Chapter 13: The Last Bookstore

I'd always been the type to avoid the crowds. I preferred the quiet moments, the solace of being alone with my thoughts. It wasn't that I hated people; I just found peace in stillness. That's why, on a Tuesday evening, I found myself in the oldest part of the city. It was quieter here, the streets narrower, with ancient cobblestones and weathered buildings casting long shadows under the dim glow of streetlamps.

I was supposed to be meeting a friend at the old bookstore. She'd been raving about it for weeks, but I had my doubts. A hidden gem, she called it. A place where time seemed to slow down. I wasn't sure I was buying into all that romanticism, but curiosity got the better of me.

The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of old paper, the faint scent of dust hanging in the corners. I could hear the quiet shuffle of pages turning and the low murmur of people talking, though I couldn't see anyone at first. The store felt like a labyrinth, books stacked from floor to ceiling in tight aisles that seemed to go on forever.

I wandered deeper into the maze, the sound of my footsteps the only thing breaking the silence. I was beginning to wonder if I'd gotten lost when I saw her—my friend, Sara. She was standing in front of a shelf, her fingers tracing the spines of the books with a sort of reverence.

"Sara?" I called out.

She turned, but her face was… different. Her expression was distant, her eyes wide and unblinking. Her lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"You're here," she whispered, like she hadn't expected me to show up at all.

I frowned. "What are you talking about? I've been waiting outside. You said you wanted to meet here."

She tilted her head slightly, as if considering me. "No. I've been waiting for you. It's always been you."

Her voice was soft, but the words felt heavy, like they carried some deeper meaning that I couldn't quite grasp.

I shook it off as a joke. "Come on, let's get out of here."

But when I turned to leave, I couldn't find the door. The shelves had shifted. The aisles were different now, more winding, more disorienting. I took a few steps back, trying to retrace my steps, but the store kept changing. It was as if it was alive, pulling me deeper into its grasp.

I tried to call out to Sara, but when I looked back, she was gone. Just the empty space where she stood.

My heart began to race. "Sara?" I called again, my voice breaking the stillness.

A low, eerie laugh echoed through the aisles. I froze, my blood running cold. I wasn't alone anymore.

I started walking faster, but the shelves seemed to stretch further, the aisles narrowing, blocking my path. The light from the streetlamps outside couldn't reach me now. It was as if I had been swallowed whole by this place.

Then, I heard it again. The laugh. Closer this time.

I spun around. The store was silent again, but I could feel something watching me, waiting for me to move. I took a hesitant step forward, then another, but every step felt heavier than the last.

And that's when I saw it. At the end of the aisle, a figure stood, draped in shadows. It was tall, too tall, with long, bony fingers that seemed to stretch toward me. Its eyes were glowing faintly in the dim light—an unnatural shade of red.

"Looking for an escape?" the figure's voice echoed through the store, its tone mocking and cold.

I backed away, my body moving on its own. "What… what do you want from me?"

The figure smiled, its teeth sharp and twisted. "Not from you. For you. You're the one who walked in, after all."

I was breathing heavily now, panic rising in my chest. I turned to run, but the store shifted again, blocking every exit. The walls were closing in, the air thick with the scent of old pages and something else—something metallic, like blood.

"You're already here," the figure whispered, its voice slithering into my mind. "You've always been here. This place… it doesn't let go."

I screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the walls. The aisles twisted, the shelves groaned, and the red eyes watched me as I lost myself in the darkness.

You see, Max—yes, Max Thompson, the one whose footsteps you just followed—was never meant to leave. You think you know your way, that you can navigate the world, but there's always a place that holds you, a place where time moves differently.

Max had been drawn to the bookstore, just like so many before him. He thought it was just a stop, just a curiosity. But sometimes, you don't realize when you've walked into a place that doesn't belong to the world outside.

The shelves will always find you, and the store will always take you. It's not about choices. It's not about timing. You either walk in and stay, or you don't walk in at all.

But once you've crossed that threshold, you're not going anywhere. Not anymore.

And the store? It'll always be waiting.