A Dream

I've talked about how sometimes you can get a song stuck in your head.  Well, I've had a dream stuck in my head for a few days, and I figured if I wrote it down, I can stop thinking about it so much. I think my subconscious used a thought I had the other day, of taking some pictures of the old Paynesville school in the snow.  Maybe I need to do that, too.  But hopefully, this will work just as well:

Once there was a little mining town in the forests of the Upper Peninsula.

A man in this town became very rich running the mines. So he wanted to do something for his children and all the young people of the town

He built a library.  It was an impressive three-story building, made solidly from bricks but painted white as snow.  It wore every sort of Victorian decoration: fancy gingerbread, corbels, and finials. It was the biggest building in the town, and was filled with books to delight and educate all the children and adults from miles around.

For many years, people traveled from miles around to see and enjoy this simple mining boss's legacy. But one day, tragedy struck.

A fire.

No one knew why or how it started, but the library and its contents were a total loss. The people of the town were shocked and silent.  No one could stand to look at the charred remains of the once white-as-snow building, its roof caved in to reveal the wreckage inside.  And so the building stood, an elephant in the room, a glaring horror in the center of the town that made people glance down as they passed.  Rain, snow, all the elements were allowed to further decimate that which they had loved so well.

Until one night.

It was not a holiday, not a birthday, just a regular day in the middle of June. There was no reason for the thing to happen at all,  But it did.  At exactly midnight, people awoke to a giant rumbling sound coming from the burnt out hulk in the middle of the town square.  When they ran to their doors to see what was happening, they could not believe their eyes.  The library was re-constructing itself. Quickly, brick by brick, it built itself back up.  Not only that, but the charred bits of wood and brick and even the books themselves were becoming good as new, even to reordering all the resurrected shelves within.  It happened so quickly, that within a few minutes the grand old library stood as if new, its doors open and lights blazing to receive its adoring readers.

But the people were frightened.  How could such a thing happen?  Was it the work of some demonic force in the world? Or a true miracle of God?  A crowd gathered, and dawn broke over the scene. Still no one could find the courage to go inside.  What if it were a mirage, just a trick of the eye?

Throughout the day and into the next night, there was always a crowd watching, but waiting for what?  It was as it appeared, as beautiful and new as the opening day so very many years before.

Until midnight.  When there was, suddenly, a giant sound.  A flash of intense light and heat, and a thick cloud of smoke.  When it finally cleared, the exclamations of the people were deafening. Because the library was gone, reduced again to its burned out rubble.

It was months before the town returned to something like normal.  No one could fathom what had happened that day in June, or why.  People came from all over the world to look at the wreck, to think about pictures they had seen of the miraculous event.  Finally, the people forgot, just a little.

Then, when that same day rolled around the next year, it happened again.  People reacted in a similar fashion, staring and wondering and still being afraid.  Also, like clockwork, the following midnight, the magic went away.

The third time it happened, people were ready.  Dressed in hard hats and mining gear, a team entered the library, not knowing what would happen to them.  But nothing did.  The books were there, waiting to be read.  Chairs and tables beckoned, but were not used.  Finally, the team left before midnight, and the library un-made itself once again.

Over a period of several years, this event became commonplace, until people felt it could be counted on to do the same things at the same times, and therefore it was decided that adults and children could take advantage of the miracle.  On that day, starting minutes after midnight, when the library lights shone clear and bright through the clean new window glass, students and teachers, doctors and lawyers, readers of fiction and non-fiction, fantasy, romance, sci-fi, all walked tentatively into the building, where they eventually settled in to enjoy a night and day and night of immersing themselves in all the library had to offer. Some were still afraid to stay for long, but others camped out, brought food.  There was a potluck of dishes offered in the lobby for people to graze as they read.

At ten minutes to midnight, the police made a last sweep of the area, to see if anyone was still lost in the stacks or using the restroom.  They were satisfied that the building was completely empty minutes before they knew the restored library would leave them for a year.

Over the years, it became the biggest holiday in the town: "Library Day!" posters and calendars of events shouted.  The children of the town were always given the opportunity to stay at the library as many of those 24 hours as they could.  But many adults also stood waiting for the midnight miracle to happen so they could go inside and spend a day.

Soon after the people started taking advantage of their one day a year library, something even more strange was noticed.  Not only did the living people of the town hang out there on that day,but they also had some ghostly visitors.  Some of them were old library patrons, like three ghostly sisters in flowing summer dresses and Gibson Girl hairdos, who sat and giggled through a naughty romance novel, and an old man huddled way back in the stacks, sifting through the old newspapers. Some of the ghosts didn't appear to be associated with the library at all, like two little semi-transparent girls picking flowers outside, and the wildest of all, an Indian chief who had been murdered in ancient times on the site, by a brave from another tribe, who would run up and down the library stairs, around and over the tables with loud whoops and threatening war paint.

Just as the library itself was not a dangerous place on that day, neither were the ghosts dangerous. They seldom interacted with the patrons of the library at all, except to acknowledge a patron's presence with a slight glance. Therefore, in time, even this invasion was accepted, even enjoyed. People with interest in the paranormal came to study and record the ghostly activities for future study, and children would watch with big eyes when someone "see-through"would pass by them.


