The Last Writer Adriane Leigh (story reading TXT) 📖

rush. Stacks of file boxes were piled in one corner, old navy dresses with crisp, white Peter Pan collars were lined up in a row.

“These are so sweet.” I pulled the first dress aside and then covered my nose when I realized they were old and caked with so many layers of dirt that the fabric nearly crumbled when I touched it.

“I feel for whatever kid wore these.”

I leaned closer, inspecting the knit fibers of the garments, all matching, all in various sizes—from toddler to pre-teen.

And then I noticed an odor crawling up through the wooden floorboards and whispering against the old dresses.

“What in the world?” I dropped to my knees and pushed aside the rows of black patent Mary Jane shoes in search of the source. “It smells like something died in here.”

I slipped my shirt over my nose as I ran my fingertips along the wood grain, shadows swallowing my vision in the recesses of the closet.

The soft ring of metal on metal caused my fingers to wrap around something small and heavy on instinct. I pulled my newfound treasure from the closet floor and into the light of my room and was surprised to find an old iron skeleton key. “I must be in a movie.”

I inspected the key, turning its cool weight in my palms and then bringing it closer to my eyes. It seemed worn at the edges, like it’d been twisted in a thousand locks over a hundred years. I slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans and went back to searching the closet floor. In the deepest corner my fingers landed on a small metal box. I pulled it out, eyes wide when I found a child’s lunchbox with the name Zara scrawled in black calligraphy across the tin top. It was painted a soft shade of lavender, with tiny white bunnies that hopped around a garden of lilies.

I flipped the hinge on the front, feeling like a kid on a treasure hunt, eager to lay eyes upon whatever the little girl that’d owned this thought was precious enough to hide away until now.

Tears burned in my eyes when I opened the tin, a rotten stench so strong coming from the box I had to close it again and cup my mouth to avoid gagging. I held my breath against the offensive scent and opened the box again, swiftly, and pulled the tiny red leather journal that was nestled on top. Beneath it, a tiny matchbox.

I frowned, fingers shaking as I pulled it out and slid the wooden box sideways to allow light into the darkness. Iridescent feathers, a blue-ish shade of black, peeked out.

“Oh crap.” I shoved it closed and pressed it back into the tin and locked it tightly. “I need to get rid of this.”

I frowned, turning the tiny, beautiful child’s lunch tin over in my hands and wishing it didn’t contain such wretched horror inside. “Sorry, Zara.”

I tucked the tiny lined journal inside the flaps of the last writer’s book and then tucked the tin under my arm and slipped my door open.

Creeping down the stairs, I walked slowly and allowed my ears to search for any life in the old apartments. I couldn’t take an elevator to Thax’s room, the sound of it thunking and creaking down the floors was loud enough to be heard. I wondered if he was even still awake at this time—he had asked if I wanted to investigate the library with him tonight.

I trailed down the steps to the second floor, the polished wood of the banister smooth like a bone and cool to the touch. I bit down on my bottom lip as I reached the second floor and turned down the corner to Thax’s room.

I had no idea where Yara or Yarrow’s rooms might be in this place. It was opulent and grand, high ceilings and endless hallways and secret doors that led to the inner sanctum of the library.

I regretted now that my first night here I’d spent in bed when I could have been wandering these halls with Thax. Why had I turned him down? Maybe in part because of Yara’s stern warning, but maybe by some small account because Thax’s mischievous grin and charming sarcasm appealed to me more than I wanted him to know.

Or more than I cared to admit.

I approached the door that Thax had been hovering at earlier when Yara had caught us. I crammed my teeth together and then tapped softly, praying it would be Thax on the other side and not anyone else.

I paused, was about to tap again, and then thought better of it. Thax had said his time here was precious and he didn’t plan on wasting any of it on things like sleeping and reading. I turned and angled for the stairwell, slipping down the polished steps quietly until I reached the ground floor. All hallways were clear, and all looked identical to the previous. Rich red carpet lined the halls, dark polished woodwork with intricate carvings and deep crimson and faded gold wallpaper in scroll patterns gave every level a funhouse effect.

I swallowed, gripping the stairwell as my head thickened with sleepiness. I blinked, then took careful steps to the next stairwell that led to the basement. I didn’t expect to find Thax down in the library stacks, but my only goal was to keep moving. Whenever I lingered too long in this apartment, my senses got the better of me. I couldn’t explain it, I only knew I didn’t like it.

“Hey there!” Thax’s cheery voice shook me out of my daydream.

“Hey.”

“You look like you saw a ghost, everything okay?” He approached me, concern in his dark irises.

“Yeah, I couldn't sleep. I finished the last writer’s book, well, almost did until a weird noise interrupted me.”

“I’ve been up all night exploring the halls, I didn’t hear any weird noises.”

“Did you run into anyone else?”

“Nope. I was just about to deep dive the stacks under Bryant Park though,