I had to think pretty hard about what I wanted to focus on in this post, because there’s so much I’ve talked about talking about that I didn’t know what direction to take. But while I will get into more pool stories, as promised, and update you on the donations from the last post, and tell you about my singular encounter with Doug even though it’s maybe a little irrationally difficult for me to discuss, this installment isn’t going to be about any of those things.

Today, I want to explain what’s been going on—what’s still going on—as of late.

I said, when I told you about how I went upstairs, that I did it again. One more time. That’s where we’re going to start.

And then we’ll talk about the aftermath.

Every great once in a while, something fucks up so badly around here that not even Wiley can fix it. This time, of course, it was the HVAC system.

Now, I don’t think I need to tell you how incredibly careful we have to be letting people into certain areas of the building, and obviously upstairs is usually off limits. But it was unseasonably warm throughout the entirety of fall, and that meant that when our AC went out, it got hotter in the library than it did outside.

I was coming in as Della was heading out (she works during the day a lot; I assume it’s so no one will try to talk to her) and I watched her mop the sweat off her forehead with a cleaning cloth as she made her way toward the door.

As soon as I set foot inside, I understood why.

“Holy shit,” I muttered, already stripping out of my overshirt as I approached Matt at the desk. “Why’s it a sauna in here?”

“I wanted a spa day,” he quipped drily. He was sweating too, dark hair matted to his forehead. “I’ve been upstairs with Wiley already. They couldn’t figure out what the problem was but the coast seems to be clear up there for now, so. We called in the big guns. They’ll be here soon.”

I swallowed, but didn’t voice my concerns. Matt knew better than I did how risky it was. “Okay,” I agreed instead. “Let me know if you need anything when they get here.”

Matt nodded, offering me a two-fingered salute, and I headed into the back to get to work.

It took around half an hour for someone to show up, and when they did, Matt knocked on the wall between my desk and circulation, beckoning me out.

“Can you hang up here ‘til we’re done?” he asked. “I’m gonna follow him. In case he needs to know where something is, or, y’know. Whatever.”

Hah. Yeah. Whatever.

“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile. “We appreciate you coming out.”

The maintenance guy was young-ish, somewhere in the ballpark of my age, I assumed, and when he grinned back at me, deep, boyish dimples appeared on either side of his mouth. “Happy to help,” he breezed. “And if I can’t get it sorted out, I’ll call my dad.” He pointed to the patch on his jacket, which read Murphy’s. “He’s the boss man. Never seen a job he couldn’t tackle. Now, what do you say we get y’all cooled off?”

“I say hell yeah,” I chuckled, adamantly ignoring the ever-deepening pit in my stomach and knowing full well that Matt was doing the same. He’s already checked it out, I reminded myself. There’s nothing up there. Everything’s fine.

“Hell yeah!” the guy echoed enthusiastically. “If I break something and the building catches on fire, just holler so I can come put it out. Name’s Sam.”

“Adam,” I responded, reaching across the desk to shake his hand. “If I see flames you’ll be the first to know.”

They took off.

For a long while, there was nothing. I checked out a handful of patrons, flipped through a few cookbooks (not for any real reason; I’m a millennial, I have no concept of how to feed myself anything that hasn’t been warmed to perfection under a heat lamp), and finally resorted to bringing some books that had been written in out from my hoard to “clean” them (which, fun fact, actually just consists of extremely carefully sanding the pages and praying you don’t tear holes through them).

I was nine novels into my pile when I heard it.

A loud, mechanical screeching.

I held my breath.

Wiley appeared from between the stacks, eyes wide. “The hell?” they said.

I shook my head.

I watched their breath catch, too, as we listened. There was a quiet rattling that had started just after the screech and hadn’t quite stopped, and the longer it went on the more my brain felt like it was vibrating.

“It’s nothing,” I said. I didn’t believe it and Wiley didn’t either, so I repeated myself in hopes that it would stick. “It’s nothing. They’re just moving stuff around up there and it’s—it’s scraping the floor. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Wiley agreed hollowly. “That’s all.”

