The Voice Of The Dead

• Patrick Rudd, Grade 6, Hastings Public School
• Short Story
• 2016

1st in the 'Word Zone 2016' competition

I checked the number on the letterbox for the third time. I didn’t need to; I knew I was at the right place, I just wanted to believe there was a chance I had read it wrong. Of course, even in the dark hour of night it was, I hadn’t. This was it. The address I had dreaded, yet was far too intrigued to turn back. There was a painted piece of timber above the door that was tilted haphazardly to one side. At close inspection, it read ‘Blakely Bookstore’, but the paint was too cracked and faded to be sure. Another clear sign of an abandoned building. Rumour had it that ghosts inhabited the old buildings in the streets of Caesarwood at night. Looking at the place was more daunting than any cliché could describe. But I couldn’t walk away now. Curiosity was often a weakness.
I opened the door and was immediately forced to wade through the billowing dust. There was an abundance of books that filled the room. They were stuffed into bookcases. Those that weren’t as fortunate to get a spot on shelves were piled up in the corners or scattered under tables and desks. The remnants of a blood-pink candle was the only thing visible on the table and there was a strong stench of rotting wood that filled the room. There must have been a couple thousand books in the small shop yet it felt eerily empty as if there was something missing, but I couldn’t quite place what it was.
I proceeded to the back of the room, with the floorboards creaking with every step and dust bouncing off the floor as I went. A book fell off the shelf behind me. I hadn’t knocked it; I was too far away. I didn’t want to be seen so I refused to turn around, in case someone was there. I knew that was pathetic logic but I did it for a couple of seconds anyway. But no-one was there. Just a fallen book, and the taut throat you get when you’re so scared you forget to breathe. I was petrified.
Suddenly a second book fell. I just stood in the same spot frozen, hoping I would wake up sometime and realise this was all a nightmare. But it wasn’t. And I knew it wasn’t. Whatever type of paranormal presence was here, it was real. Saying I was frightened would be an understatement, but as seconds turned into minutes, whoever was there just continued to slowly free the books of their labyrinth. The Ghosts weren’t trying to hurt me or haunt me; they just wanted to be noticed. And in that frightening, dark and unusual moment, I realised the mistake I had believed my whole life. Ghosts weren’t something to be scared of. They weren’t the malicious thing they were made out to be in the movies. They were just spirits. The voice of the dead.