The Unnamed Room 2/4

When I came to it was cold and I sensed it was late. Although unsteady on my feet and shaken, I felt otherwise fine and made my way to the upper floor. Upon entering the main reading rooms I was approached by Solveig who looked at me with a mixture of exasperation and concern; I had been absent all day. An hour after leaving to search for Hansen’s book someone had been sent to fetch me. When they reached the archive they found the doors closed and locked. It occurred to me at that point, that I had made sure they were open when I first entered. I could not fathom how such heavy doors could close of their own accord, let alone secure themselves. As nobody had been able to find me on the premises it had been assumed that I had returned home for some unknown reason without notifying anybody. Unable to account for my absence I explained that I had taken a bad turn whilst underground, although did not make any mention of my experience in the hidden room. Solveig, although concerned for me, seemed to accept my assurances that I was fine. She asked me to at least take the next day off and I assented. Leaving the book I had found in the archive on the enquiry desk I took a taxi home whereupon I retired to bed immediately.

Nov 14 19__
"A strange couple of days. I slept well last night but dreamt constantly of the vision (?) I had in the library. The same scene, the same people. Still I could not make out what was being said, although I got the impression that the unseen party was in trouble, was being reprimanded for some misdemeanour. I feel a lot of empathy for this woman and wish I could help her in some way. Silly, I know, when it is just a dream, but the sensations feel so real. I have tried not to wonder too much about what this means, instead I have spent a pleasant day reading and I feel all the better for it. Solveig called earlier to see how I was and I told her I would be able to return to work the next day. I must thank her for her thoughts when I see her again and also apologise to Herr Hansen when he returns."

Solveig was not in the library the next day however, she had been summoned elsewhere in the city for a board meeting. I began carrying out my regular duties when I remembered that I had been unable to find Hansen’s book. When I asked one of the junior librarians for his details she replied with some confusion that the matter had been taken care of, that Solveig had made arrangements for the book to be delivered to him at home. When questioned further it appeared that the book that I had brought up, the book that I thought had been catalogued incorrectly, had been assumed by Solveig to be the very one that Hansen was looking for and so had dispatched it directly. No matter - he would realise the error soon enough and would return the book whereupon I would be certain to apologise to him before trying to locate the correct item.

As it turned out we did not hear from Hansen that day, nor the next day, nor the next day after that and as a result I forgot all about his request and my experience in the archive. In time the book we had sent out became overdue and we wrote to Hansen informing him of this. More weeks passed without any contact and our phone calls went unanswered. This continued until one day a young lady came up to the enquiry desk and introduced herself as Hansen’s sister. She was sorry, she said, for the delay in returning the book, but unfortunately her brother had passed away one night just over a month ago. With all the confusion, upset and arrangements that needed to be made, the book had not been a priority for which she apologised and also offered to pay all and any fines. I quickly assured her that the fine would be waived in its totality and expressed my condolences to her and her family at this time. I enquired; was it expected, was he ill? She informed me that the official verdict was natural causes but as her brother was still relatively young - only forty-four - it was a shock to all concerned. He had passed, she told me, in his sleep, reading a book - the book she was returning as it happened - and this, at the very least was some comfort; that is, to know that he had died at peace, engaged in his favourite pastime.

After she left I took the book and placed in on a trolley. Her visit had triggered memories of the her brother’s last visit; I had no desire to return it myself and would gladly leave the task to someone else. However, by end of the day it remained as the sole item left to go back in its place and so, with some reluctance and not a little apprehension, I went back down to the archive. The smell inside was more familiar to me now and I wondered briefly if it had been in my dreams, if one can even experience such a sensation whilst asleep. On entering I made certain that the doors were left wide open going so far as to prop one of the heavy fire buckets against one of them. The room itself was clear to me now. Indeed it seemed so obvious that there was a door there it seemed almost foolish that it had taken so long for me to notice it in the first place. As I pushed it open, not recalling closing it behind me on my last visit, I could see more clearly, the space that the book had once occupied. I approached it tentatively, not looking at it directly, apprehensive of a repeat of the scene first witnessed then dreamt of all those weeks ago. Drawing closer, my gaze moved unwillingly, uncontrollably to the dark void where it would go. I finally focused and stared into… nothing. The darkness was simply darkness, as darkness always is.

Exhaling quietly with relief, I pushed the heavy book back and turned to leave. The doorway however, had vanished. In its place was more darkness; there was a rushing sound in my ears just before my stomach heaved and I felt my entire body being thrust somewhere far away. Almost immediately after I was back in the ‘other’ room, watching the same scene. Still I could make nothing out of what was being said, although the drone that indicated speech seemed stronger and the oozing glutinous background noise was less. The standing lady was more active now, gesticulating at the other, apparently in frustration at something. Her face was angrier and, fearing for the safety of the other I stepped forward to intervene but once again they were distracted by the noise and once again my body was thrust back to where it began, only this time I found myself stood outside of the archive itself, the doors closed behind me, the fire bucket in its original position.

I looked at my watch. It was almost ten; the porter would be closing up for the night by now. I ran up two flights of stairs, retrieved my bag from behind my desk and caught him just as he was securing the staff entrance. Apologising for my last minute exit, but not explaining any further I managed to catch a tram home, finally sitting down breathlessly in an empty carriage. The journey home would take around fifteen minutes. I passed the time by watching city scenes swish past my window, backlit by the sodium lights of the tram. As I looked I saw or thought I saw, merged with the whipping trees and fences an image reflected in the glass, of a woman in a brown dress and white shawl, sitting on the opposite side of the carriage. I twisted round quickly to see only vacant seats. I looked back to the window and there was only blurred darkness; we had entered a tunnel and there was nothing and no-one within or without.