Page 22 of The Haunting of the Mountain

“Yeah,” Stone says, rubbing his beard. “Just hearing things.”

I take another sip of my cider, finishing it right as we make it to the circulation counter. It’s large and imposing in comparison to the librarian behind it, staring happily at us.

“Hi,” she chirps, glancing between us. “Can I help you find anything? Love the face paint,” she adds, eyes darting between Stone and me.

“Thanks. It was his idea,” I say nodding to Stone.

“Think you might be the biggest cat I’ve seen.”

He smiles. “I’ve seen bigger on the mountain.”

Her eyes flare, and for a moment, heat rises in my chest. Calm. Down. Stop being so possessive. I clear my throat, and she turns back to me.

“I’m looking for something on the history of Whispering Winds. Maybe stuff about local legends. Something about the old abandoned lumber mill?”

“Looking for something spooky?”

“Yes. Anything about hauntings or strange things in the area would be wonderful.”

She starts hammering away at the keyboard, looking at the screen as she hums to herself. “There’s a history of Whispering Winds… checked out. But…” she says, drawing it out as she types. “We have all of the Windy Post periodicals and other local newspapers on microfilm. “Oh,” she says abruptly. “I just remembered.” She continues hammering away on her keyboard for a few more seconds. “We have a book on cryptids. New this week from a local author. It should have plenty of information about Whispering Winds in there. I’ll grab it from the back and hold it for you until you’re ready to check out.”

A new book on cryptids? Count me in.

“Great! Where are the microfilms?”

“Basement.” She gestures behind us. “Right behind the corn doll presentation.”

I cringe at their mention, Stone places his hand on the nape of my neck and squeezes. It sends a full-on shiver through my body.

“Do you need help working the machines?”

“No, I have some experience with them.”

She smiles and then glances briefly at Stone. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

We excuse ourselves, and I can’t help but notice Stone’s hand is still on me. It’s heavy and warm and comforting, and I refuse to speak on the off chance Stone realizes what he’s doing. But it only lasts a few more seconds.

“I need to use the restroom,” he says, “I’ll meet you down there.”

I glance at the dimly lit stairwell and then back at Stone. “Yeah, I’ll just stroll into this creepy old basement all alone.”

Stone laughs, placing his hand on me again, this time right between my shoulder blades. It’s light but enough to suck the air right out of my lungs “It’s not as spooky as it looks. I’ve been down there plenty of times as a kid. Only saw a ghost once.”

He starts rubbing my back gently, and I’m having a hell of a time concentrating. “Was it the old lumberjack?”

He shakes his head as his hand works magic. “It was a cat.”

I laugh.“That makes me feel a little better. I wouldn’t mind spotting a spectral kitten. Are you sure it was a ghost?”

He pulls away as he steps backward. “Only service animals are allowed inside. Also, it walked through a wall.”

I’m almost certain that he’s making it up, but even if it’s a joke, I’m finding it a bit easier to descend the stone steps. But that feeling fades when I find out I’m probably the only person down here. No one’s at the tables in the main area, and the longrows of stacks are dark. As I follow the signs to the microfilms, the overhead lights click on.

If ghosts haunt this library, I’m sure they’re down here. This is where those rarely used books I’m drawn to hang out. Stuff about myths and folklore. Things that go bump in the night.

Once I make it to the microfilm area, I reach into my bag and grab my camera. I don’t need much footage—a quick check-in to show the spook factor of this basement.

“I survived the night,” I say, sighing at the camera. “I think you guys saw the close call I had with that late-night visitor…”

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