. Just find out what he wants ok. And be safe.” I nodded, “I will.” Then I left and David Scott Mitchell led me down two other hallways to a door painted mustard yellow with the letters H.Y written in gold writing on it. My initials. “Excuse me, Mr Mitchell, I was just wondering why -” “Your initials are on this door?” David Scott Mitchel finished my question, “Also, Miss Hillary, I prefer to be called Dave, or Scotty, that’s what my friends call me.” “I’m your friend?” I couldn’t believe this, I was friends with a famous person. “Yes. Any friend of Emily’s is a friend of mine.” “Why do you care for Emily so much?” “Well, she reminds me of a woman I once loved, Emily Matilda. And she was so lonely here, so I told her I’d be her father, so she'd have family with her.” Tears welled up in my eyes, “Thankyou.” I said, half-crying, then I hugged him. “Thank you, Dave.” ****** I set off to find Henry Lawson half an hour later. Dave said he was happy to come but I told him that he had to stay with Emily. I completely regretted that just after the door in the wall closed, wishing I had someone with me. Henry Lawson was creepy, and I barely knew my way around the state library. Before I left Emily told me to search the stacks, which she presumed was where Henry Lawson hid when he wasn’t roaming the halls. She also told me quite a bit about resurrected humans. Like how they can’t eat or drink, or read, they have no knowledge whatsoever. Which means they are being controlled by someone else. But who? I walk down stairs, following the map Dave had drawn for me. Until I reached the first level of the stacks. Shelves and shelves full of millions of year old objects. A few had labels. And two were just labels, at first I thought the labels were the old object, then I read them and realised what the labels said. Henry Lawson Death Mask Henry Lawson Hand Cast Whoever had resurrected Henry Lawson must have taken these to do so. I went down to the next level, then the next. This one had quite a few ancient books on the shelves so I took my time, examining each one carefully, trying my best not to sniff them, because the smell of old books is mesmerizing. I turned the corner. Then I froze. The figure sitting on the desk a few feet away from me ran, dropping everything in their hands. Then disappeared in a puff of smoke. Magic. I neared the desk. On it was a teacup, with still-warm tea inside. It was white with little pictures of waratahs on it, it looked so familiar. And the other object, a newspaper dated on the 8th of May 2018. Who would want to read a newspaper from that long ago. I scanned the front page for any sign of interesting news when I saw Emily’s name. This wasn’t just any newspaper, this was the newspaper from the day she was pushed. The day journalist Thalia Glasshouse interviewed us, and the day we left. Leaving every memory of Emily in New South Wales. Then I read. Thalia made everything so sad and realistic, it felt like I was reliving that day. CRASH! I jumped, and I screamed. It was the creepy guy, Henry Lawson, I knew it was. I began thinking that I would never make it back to Melbourne. I turned slowly, bracing myself for the blood-red eyes of Henry Lawson. But I only saw a ghost. Not a human ghost though, it was the ghost of a cat.