That was—say it with me—not all.

We did spend a decent stretch of time trying to pretend that it was, but, eventually, the rattling grew louder, and the screeching started back up, and then, you guessed it: screaming.

I was halfway up the stairs before I even knew what had hit me, hollering behind me for Wiley to go and lock the doors so no one could come inside while god-knew-what was going down.

I must have been running, footsteps echoing loudly enough on each step that Matt heard them, because when I’d nearly reached the top, he yelled, “God damn it, Adam, do not come up here!”

I wasn’t going to pay a single fuck of attention to that, obviously, so I pushed myself harder, nearly tripping from the momentum when I reached the landing at the top.

What I saw was…

Well.

Make sure you’ve read this installment before you continue if you haven’t already or none of the following will make any sense. I’ll give you a moment to check.

Back with me? Okay. Now, have you ever heard the horse-sized-spider-vs-spider-sized-horses dilemma? If you haven’t, let me explain—it’s exactly what it sounds like. In your opinion, what’s worse: one horse-sized spider, or one thousand spider-sized horses (both options with the intent to harm you, for the case of the scenario)?

There certainly weren’t a thousand miniature winged mechanical monstrosities before me, nor a hundred, nor fifty, nor even ten, but the solid five flailing about with their sticky, dripping wings were enough to both metaphorically and literally bring me to my knees.

They were identical to the thing I’d encountered upstairs before in most every way, except much smaller—smaller than me, even; only about half my size—and there was a fine coating of fuzz on their batlike wings, almost like a gosling’s down feathers.

They were circling around in a frenzy, paying me no attention whatsoever, and as soon as my initial shock wore off, I saw why.

They were entirely occupied by other targets.

One of them had wrapped itself around Sam, who didn’t look to be fighting back in any capacity, and another two had pinned Matt’s legs and torso to the ground, leaving him to fruitlessly attempt to beat them off with his fists. The rest were watching closely, awaiting their moment to strike.

“Adam!” Matt yelled again, warning. “I mean it!”

I stood and stepped forward, fully into the room.

Something dripped onto my head.

I touched it, because what the fuck else was I supposed to do, and my fingers came away viscous but still finger-colored. I felt my heart seizing up in my chest, the fear that it might be saliva chilling me to my core, but it dawned on me nearly as quickly as the thought came that if that were the case I would smell it. I shuddered at the memory of the creature’s foul, putrid breath and gathered my courage, tilting my head upward.

The best way I know to describe the amalgamation of small wires and scraps of metal above me is a nest. Which I guess makes sense if you don’t think about it literally at all. Things with wings=things with nests most of the time, right?

Anyway, I didn’t have long to ponder the logistics, because another glob of the clear substance leaked from a small gap in the structure and, had my reflexes not kicked in at precisely that moment, would have hit me square in the eye.

I bent down to examine it, much easier to study now that it was in front of me rather than on me, and realized upon prodding that it behaved like a mixture of egg white and some type of oil.

“Matt,” I said, a sinking feeling rooting its way into my stomach. “I think…I think maybe something’s…hatching.”

“I’m only going to say this to you one more time,” Matt threatened, struggle present in his tone. “Get. The fuck. Out.”

I hadn’t bothered to respond to his demands thus far, knowing full well that all arguing would accomplish was wasting both our time, but I finally offered, “I’m not leaving you. I’m sorry. I’m not.”

When I looked back over to him, to meet his eyes, it was the closest to desperation I’d ever seen him. His expression, his body language, even beneath the monster restraining him, everything screamed that he was silently pleading with me to leave. “Something is wrong, Adam,” he managed, voice tight. “More wrong than—than just this. I wasn’t sure at first; I thought maybe the time had just gotten away from me, but the clock… Are you wearing a watch?”

I wasn’t.

The sinking feeling sunk more heavily.

I followed Matt’s anxious gaze to the far wall, where the large, digital clock mounted above one of the HVAC monitors read 3:30.

The sinking feeling made its way into my feet.

“I came in at seven,” I said dumbly.

The fucking lights went out.

