A Library of Life and Shadow

What would you imagine the library to be like in a haunted house?

The walls covered in dark oak bookshelves, leaving just enough space for a window to illuminate the room? A ghost coming by here and then to immerse themselves in endless stories written across centuries?

Exactly, that’s how it is. Well, at least was a few years ago. Come one, move the leaves away and sit down for a story.

Many years ago, this place was a library you could only imagine. And as for every haunted house, there was a ghost. He came by every Sunday to read his favorite book.

At first he didn’t notice which little thing made itself a home on the window ledge. But the day had to come and he saw it, a plant peacefully growing, brightly illuminated by the sun rays shining through the window. It was the first sign of life he had seen in ages. And you knew he was intrigued. He didn’t come just on Sundays anymore, no. Every day I saw him entering the room, standing there at a safe distance and smiling at how much the plant has grown.

You know, he’s the type of ghost that can’t go anywhere near light or else… He once wasn’t alone in this house, but that’s another story. Maybe that’s why he was so consumed by the plant. It’s sad, during the day it’s the sun keeping him away and at night it’s the inconveniently placed street lantern right in front of the window. But still, he kept on coming just to see the plant.

I knew the day would come, but one day, the door opened and what I saw was a ghost carrying some sort of stick. I have to admit, I couldn’t watch as he was trying to get the plant down, to afraid he might damage it. But somehow he managed to get it without hurting it. He took the plant with him and as he left the room he was the happiest I have ever seen.

Days went by and he hasn’t entered the room. Not even Sundays to read his favorite book. Weeks went by and the only sign of life were the noises I heard through the door. Until one day, he came in completely silent, carrying a plant as pale as himself. Not a single particle of the once lush green left. Guess the poor thing needed some sunlight after all. He placed the plant on the ground, tears were dropping on the wooden floor. I had never seen a ghost cry, didn’t know it was possible. It was hard to watch him trying to push the plant back into the light with the stick that he got. The plant was still on the ground but at least it had some light.

He looked back one last time as he closed the door behind him, which wouldn’t open anymore for a long time. The years went by and I haven’t seen him. Complete silence. It’s sad to hear this is how the story ends. If he only knew how much the plant grew in all this time…