Chapter 4 Axel and the three elves walked down the corridor leading to the catacombs. ‘I still don’t get it,’ Axel said for the fourteenth time. ‘Why hasn’t the Bane of Knowledge destroyed everything yet?’ ‘Because,’ Niggles said patiently, also for the fourteenth time, ‘the Bane of Knowledge feeds off fear. The disappearances haven’t caused enough panic to get the effect of the blind panic that it loves. We should use this time to find out the Bane of Knowledge’s weakness, and trap it.’ They arrived at the archives. Metal shelves lined the walls, covered with interesting things like hair, death masks, a rifle, and what looked like an elephant’s bone. Axel admired the objects, but the elves walked straight past everything. ‘Where are we going?’ Axel asked nervously, his eyes darting everywhere. ‘We ain’t gonna go anywhere,’ Balg said. ‘oe’re the leader, so lead on!’ ‘OK,’ Axel said. Then, they came to an intersection. Axel went right. Suddenly, he hit something with his foot. ‘OW!’ Axel cried, grabbing his foot. Balg laughed. Kelk, meanwhile, leant down to inspect the thing Axel had kicked. ‘It’s a lever!’ she said excitedly. ‘Let me,’ Balg muttered, shoving Kelk out of the way, and grabbing the lever. He pulled. Nothing. ‘A incy bit o elp ere?’ he said to Axel. Axel reached down and pulled. The lever gave way, and clicked. There was a silence. Nothing happened. Niggles groaned. ‘It’s a fake!’ he said. Just then, there was a rumble, and the entire corridor opened up under them. They fell, screaming, into the abyss. They fell for a terrifying 2 seconds, until Axel hit something soft. Niggles landed on top of him, Kelk landed on top of Niggles, and Balg landed on all of them. Axel shook off the three elves, and looked around. He seemed to have landed on a huge cushion of foam. Around him was a smaller collection of stuff. But it seemed, that this was more rare, exotic things. A huge snake skull. A tablet covered with runes. A sword that seemed to whisper. Axel tried to see through the dark, but he couldn’t see a thing. ‘Wait,’ Niggles said. Axel turned to see him close his eyes, stick his fingers in his ears, and concentrate hard. Slowly, he started to float into the air. Then, with a loud pop, Niggles’ head turned bright blue, and he fell on the ground. ‘What…how…huh?’ Axel stuttered, staring at the bright blue headed Niggles. ‘It’s a trick that all elves learn from youth,’ Niggles said. ‘All elves have luminescent heads.’ They walked through the shelves, and they saw more and more strange objects. A digeridoo. A fish mask. Two flipflops shaped like skulls. Suddenly, Niggle’s head’s light sputtered, and died. Balg bellowed out in pain, slipped and fell onto the ground, clutching at his foot. Axel leant down to inspect the foot, and found a purple shard in it. ‘Qualkinite,’ Kelk hissed in repulsion. The shard was small, but it seemed to be giving Balg great pain. He hissed through his teeth, and his eyes rolled back. ‘What’s Qualkinite?’ Axel asked. ‘Qualkinite is a rare, rare mineral,’ Kelk said. ‘It drains any magical creature’s powers, and touching it is worse. Can you pull it out?’ Axel grabbed hold of it. Suddenly, he felt sick, like he wanted to throw up. Then, the pain started. It racked his whole body, shaking it with fear. Through the pain, he managed to pull it out, and throw it onto the ground. Instantly, the pain stopped. ‘What…what just happened?’ Axel asked. ‘I forgot!’ Kelk cried. ‘You have a magic in you as well. The Qualkinite must have a similar hold on you too. I’m sorry.’ Niggles, who was standing next to Balg, pulled him to his feet. Then, Axel smacked his forehead in frustration. ‘What?’ Niggles asked. ‘I had a torch in my pocket this whole time, and I didn’t even use it!’ he exclaimed, digging his hand into his pocket, and pulling out the torch. He switched it on, and stared at the ground in front of them. It was littered with the Qualkinite shards. And in the center, was a leather case. Cracked Qualkinite lined the case. It was brown, and ancient. The case was ripped and torn, as if in fury. Balg, leaning against Niggles for support, gasped. ‘The tomb of the Bane of knowledge!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is what contained the Bane of Knowledge?’ Axel asked in amazement. ‘The Qualkinite kept it imprisoned,’ Kelk said, ‘but it must have failed under the fury of the Bane of Knowledge.’ Axel glimpsed something in the case, and moved forward. His shoes squeaked as he moved through the Qualkinite. He reached into the case, and pulled out…an old torn book. Axel made his way to the elves, and stared at the book. The title was, the diary of Terry Embapo. Everyone gasped, as the truth sunk in. The great capturer of the Bane of knowledge had his diary in here. ‘This as to ave useful knowledge on ow to trap the Bane of knowledge!’ Balg grinned excitedly. ‘Open it!’ Axel opened the book reverently. The pages were almost all ripped out, and the ones that remained were half filled. Axel read the parts he could. ‘the great battle…captured the Bane of Knowledge…buried safely…should not have done it…’ ‘what does that mean?’ Axel asked. ‘I dunno,’ Balg said. Then he froze. Staring at something behind Axel. Axel slowly turned around. And stared. A black shadow, with two, scarlet red eyes, stared at him out of the shadows. Tendrils of darkness coiled from the creature. ‘Peek-a-boo,’ it rasped.

Cold bony hands grabbed my wrist as I jumped in fright. I looked around with bewilderment as I was dragged across the wooden floor. I caught a brief glimpse of who was holding me. I didn’t believe it, it was Rumpy! Suddenly a wicked idea popped into my head! I could bargain with him! “Rumpy . . . “ I began to say but my words were drowned by distant chattering. Ahead of us was a large metal door that looked like a big boulder loomed in front of us. Then I started again “ Rumpy, please why are you doing this!?” “It’s worth it, you have no respect for me so why should I keep you alive? “ Rumpy replied “ But I didn’t do anything! “ I desperately snapped back. “ I will keep you rotting in my dungeon “ boomed Rumpy. I was speechless as my mind searched for words to keep from being thrown into the dungeon. Questions started to bubble up in my head but I was thrown down onto the hard tiles. The door slammed shut. I felt around blindly and felt something was weird. There was a little crack in between the tiles and slowly I lifted it up. I gasped as a long spiral staircase led down, down, down. The rails had specks of dust on them and the stairs were crumpled, the walls were made of sandstone and there were cobwebs everywhere.

Cold bony tentacles grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward a massive door. I briefly caught a glimpse of the strangers face, it was Rumpy! I was suddenly thrown onto a rough carpet and Rumpy locked the door. " Rumpy, wait!" I cried through the door but it was no use, Rumpy has already disappeared into thin air! "STOP!!!" boomed an electrifying voice shuddered across the room.