Have you ever been inside a cave? The kind of darkness so all-encompassing you can’t see your hand in front of your face? That was this. Instant, complete black.

I heard a groan, one that didn’t belong to Matt, and felt a small wave of relief wash over me at the confirmation that Sam must still be alive. I didn’t have any idea how to get to him, however, or any way to gauge where the winged monstrosities were in relation to myself.

“Alright.” This was Matt, as calm and measured as I’d ever heard him. “Okay. Adam?”

“Yeah. Right here.”

“Can you walk toward me if I keep talking?”

“I think so,” I said, taking a tentative step forward and to my left. “Are they still…?” But as soon as I asked, I became acutely aware of it. The silence. There was no flapping. No shuffling. No metallic screeching. Nothing.

“Just keep walking,” Matt told me. I wasn’t sure if I liked the evenness to his tone. It sounded almost trained.

I kept walking.

Sam groaned again, but didn’t form any intelligible words, so I didn’t bother trying to call out to him. Instead, I asked Matt, “Am I close?”

“Keep coming,” he said, from just ahead of me. “You’re close.”

A handful of steps further and I startled, scarcely stifling a scream as I felt cold fingers wrap around my ankle. But Matt offered a quick assurance of, “It’s okay. It’s me,” and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. What he followed with, however, I’d never heard him say before, and it turned my blood to ice.

“I need help.”

I swallowed, grateful, for one millisecond, that the darkness was thick enough to mask my fear. “With what?” I asked, praying I sounded steadier than I felt.

“These…things…are on top of me. They just went limp when the lights went out and they’re too heavy for me to move on my own.”

“Oh,” I said, “god. Okay. You made it sound like something…worse. Don’t do that shit.” I lowered myself onto my knees, feeling around in front of me until I had a solid grasp on what I was fairly sure must be the neck of one of the beasts, and counted aloud to three so that Matt would know when to push as I pulled. Together, we dislodged it, casting its motionless form with a ringing thud onto the concrete floor. “One down. Is the other one—?”

“On my legs,” Matt said, “mostly.”

“Mostly?”

For a second, nothing. Then a heavy, defeated sigh as Matt lifted my hand, guiding it up and over his abdomen to finally land on a patch of warm, slick flesh. Not sticky; not like the residue all over him from the monsters’ wings. This was different. This was…

“...Matt.”

There was no verbal response, but he pressed downward, guiding my fingers to wrap around something long and cylindrical and metallic.

“Matt.”

“There’s a spike at the end of the tail,” he explained, as though he was casually discussing his day. “It’s not barbed or anything, so it’s fine, but it’s too wet for me to pull it out. I can’t get a grip on it.”

I closed my eyes, my vision unchanging, and prepared myself. “Okay,” I said. I’d left my button-down on the back of the chair at the circulation desk, so I tugged my t-shirt over my head and wound it around the thing’s tail, forcing myself not to consider how quickly it was soaking through with blood. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Matt echoed.

As swiftly as I could, so as not to draw out the pain any longer than I had to, I yanked the tail upward and out of Matt’s side, casting it to the ground and utilizing the remainder of the adrenaline burst to shove the rest of the body off his thighs.

He didn’t make a peep, but his breathing fell into a shallow, unsteady cadence.

“Okay?” I asked, even though no, obviously, he wasn’t. But he would be. Had to be.

For a moment, I allowed myself to consider the very real possibility that this was what would finally do him in. That he would bleed out at my hands, and that there would be nothing I could do to stop it.

But then he rasped, “Golden,” and I felt my heart start pumping again.

“Good,” I breathed, balling up my shirt and pressing it into his palm. “Here. Can you put pressure on it?”

“Yeah, I got it. Try to get to the kid. See if you can wake him up.”

I forced myself back to my feet, stumbling blindly around in attempt to orient myself, and then, right on cue, Sam made another quiet, pained sound.

I started toward it, shuffling my feet so that if I made it to him I wouldn’t find out by stepping on his fingers and crushing them.

It was a process—a long one—that consisted of shuffling and stopping to listen and shuffling some more and Matt asking if I’d made it yet and telling him no, but finally, the toe of my shoe came into contact with something.