It is into this situation I came one Library Day. I stood by the library desk next to all the students of the school, waiting for my assignment.  The desk was already crowded with food offerings, snacks and sandwiches, various drinks and desserts.  It was the middle of the night, and kids were excited to stay up from midnight until dawn and longer.  Just in case, they would bring their blankets and pillows along, the phrase "curling up with a good book" was very literal as all the floor space, nooks and corners would be prime locations for kids and their reading materials.  I noticed the teacher was calling kids names alphabetically, telling them what area of the library was their assigned spot.  Not only were they to "camp out" in that area, but to help direct students who were looking for a specific book that might be found there, and to make sure things got put away or straightened, chairs pushed in after each use.

I listened as the teacher got to the "P" names:  "Mary Pantti, children's section, Carol Pertola, fiction. Alex Passmore, the stacks (I sighed, because the stacks were my favorite area). Laura Polkky, nonfiction.  Suddenly I realized that the teacher had skipped my name, Elizabeth Peterson.  I sighed louder, and she gave me a sharp look.  I realized that since my name wasn't called for a designated area, I was to stay by the front desk area and watch the potluck treats, keeping that area neat.  It was the hardest work, so I would not be able to spend as much time lost in a book as I would have liked.  I watched the other students walking away, and plopped myself in a chair to pout.  I must have made another noise, because the teacher, who was following the students off into their areas, gave me a sort of startled look, and kept walking away from me.  I felt alone and unappreciated.

I decided to stop manning the main desk and do some exploring with my night,and day, and night.   After a cursory glance to make sure my area was tidy, I set off to see if I could discover some of the library's ghostly patrons, I started by heading to the section of the library where I was most likely to discover a ghost story or mystery book.  Taking a few off the shelf to look at, I headed to the darkest corner of the library that I knew about, the stacks.  There were all the old records, documents and newspapers, history of the little town.  If I were a ghost, I thought, I would hang out there.  And I got lucky. Sitting in half darkness in the corner, a wrinkly little man, his transparency  less "apparent" because of the poor lighting. He had already scared off Alex Passmore with just one ghostly glare.  I wasn't afraid of his stares, in fact, they made me giggle.

Not ready to settle, yet, I left my reading selections in the stacks section, and went in search of more apparitions.  I found two little girls in the kids' section, reading nursery rhymes to a couple of other children who were definitely more solid in nature.  But since little kids don't judge, they were playing nicely and naturally together.

Suddenly I heard a blood-curdling scream and turned around to see two Native Americans in traditional garb, including war paint, using the furniture of the library as a battleground for their ancient ritualistic dual to the death.  Students screamed and jumped from their path, not realizing that the ghosts could not touch or harm them. Teachers hurried the little kids out of the room. Thankfully, the ghosts took their battle out through the wall and away before it reached its inevitable conclusion.

The rest of my night and day and night took a much quieter tone.  I hunkered down in a quiet area to read some short ghost stories.  They made me feel deliciously shivery.  It was so much fun that any time I started to hear someone approach, I would sneak off to a new hiding place before I could be seen, and maybe sent back to my assigned task.  After all, I was not feeling hungry or thirsty, just wanted to enjoy the luxurious smell of books, and lose myself in one in the peace of the beautiful library.

But all good things...as they say.  When nighttime rolled around once more, I became more determined to stay as long as possible. Everyone I knew had long since departed, and I stayed so much in the background that I only caught a glimpse of other people now and then.  I had shifted to reading a fantasy story, where a girl goes back in time and finds a wonderful new world, in contrast to her sad life at home.  It seemed to echo my own life, overly strict (and I had the secret scars to prove it) father, disinterested mother, spoiled siblings.  On top of that, I was the ugly duckling of the family, scorned and made fun of by my siblings, generally ignored by my peers and teachers. The book, virtually everything the library had to offer, was so much more worthwhile. I knew that I would have to leave very soon, but I found I could not bear it, and headed silently to the stacks.  The lights back there were turned off.  But I had come prepared.  I took a candle stub from my pocket and lit it, intending to read until I got kicked out.

I don't know what happened, Maybe I fell asleep.  Maybe the dust from all the old papers and books caused something like spontaneous combustion.  But I came to, suddenly, and realized that everything around me was...ON FIRE.

I think even my hair was burning, as I ran from the stacks area into the main part of the library.  I saw no one, and gradually became aware of PAIN.

I ran into the ladies' room, hearing a breathy high pitched noise, and discovering that it was ME. Just two words over and over, "Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no..." For I realized that everything I loved in the world was about to be destroyed.  I looked into the mirror, and discovered the answer to a mystery. For I saw a girl in a tattered flowing dress, her face and hands and hair scorched and blackened, with a look of utter despair on her TRANSPARENT face.

I realized I was the secret. I was the story no one knew.  I was the girl who destroyed the library so long ago.  I started to pray with my breathless smoke-damaged voice. "Please God, save it for them. I love this place.  Please, please, find a way to save it.  Never take it away from them." I continued to plead, crying silently, feeling my tears cooling the burns on my face.

Finally, exhausted, I laid my head down on the cool white tiles of the bathroom, and sometime during a last shuddery breath, understood that my prayers had been answered. The library would always be here waiting, for children and adults to come and lose themselves, to escape their cares and worries. For a night, and a day, and a night. Once every year.

inspiration