Secret of the silent librarian Chapter 1 “And this is the sydney Harbour bridge.” I yawned, as my teacher listed all the possible ways to bomb the sydney harbour ( seriously, who would do that?)We were on the bus heading to the state library. The weather was storming. I was excited, not because of the two million books but because I could sneak away to the look at the interesting collection. It reminded me of my dad. He had taught me how to do weird things such as conjuring up sword no one could see. When we arrived I was the first one to get out of the bus. There it was, standing solemnly in the rain. The large building looked sinister in the rain and storm. By this time the class should’ve gotten out. I looked back, the bus was not there! Then I looked at my watch, it was exactly 12:38pm. Of all the peculiar things that happened to me this was the most crazy. Running to the entrance I noticed something, a murder of crows. I approached the door. With simple pull of the door handel I was in the library. Chapter 2 Mr david scott Mitchell Advancing towards the Mitchell reading room I felt scared. Goose bumps were creeping up my arm. This was not good. Every step I took, the courage inside me lessened. After what seemed like an hour of creeping toward the reading room I was there. Everything seemed normal until I saw the shelves. Books were arranging themselves, gliding through the air. The books all seemed dead. A sort of wispy mist energy was being channelled from a unknown hand. This was very, very bad. Then I saw a figure suspended in the air. Its form was flickering like a candle. The exquisitely patterned ceiling was glowing as if it was blessed by the figures presence. The figure was gliding very slowly, using the mysterious energy to arrange the books. Suddenly he spoke, “I am expecting YOU Miss Molly Mcguire.” He spoke quite calmly. His voice was ringing in my head. “It is time” he continued. “I am Mr David Scott Mitchell, you will refer to me as the silent Librarian. “David Scott Mitchell…” I thought.“Are you the founder of this library?” He replied “quite knowledgeable Miss Mcguire.” I took that as a yes ( old fashioned people are so formal). “You are this century’s Guider of the dead.” “For centuries Mcguires have guided sprits to the great afterwards.” “I have remained here because I have been unable to go to the great afterwards.”“It is your duty to also protect spirits. “I have called you to guide me’’ “And your predecessor is your father. I briefly remembered my dad saying that to guide spirits to whatever the “great afterwards” is to bring the spirits “resolution”. “Umm what is your “resolution”?” “My resolution is that I have been murdered by William Barter, he is immortal in the memory which means he is still alive in a spirit form.” “Resolving this would ensure he would not keep terrorising the living.” “I need you to bring me and him to justice.” We walked outside the reading room. We kept walking and David was arranging the books again. I suddenly saw something a dark and mysterious shadow. The shadow seemed to tell me to keep walking. We walked into a gallery. The paintings eyes seemed to follow us. Suddenly a big thing pounced on me. “One of William Barters living creatures, infused with the power of the dead.” “I am powerless against this.” David sighed, then he disappeared in a puff of smoke. I closed my eyes tight and a transparent sword appeared in my hand. This was one weird things my dad taught me. I had used it once to break a glass pot. Then, I charged and stabbed into the creatures head. I kept stabbing. Black stuff came out. “Its the power of the dead.” said David reappearing. “ I must warn you this is just a minion the power of William Barter is greater.”

“Hello.” I spun around, shocked. The voice had a purring quality to it, almost languid. My own heart was racing - surely anyone I met in the library at this hour would be just as shocked as me. Surely it wasn’t a regular occurrence for people to be prowling these halls in the dead of night. “Who are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I glanced frantically around the dim room, searching for the source of the voice. “I have had many names,” replied the dry voice. “My current one is Grimalkin.” And then, the speaker stepped into the patch of silver thrown by the skylight and smiled with a face that was decidedly not human. Ebony fur coated his skin, thinning on his face and on his hands, which were clawed. Pointed ears twitched occasionally atop his oddly human-shaped head. I could see a tail protruding into the murky darkness behind him. And once I had taken in all of this and believed I could no longer be shocked about this creature’s appearance - even when I saw that he was dressed almost like a pirate - his eyes showed me how wrong I was. His right eye was ordinary enough, appearing a murky brown in the uncertain light. His left, however, shone an unnaturally bright saffron, almost seeming to glow. The sclera was all but nonexistent and the pupil was a horizontal slit. Involuntarily, I took a step back. The smile widened into a Cheshire grin, revealing pointed teeth. “What are you?” I managed to choke out, amending my previous question. “Dark things are going on in this library. Dark enough to give something like me physical form. I am a creature out of the stories. I live in the shadows, but I am on your side, for the most part. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for the things that will soon be given substance if this perversion continues.” I hesitated. Everything about that made me shudder, made me want to leave this library and not return. But… someone had been sending me notes, and I was going to find out who it was. Although, come to think of it… “Have you been sending me those notes?” I asked uncertainly, remembering the crumpled sheets, the words repeated over and over across the creamy surface of each one. “No. I have been receiving notes myself, in fact.” I was about to ask a follow-up question when I was rudely interrupted by the sight of a ghost floating through one of the walls of shelves. I would’ve been surprised, but my capacity for shock had already been exceeded. Grimalkin, on the other hand, let out a low hiss and moved back into the shadows. Translucent and glowing a faint cobalt, the specter was a young man dressed in antiquated clothing. Periodically, he would drop a small slip of paper onto the ground, tossing them over his shoulder or simply letting them slip through his fingers. Hesitantly, I bent to pick one up. Where? It read. Where, where, where? I turned to another. Penelope Philips, 23 Darling Crescent, London. The address was repeated over and over. The archives. The archives! But where? Where? Where? Where? I straightened, disturbed, before noticing that the trail of these notes led towards a librarian’s desk. Slipped into a stack of papers, in a desk drawer, these notes had been left for the poor librarian to find. Get out. Get lost. Farewell. And, perhaps most disturbingly, enjoy the remainder of your insignificant existence. The librarian seemed to have fled, judging by the state of disarray the desk was in. Slowly, the ghost slid through the floor, disappearing to somewhere in the direction of the archives. I blinked, letting the notes in my fingers flutter to the ground. “He’s clearing out the library.” I said slowly. “Why is he clearing out the library?” Grimalkin let out another low hiss and murmured, “I think I know why.” With trepidation, I followed his feline figure as we wound through corridors and between stacks of books, until arriving in a small storage closet with walls that were chipped and peeling. He gestured for me to look through one of the cracks. I did so, and was shocked to discover that, buried under endless chambers of the library were the trappings of a once-fine room, sealed off from anything else. And inside the room… “I think we’ve found our culprits,” I whispered.

