CHAPTER 3:DUST AND SILENCE

The sun had just begun to dip below the horizon when Maya stood once again before the towering iron gates of the Elmswood Library. The world around her had grown quieter, as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation. The trees cast long, twisting shadows, and the scent of damp earth mingled with the faint mustiness that drifted from the building ahead.

She took a deep breath and pushed the gate open. It groaned under the weight of years, protesting the intrusion. The stone path beneath her feet was cracked and overgrown, lined with wild weeds and thorny vines that reached out like fingers trying to hold her back. Still, Maya pressed forward.

The library loomed above her, tall and imposing. The wooden doors, darkened by time and weather, stood partially ajar. It was almost as if the building had been waiting—expecting her.

She stepped inside.

The moment she crossed the threshold, a wave of silence swallowed her. It wasn't the ordinary quiet of an abandoned place—it was deeper, heavier, almost sacred. The air was thick with the scent of old paper, aged leather, and faint traces of lavender, like a forgotten perfume that still lingered in the air.

Dust floated in the light beams filtering through the cracked stained-glass windows. Rows upon rows of towering shelves stretched out before her, filled with books that looked ancient—some with torn spines, others wrapped in cobwebs. A thick layer of dust blanketed everything. Even the floor creaked beneath her cautious steps, the sound echoing like a whisper in the vast emptiness.

Maya moved slowly, running her fingers along the shelves, tracing the titles with care. Most of the book spines had faded; some bore strange symbols she didn't recognize. Others had no titles at all.

She paused beside an old wooden desk, its surface covered with scattered papers, dried ink stains, and a tarnished brass lamp. There was something melancholic about the space—like a memory frozen in time.

Her flashlight flickered once, then stabilized, casting a steady beam ahead. The light danced over worn chairs and toppled stools, illuminating the forgotten corners of the library. She felt small beneath the towering shelves, but also strangely comforted—like she had stepped into a secret world hidden from time.

Then, just as she turned down another aisle, she heard it.

A soft whisper.

Maya froze.

It was faint—barely audible—but unmistakable. It didn't come from behind her or ahead, but all around her, like the walls themselves had murmured. She spun in place, scanning the shadows, but saw nothing.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice low.

No reply. Just silence.

But the whisper had been real. She was sure of it.

Heart pounding, she took another step forward, deeper into the library's heart. The shelves seemed to close in around her, and yet, something urged her to keep going.

She hadn't come this far to turn back now