I bent down, reluctantly reaching out to brush my fingertips over whatever I’d collided with, and immediately relaxed upon registering the sensation of touching very human hair.

“Hey,” I tried, feeling around to find his shoulder and gently shaking it. “Sam?”

I was met with a whine, but no real acknowledgment.

“Sam,” I said again, a little louder, shaking him a little harder. “Come on. Wake up.”

This time I heard his breath hitch, but I had no idea if it was in response to me or to the pain he was inevitably in. Either way, he still didn’t say anything.

“I’ve got him,” I called back to Matt, “but he’s not—”

White. Not just white, but the opposite of black. The white at the center of a flame. The white you can’t blink away after glancing at the sun, no matter how hard you try. The entire room was awash in it, just as blinding as the darkness, every bit as suffocating.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

The dim, yellow strip-lights flickered overhead.

I hadn’t even noticed that the constant humming of the HVAC machines had stopped until it started back up again, green and red indicators blinking on in tandem.

I was still crouched next to Sam, and I dared to glance at him, terrified of what I would find.

He was completely still, and…completely unscathed.

I whipped around, seeking out Matt, and found that he was already up and moving, about halfway across the floor to us.

There wasn’t a drop of blood on him.

He tossed my perfectly gray, perfectly dry shirt to me, and I caught it rigidly, nearly too stunned to put it back on.

“What…?” was all I could manage.

Matt shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The creatures had vanished.

I glanced back to Sam for a moment and, after determining that he was definitely breathing, crossed the floor to the entryway, casting my gaze upward toward the nest.

It was still there, and the thin, gelatinous substance was still pooling underneath, readying itself for another drip. I couldn’t tell if the creatures were inside or not—there didn’t seem to be any active movement, and no sound escaped it—but I assumed they must be. There wasn’t anywhere else for them to have gone.

For a fleeting moment, I wanted to ask Matt if he had his lighter. I wanted to take the ladder down from the far wall and climb to the top and set the monsters ablaze while they lay dormant.

But I didn’t.

To be perfectly honest, I don’t know why. Maybe because I couldn’t begin to guess what wrath killing them would incur.

Or maybe…well.

I’ve always been a bit of a big-mean-scary-animal-apologist. They’re just trying to survive, you know? Just like the rest of us. Obviously I’m not going to lay down and die, but if something isn’t actively harming me or anyone in my general vicinity, I can’t imagine that wiping it out wouldn’t feel a little like cold blooded murder. And besides, not that I have solid proof, but if I’m going purely off intuition, I truly believe whatever was oozing out of the nest was these creatures’ equivalent to some kind of disgusting amniotic fluid. Sort of feels like Matt shot their mom and now the rest of them are just trying to protect their new baby sibling.

Also, I really had no way to gauge how well it would’ve gone. They could’ve bitten my head off as soon as I was face to face with them, so I figured it was probably best to let sleeping dogs (or robot-dinosaur-bats) lie.

What I couldn’t let lie, however, was Sam. Apparently Matt had the same thought, because when I turned back around, he was hauling him up by his armpits, still fully unconscious.

“Here,” I said, rushing over to them. “Let me help.”

Matt maneuvered Sam around so that I could pull his left arm around my shoulders, his right draped over Matt’s, and together we wrangled him down the stairs, slamming the door to the mechanical room securely behind us.

Right on the other side, Wiley was waiting, eyes flitting wildly from Matt to me to Sam. “What the fuck happened?” they demanded.

I wasn’t sure if they meant with the creatures or the time jump or what, so I was grateful when Matt responded, “A lot.”

“Is he…?”

“He’s alive.” I was secure enough in that, at least, to confirm it as fact. “Just knocked the fuck out.”

“Come on,” Matt said, “let’s get him settled down somewhere.”

We took him out to the children’s area and plopped him onto a bean bag chair, figuring it was the safest bet considering we didn’t trust him to stay upright. It took a lot of light face-slapping and some cold water over the head, but, finally, Sam’s eyes shot open.