Creeping out of the shadows, Ronan trembled with fear, this was going to be the end of him, he was certain of that. Never had he been so scared, so petrified before, his ears were ringing like alarm bells, and his mind was wandering as obnoxious thoughts continuously clouded his head. For a fraction of a second, everything seemed to stop, it was as if time had just halted, but then, out of the corner of his bloodshot eyes, Ronan spotted a creature, but not just any creature, one of great might, and force. Standing tall on its’ hind legs, the creature sallied forward purposely, like it was about to grab Ronan by the legs and flip him upside, ready to gobble him up alive. But no, the ugly, hideous monster, took 4 steps then stopped, and stared, white mucus dripping from its jaws. Without saying a single word, Ronan, slowly and carefully edged backwards, moving just around an inch every 30 seconds. After about 5 minutes it could be seen the Ronan had made a substantial movement away from the creature, now standing a solid 19 inches away from the beast. Giving Ronan a very scornful look, the creature stared down at the foreign creature in both amazement and disgust, scoffing at the worthlessness of the human race. Unsure of what the intentions of this creature was, Ronan placed out his hand, hoping for the creature to understand the gesture and return it with his own hand, but instead it gripped Ronan’s hand at squizzed it till he could hear the cracking of bones. The monsters red slimy face was shielded by a dark mysterious shadow, one that seemed to follow the monster, everywhere he went. His body was covered in alien type material, unknown to Ronan, it seemed to look like leaves, but it was unclear, everything was unclear at this point.

I started to remember a rumour about this mysterious creature. Was it true? This creature had attacked the owner of the library. My great grandfather turned him into a stone carving into the walls of the library. My great grandfather had a knife which could carve things and send anyone or anything into it. But the spirit would haunt the room in which it was carved into. My great grandfather must have had a reason to turn this person into a carve lion. I wasn’t prepared to find out why. I ran for the door, the suddenly. “BOOM!” As I turned around to see what happened, I saw an ominous monster in all black emerge from the dark shadows. Suddenly I saw black and white fire right up behind me and I saw the monster ripping the neatly tidied books in the shelves and flinging the precious book across the room and lighting them up with a special chemical or fire. This mysterious creature also destroyed anything owned by DS Mitchell and all his precious artifacts and collections. Suddenly people all around came rushing towards the library causing havoc. They were all being mind controlled by this mysterious character. I abandoned the library never wanting this experience again.

On the next day, Naomi went back to the library and when she passed a portrait of David Scott Mitchell, she suddenly realised it was the picture of the person she had seen last night. She was still starring at it when the librarian came and said “Do not stare at the picture and especially the eyes.” David Scott Mitchell’s picture falls down every full moon because when he was alive he didn’t allow anyone to draw a portrait of him, or look at his portrait. “Oh, I think I saw him last night”, Said Naomi. “What? You cam in here last night?” said librarian. “ Sorry , I left something here and have to get it back last night.” Said Naomi. The librarian told Naomi lots of rumours about staff saw here at night. He was grumpy when people damage the things in the library or spilt coffee on the books. Cleaners heard him yelling at the time. He treat the library as his own.

The phantom ship sailed across the slippery floor, diving at every corner. Suddenly, a wicked laugh echoed through the library. Ghostly figures appeared before disappearing once more. “What was that?! Who was that?!” I questioned the ghost guide. He explained that they were Ghoala and Ghangaroo. They used to be the most respectful Aboriginal animals (mainly the koala and the kangaroo). PLOP! A piece of stinky, sticky eucalyptus poured onto my head sliming its way down my forehead. Gross! “Yeah, I should have mentioned they leave a eucalyptus trail behind. And when they attack they play a tune of Aboriginal music. Talk about creepy!” he advised me. The phantom ship swirled around when at a certain point it skiid to a stop. Faint Aboriginal tunes filled my ears as I listened closely. The music grew louder and louder heading towards us warningly. Without a second thought, I steered the wheel around the ship twisting us into a knot heading straight for the closed gates. “This is a phantom ship, right ghosty?” I asked. He nodded whilst shaking. “Then we should go right through those gates,” I concluded. Aiming for the doors, I pushed full speed ahead! We shot right through the gates banging against a pole. I pressed my ear onto the wall listening carefully for the Ghoala and Ghangaroo’s mischief. I peered into a gap in the door to reveal fire. Fire here and there. Fire everywhere! I noticed that they were burning colonial books to a crisp. Crashing the antiques that are related to the colonisers! Tying up the librarians who are the invaders’ descendants. They all had one thing in common – colonial history (or the invasion to be precise). This must be the explanation for all those seemingly silly, now realised true, rumours. In the folk tales, they claimed to have seen ghosts with furry ears and one with an extended tail! And the superstitions of the citizens, they believe that the ghosts in the folks tale captured the missing librarians!

The dark inky sky hung over the peaceful village. The lamps flickered violently casting shadows onto the the slimy cobblestones. As the first flakes of snow fell, a girl arrived at the library. She was no ordinary girl. She was a girl with a mission and her name was Raven. Raven stood at the doors of the library as she admired the architecture. A thin sheen of white covered the windows. Its sandstone pillars loomed above her. Raven pushed open the creaky mahogany doors and sat down in a chair. The library was eerily quiet. Raven was about to pull a book off the shelf when the hairs on her back shivered. Someone was watching her. Slowly she turned around. In front of her was a figure in a khaki jacket with a belt and a rifle. That was the last thing Raven saw before everything went black. The moment she regained consciousness, Raven could tell something was wrong. A haunted feeling had crept into her chaining her feelings. Raven remembered the glowing figure and looked around to find a trace of where it went. She was horrified to find it had been watching and waiting all along. Suddenly, it began to speak. If you put yourself in mortal danger, you shall meet a prowling stranger. Diamonds and opals are known as nobles. To kill this creature, use your feature. A glinting object, you must protect. It'll save your life, the silver knife The ghostly poacher reached out towards me. It was as if I was in a trance. Hypnotized. His icy cold hands gripped me. Memories of the past came flooding back to me. I was part of the legend. The legend of the Umbre Anima. The shadow wolves had wispy shadows for fur, claws as black as obsidian and eyes as red as rubies. It would let out haunted hollow howls to let their victims know their fate was sealed. Whispers caught towns like webs and the only way to ward them off was through something pure like a diamond or an opal. The poachers had hunted the shadow wolves down one by one but perhaps they missed one....

I was here again. The thought ricocheted in my brain as I stood in front of the train station. The lights flickered time to time giving the station an abandoned sense. Paint peeled from the walls and the railway was rusted and cracked. Benches lined the pavement beckoning you to a world of boredom. The monotonous sound of the clock ticking filled the room. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. It was enough to drive you mad. I turned and walked up the stairs eager to be released from the gloomy prison of the dark station. The wind smacked me in the face making me gasp. It stung my cheeks and made my eyes water. What now? I had gone all this way yet there was no reason. The sun had surrendered to the moon and now an inky blackness crept across the town. Suddenly, a warden patrolling the streets caught my eye. "Oi! Ain't ya Marie's girl? Whatcha ya doin' after curfew?" The warden approached me slowly. Desperately, I looked for any form of escape. Behind me was a fence that lined the pavement. I quickly scrambled over it, tumbling onto the road. I ran as fast as I could and when I reached an alley I stopped. The warden's shouts had reduced to almost quiet murmuring. Catching my breath, I slowly walked through the dark path. Each breath rattled in my chest like coins in a tin box. At the end of the alley, a silver gate stood. Behind was the library. The moon showered light onto the sanstone pillars giving them a silver glow. Everything else was webbed with shadows. I slowly walked up to the gate and pushed it. Creaking, it swung open. I shivered, not from the cold but from a foreboding sense. It was like someone was watching me. I slowly walked towards the heavy doors of the library. Each minute seemed to pass like an hour. Finally, I managed to yank the doors open. I stepped into the library surprised at how warm it felt. My spine prickled yet I was sure that no one else was there, right? Venturing deeper inside, the sense that someone was watching me intensified. Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks. A voice was talking, but where did it come from? It was chanting a song like it was a spell, and as I stuggled to hear the words I felt goosebumps snake up my spine as I listened. Follow us to the tracks of dead, follow us down the line. Follow us 'till you drop dead, forever you shall be mine. My heart stopped at the last line and I blacked out. Tendrils of smoke curled around me making my eyes water. I sat up and immediately surrendered to a bout of coughing. I could see shelves of books in front of me and concluded I was still in the library. My hands were tied to a flat bed with ropes of a dark material. The smoke rose around me creating a barrier from the shelves. On further inspection, I realised that the books were all black and the titles were written in gold ink. A particular one caught my eye. It was a thick book around five centimetres. Instead of black, it was pure silver and decorated with gold symbols. The symbols were sharp and angled like broken sticks. The title was written in red ink and I squinted to read the letters, 'Umbra Fatim'. A figure crept into the room silently. It lifted its head as it entered and I let out a soundless scream. The head of the figure was deathly white like wax, and where the eyes should have been, there were sunken holes of black. The figure was neither human nor monster, it was a skeleton. Bones clacked as it walked closer towards me. I felt its hand wrap around my skull and I gasped as bones dug sharply into my skin. Suddenly I could feel the library changing. It warped into a desolate forest filled with creepers and tall trees. A man stood in the setting and he slowly changed into a deer. The deer ran into the forest and I could feel the wind rushing past its face. But then the setting changed once more into a dark room. Someone stood inside and they were bent over a small table. And above them, was the head of a deer. The memory disappeared like a flame on a candle and I was back in the present. The skeletal figure looked at me and suddenly I could feel its pain. It wanted so badly to be free, but it was stuck in here forever, chained in this library. But not for long.

The Monster Description: This monster comes out of the books in the library using the ink in the books to shape itself. It can shapeshift into anything as it’s made of liquid. Bullets would penetrate it and do no damage. This makes this monster nearly unbeatable as only acid or lava would be able to dissolve it. What it does: It goes around at night and finds wandering security guards and drowns them and kills them in its ink. It also splatters the walls and priceless artifacts with ink just for fun. It also changes itself into objects or the floors and tricks people into picking it up and then the monster covers them and drowns the victim. Rumors: Librarians told the story of this monster to stop kids from being noisy in the library. Later, they found out this monster was real. After people forgot about this scary rumor, the liquid monster struck back, killing many people. From then, brave adventurers have tried to defeat the monster. They have all never returned. Historical Wrong: Some evil scientists went against the law and did an illegal experiment in the State Library of NSW and it failed and exploded, spreading a virus called MAGLEV 34 into the books. It spread across the state and is now in every library in the world, haunting the books. Whenever it’s forgotten, it strikes back, putting fear into hearts of people around the world.