“Hey!” I took a step back, afraid I’d startle him if I was standing too close. “Freaked us out for a minute there. Are you all right?”

Sam blinked. “Um. Who are you?”

“I’m…Adam,” I reminded him, my stomach begging to instantly fill back up with dread. “You’re at the library. You came to fix our AC. Remember?”

Slowly, Sam’s head turned side to side.

I looked over to Matt.

“It’s okay,” he assured me. “Probably just a concussion. Why don’t you go give his dad a call? Let him know what’s going on? I think I’ve got him from here.”

“Yeah,” I assented, glad to be given an out. “Okay.”

Pulling my cell from my pocket as I walked away, I did a quick Google search for Murphy’s Heating and Air, double checking that the first result was in the correct area before I hit ‘call’ below the business’s hours, praying it was a personal cell that would still be reachable so late.

After the third ring, a gruff voice answered, “Murphy’s.” I waited for a ‘How can I help you?’ or maybe some kind of awful business slogan, but none came.

“Hi,” I started shakily. “Is this, uh…Mr. Murphy?”

A moment of silence (during which time I punched myself in the metaphorical fucking face, because, god, could I not even have bothered to click the Facebook link at the top of the page to try to find his first name?) and then, “I own the joint, ‘f that’s what you mean.”

“Yes,” I said, “okay, yeah. I just wanted to—I’m Adam Ward. I work at the library your son came to service this evening. I’m sure you’re worried sick about him; I know he should’ve been back a long time ago, but I just wanted to let you know that he’s—”

“Billy didn’t take a call this evenin’.”

My internal dialogue defaulted to the dial-up sound. “Oh, um. Sorry. N-not Billy. Sam.”

Another pause. Then, “I ain’t got but the one son, boy. Is this some kind’a prank?”

The dial-up sound grew louder. Just to be sure, I asked if he could confirm the location of his business.

He did. In quite an irritated manner.

“And there’s not another Murphy’s in the area? That you know of?”

“You got too damn much time on your hands, kid,” he said, and hung up.

I headed back to the children’s area to inform Matt that we had a problem.

When I reached him, he said, “We have a problem.”

“I know,” I told him. Then, when my brain caught up, “Wait. Another one?”

“Jesus H. What’s your problem?”

I stepped closer to Matt, lowering my voice. “Sam’s dad…doesn’t know who he is.”

Matt laughed, once. There was no humor in it. “Oh, good. I was thinking amnesia, ‘cause my problem was that Sam doesn’t know who he is. But I’m glad to hear it’s a whole hell of a lot fuckin’ worse.”

We did, of course, call an ambulance. And they did, of course, take Sam to the hospital. We told them everything we could (the name he’d given us, why he was at the library in the first place, and that he’d…hit his head and couldn’t recall anything, himself included). I’m not sure what their findings were, as they weren’t allowed to disclose any patient information to anyone who wasn’t family, which Sam didn’t seem to have.

What I do know, however, is that when he was released, he gave the cab driver the library’s address.

We waited days—weeks—hoping that we’d somehow contacted the wrong person, that news articles or missing posters would start cropping up, that we’d get a call asking about him from his dad’s real company.

Nothing.

So, that’s it.

He’s one of us now.

He’s happy enough. Seems to be, anyway. Does whatever he can find that’s not finished; shelves when Horace is out, cleans when Della’s off, works circ when there’s a gap in the schedule. Great customer service. Personable. Friendly.

Plus, Wiley’s got a roommate now. There wasn’t anywhere else for him to go, so, I mean. I don’t feel like I need to explain Matt’s take on strays.

Especially when he feels like he’s responsible. Like it’s his fault.

I just keep reminding myself that it could’ve turned out worse. He could’ve died. We all could have.

And he’s adjusting just fine. No signs whatsoever that he’s starting to remember his old life, or starting to miss it.

There’s just one thing.

Every once in a while, when he isn’t actively working, or talking, or otherwise engaged, Sam will wander off.

Every time, I’ve found him.

Inside the mechanical room.

Just at the bottom of the stairs.