A terrifying shriek sounded as darkness swirled around me, I felt tentacles reaching out and grabbing my arms and legs. I looked around trying to see who was holding me but all I saw was pitch - black. I tried to wriggle free but their grasp was too strong. Suddenly, thousands of googly eyes appeared all around me, now I could see them more clearly. Their tentacles were lined with sharp objects and their faces were pale. Then I screamed in agony as one of them poked me with their tools. Boy they are really sharp I thought to myself once the pain had eased. A strong gust of wind almost knocked me over from behind. A rumbling voice came from behind, startled I turned around and there he was looming over me like a giant shadow. This monster was not like the others his skin was a pale green and he wore some sort of uniform with badges all over it. He also had strong muscular wings that glowed in the dark. "Wh . . Wh . . Who are you?" I stammered quivering with fright. "I am Rumpy the leader of the Night State Library" he growled glowering at me. Before I could say anything else he continued talking "My wife is the leader of the Day State Library" he said beaming proudly. "Now, you are a traitor here, you are a human, humans go to the Day State Library!" he shouted as loud as thunder in my ear. I staggered backwards and confused "Wait" I said " To the dungeon!" Rumpy screamed at his cronies. "Oh, no no no no no! Wait! Please!". Suddenly something was hurtling towards me and the next moment I was knocked out into pitch - blackness. When I woke up I found myself on hard earth and then there I saw it was Rumpy carrying a big pile of books and throwing them on to the dark damp soil and burning them till they're ashes. I turned my head and ducked I couldn't watch this it was too scary, seeing Rumpy burning all those precious books that people would love to read. Just the thought of that made me angry.

A wobbling, shuddering form appeared in front of him. Instead of seeing it, it was as if Ryan could feel it. It radiated a mixture of hurt, confusion and rage. It was a small, crippled, horribly burnt child’s body with dark, black holes were the eyes and mouth were supposed to be. He was face-to-face with a ghost. Ryan wanted to scream as loud as he ever had, but his fear twisted it into a strangled croak. Even though the ghost resembled a human, it moved like a velociraptor. Its posture was haunched with jagged spikes running down its back and shoulders, Its arms were drawn up, and it had massive, black claws on its hands and feet that were as long as Ryan’s hand. It cocked its head, rustled its spines and let out a malevolent, blood chilling hiss that would haunt Ryan’s dreams for years to come. He got up and ran. He shoulder charged the ghost, but he ran straight through it. As he sped away, his head started throbbing. Every step caused an ice cold jolt shot to sizzle down his back. He could hear it crashing and stomping meters behind him. The creature had dropped down to all fours, and was fast. Things were thrown. Paintings were pulverised. Relics were run over. Walls were ruined. Books were bashed. The library was liquidated. Eventually, the creature reached him, and bit into his shoulder. He screamed in agony, and everything seemed to freeze. Colours flashed. Legs felt like they were running on air. It felt like his brain was being crushed to death by his own skull. He was asleep before he even hit the floor. A small, desolate looking child rubbed the frail hand of his weak mother. She was lying in a hospital bed. The child was wearing a large, rosy red raincoat. Something flashed and the child was sitting on a chair. The hospital and mother gone, the child was at home. His father was yelling at him, furious, horrified that his wife was gone. He obviously somehow blamed the child for killing the mother. A white flash faded into the father and the child. They were both running away from a fierce bushfire. A charred tree fell on top of them. Another white flash turned into the father and the child being dragged out of what little remained of the tree trunk. The child was dead. The father was still alive. The father was ripped apart emotionally. First his wife, then his son. It was too much. He laid the red, rosy raincoat the child used to wear, and buried it, far, far away from his normal home. Two hundred or so years later, somebody dug it up and got ridiculously excited, and sent it to the State Library of NSW. Ryan awoke from one world of nightmares to another with a bang. His whole body felt like it was glued together with sweat. He was lying on the bare floor. His head was throbbing, but this time it was a regular sort of headache. The ghostly pain was gone. Gladly, he wasn’t injured, or at least, he couldn’t feel any injuries- His shoulder. No pain. He felt where the ghost had bitten him. Nothing. He began to sit up but then stopped immediately. The ghost was still out there, somewhere. He laid back down and waited. He froze when he heard feet stomping down some stairs and a voice calling out his name. Ryan squeezed his eyes shut until they burned. The footsteps were getting closer and closer. He braced himself for his death… “Oh!” Said Martin sarcastically upon seeing Ryan. “I see you found your own place to settle down for the night. Where’d you even get all that?” He gestured to the blanket and the pillow. Ryan tried to scream about ghosts and burnt ghosts and weird dreams and fires, but he couldn’t. It felt like his throat had constricted around itself. “Anyway,” Muttered Martin, reaching into a bag, “Dinner.” He said, lobbing a half-eaten bag of chips at Ryan’s head. “Ow.” Muttered Ryan. He paused for a moment, realising he could talk. “MARTIN!! THERE WAS A GHOST! A BURNT ONE! IN THE BASEMENT, um, THE ARCHIVES AND IT WAS ALL BURNT AND HORRIBLE AND IT BIT ME BUT THERE WAS NO WOUND AND I HAD A WEIRD DREAM AND-“ “Jeez, jeez, jibeddy Christmas! Calm down first! Have some chippy whippies!” “Some what?!” “Chippy whippies. It’s what I call chips sometimes.” Eventually, Ryan calmed down enough to tell Martin the whole story. By the time he’d finished, Martin was rubbing his temples. “Arrrrrr… My bloody jiffing head. It’s throbbing.” Then he looked up at Ryan with clouded, unfocused eyes. “Ghosts? Archives? Burns? Fires? Wow. You really must have hit your head hard.” Scoffed Martin. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

So many questions swirled around in my head as I stared at the ghost. How did he know I was coming? How did he know my name? Who is he? I thought ghosts weren’t real Mum, how do you explain this? And why does he look so familiar? Luckily for me, all my questions were answered in one sentence, “Sorry, I haven’t properly introduced myself yet. I’m David Scott Mitchell, I am the founder of this library and I’ve been sent to find you by the orders of Emily York, who I believe is your sister.” Annoyingly, his answers made new questions pop into my head, so I decided to ask the first question that came to my mind, “Why are you alive?” “I would consider that rude, but you have never seen a ghost before, so you ---” What he just said made my jaw drop, so I couldn’t wait any longer, I did the unbearable, unspeakable, I interrupted, “You're a ghost?!” Interrupting had always been a big no, no in my family, we had been taught to be patient and to wait, we’d been told it was rude, very rude. But, with all that worrying about what Mum would say if she knew, I forgot about another rule I had just broken. “Shhhhhhhhh! This is a library!” David Scott Mitchel shouted, breaking the rule he’d just called me out on for breaking. “Sorry. Wait, what about Emily, is she a ghost, too?” He nodded. “Can I see her?” He nodded and walked. “Wait! Come back here, where are you going?!” David Scott Mitchell kept walking, I couldn’t believe it, he didn’t even care that I’d just shouted in a library. So, even though I should have known better than to follow a ghost I had only just met through a library that I hadn’t been in for four years in the middle of the night, I followed him. And so, we walked, and walked some more, and walked a bit more and --- Something flashed at the corner of my eyes. In the doorway was a man, tall, wrinkled and pale, but not as pale as the ghost that was walking in front of me. I could tell the doorway man was searching for something, I could tell, by the way his face was tilted, and the way his eyes widened as he saw me, his eyes blood red, veins pulsing rapidly, I knew what had just happened, he recognised me. I ran. I ran fast, sprinted down ten different hallways, then I stopped. And David Scott Mitchell was standing right beside me. “This way,” he said. We walked into the galleries, where artworks hung on walls, then we stopped. I was very determined to get as far away as possible from that, what’d you call it, thing, as possible, “Come on. Why have we stopped?” Then I saw. A door had opened, like a bit of the wall had just cracked and swung open, it was a very confusing sight. “Come.” David Scott Mitchell said. Then he disappeared through the door, and very soon afterward, I did too. Inside was a hallway, a big giant hallway, that seemed to stretch on forever. SLAM! I jumped. And quickly turned around, nothing was there, it was only the door closing. I continued to follow David Scott Mitchell through the hallway, and then down another. This time it was bigger, with colourful doors on either side, ghosts walking in and out, nodding “hello” to David Scott Mitchell as they passed, not taking any notice of me. “Stay here.” We were standing outside of a sage green door, with the letters E.L written in gold writing. David Scott Mitchell was gone, I guessed he was in the room. So I waited, and waited then I listened, because I was very good at listening through doors. I heard voices, two, David Scott Mitchell’s and someone else's, someone young. “Yes, miss.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure.” “Alright, I’m ready to see her.” And with that, footsteps sounded, I pulled away from the door. It opened, and David Scott Mitchell came out, “She’s ready to see you.” He held the door open for me to step in, and I did, very, very nervously. “Hillary!” The girl in the seat jumped up in joy. She was about eight, wide eyes and hair in pigtails. For a second I didn’t know her, she was just another ghost, a kid ghost, but still a ghost, and then I saw her. Saw her jumping over the waves at the beach, choosing a birthday present for Mum, choosing a fish at the pet shop. This wasn’t just a ghost, this was Emily, the girl who didn’t deserve to die that day, the girl I called my sister.

As the large framed windows glowed in the light of countless lamps, her hood wrapped tightly around her head, she swept past. Taking care to be silent, she moved with a sense of urgency, being careful to stay in the shadows. As the light emanating from the windows caught her face, two hooded eyes and small pursed lips illuminated the face of a middle aged woman, before they were obscured in shadow once more. She quickened her pace, her leather boots uncomfortably tight. That didn’t matter right now. She scanned her surroundings to check no one was watching before she pulled a small silver pocket watch from the folds of her clothes. Her window of time to sneak in was closing rapidly. As she peeked out from behind a large, graffitied wall, she watched as a pair of burly security guards saluted to each other, both with their backs turned. It was now or never. Tiptoeing up the sandstone steps, the huge decorative pillars loomed in front of her like giants. She glanced up at the huge letters above her head: STATE LIBRARY OF NSW. She stood there, panting for a moment. Was it really alright to sneak in here? She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought from her head but a pang had sprung in her chest, like a needle pricking her skin. This is not right, you shouldn’t do it, it reminded her over and over again. A clatter of a foot fall on the stairs shook herself to the present. What was she doing, lingering outside like this? Without hesitating, she slipped through one of the glass doors, silently closing it behind her. There was no turning back now. The room she had entered felt like it was holding its breath as she took in her surroundings. Here, bitter icy air replaced the crisp cool night breeze. Like the outside, the whole room was held up with towering columns that looked like they were from ancient times. Every footstep she took on the polished marble floor echoed eerily through the labyrinthine corridors of the library. Great stealth, Anglea she scolded herself. No one will know you’re here. Right in front of her, glowing dimly in the street light filtering through the stained glass windows high above her head was an adventurer’s map, created using the same intricate marble. Gazing up at one of the broad sandstone walls surrounding her, something strange caught her eye. She shook her head, making sure she wasn’t seeing things. Letters were gradually carving themselves there, like someone was inflicting them on, one by one. She squinted up, her breath clouding around her as she tried to decipher what was being written. She watched for a while as still more letters were added. As abruptly as it had started, the writing stopped. Her eyes flitted over the lines, trying to make sense of it all. The three same letters had been repeated over and over, making a spooky word art. DSM. DSM. DSM. What could that mean? She wondered, as she scanned around for clues. As she turned, she was engulfed in a mass of swirling white. She stood there, dazed as swirling flakes danced around her, slowly descending like snow. They seemed to hover around her, as if they were moths drawn to a flame. They seemed almost curious, she thought, as they edged closer before jumping back again. They were wanting… wanting. Realising she was holding her breath, she let it all out in one long whoosh. Immediately, she regretted it. The swirling flakes rushed towards her, flying into her eyes, nose and mouth. “A-a-achoo!” she sneezed, her eyes beginning to water. The swirling mass surrounding her dispersed, before re-joining as a thick cloud, looming down like a swarm of bees, ready to attack. Not knowing where she was going, she fled into the next room, only to smash headlong into a polished oak desk. She looked down, panting, only to find that the desk was occupied.

‘But how did the Bane of Knowledge come to being, and why is it called that?’ Axel asked, feeling thoroughly confused. ‘Well,’ began Niggles, ‘it started like this. Long ago, before Australia was “discovered,”’ at the word discovered all three elves spat on the table, ‘a wiseman of a tribe brought to life a dark creature from the realm of madness. ‘It was like a shadow. It travelled faster then lightning. And it craved destruction. The last thing anybody saw who was trapped by the Bane of Knowledge was two, dark red eyes, containing nothing but anger. but the worst part was, the Bane of Knowledge consumed the human. Drained all that made them who they were. And they were turned into mindless slaves. ‘It was said to have a true form, more terrifying than anything else. Two, long, clawed hands. Tendrils of destruction trailing from its back. The snout of a dragon. An inhuman call, which echoed across the plain at night. ‘Finally, young men from every tribe in Australia came together to fight it. there was a great battle, and it was sealed in a chamber by the “wise” man who had called him into existence.’ Axel, who had been listening intently, suddenly realised niggles had left something out. ‘If the Bane of Knowledge was sealed, then how is it still around?’ he asked. Kelk took over the story from Niggles. ‘When the library was built, they dug down to make the archives of the library. They dug right into the chamber where the Bane of knowledge was trapped. In 1826, the Bane of knowledge was free again. Angrier than before, it caused mass panic in Sydney. ‘Finally, a young boy, with the spirit of the not-so-wise man, defeated it, and trapped it in an obsidian coffin. The young boy was your great-great-great grandfather. They put the coffin in the archives, in a secret room. And now it is free again, and its goal is to finalize the process it started centuries ago. To destroy the world.’ There was a deathly silence. And then the library doors flew open.

Sweden had heard many rumours about monsters lurking the state library. Legend had it that a leech-like creature roamed the 3rd floor corridor. It had razors for teeth and green slime and pink flesh (probably from eating humans) dangled of its skin. As it slimed the marbled floor of the state library, it leaves unexpected gifts for librarians. It’s name is the deadly Guzzler. However, the guzzler hadn’t always been like this. Once upon a time, the Guzzler had been a kind soul, but thanks to it’s looks and habits, it was driven away by librarians, with the names of Alicia and Susan. Apparently, these two librarians betrayed it. Now to this day, it lurks the library floor, waiting silently for the right time to pounce on its betrayers.

Leo glanced around his messy art room, half of it looked like a lab and the other half like an art gallery, he was SURE he'd gotten the formula right today. He glanced at the portrait he had painted of a beautiful faced woman, he saw the dot of space he had left on the painting, he gently poured a bit of the mixture into his paint, he drew the dot, and the painting came to life, it glanced around curiously from within its frame, Leo smiled he'd done it, but then two pale ghostly hands grabbed him and pulled him into the painting, he saw the portraits evil look as he was sucked in. Autumn glanced around the art gallery, she indicated to her friend amber to join her behind the jewellery case, amber sighed and brought forward the camera. Autumn grinned at her, here they were in the haunted art gallery where hundreds of the night staff disappeared into thin air without a sign of struggle, all because of a mystery no one could solve, but she was going to!

In 1969 a sorcerer entered the State Library in search of a magical book that could raise the dead.The book was heavily guarded by swords. In the struggle she sliced her hand of.As she bled to death she managed to cast a spell on her chopped off hand turning it into a living monster. The magic of the book was forgotten and it was placed randomly in a bookshelf.From then every night the hand pulls books of shelfs in hope to find the book to raise herself from the dead.