Page 1 of TBR: Dead But Well Read

Strolling through the library, I smiled at the patrons who slouched on the couches, completely engrossed in their books. The whisper of pages being turned, and the faint clicking coming from the computers lining the far wall, were the only sounds to be heard.

It was a relief since my ears were still ringing from the weekly children’s story time that had finished less than an hour before. With a smile, I bent and pushed in several books that had been pulled out by Kyle, one of the more energetic children.

Story hour was a weekly event, and chaos was guaranteed when the library doors flew open and the group of kids rushed inside, dragging their frazzled parents behind them. You’d think we’d be used to it by now, but every week we would stand in openmouthed shock as an army of squealing kids tore through the library like tiny Tasmanian devils who’d devoured twenty pounds of raw sugar before their arrival.

I loved when the kids visited and broke up the monotony of my week, but I couldn’t deny I also experienced a sense of relief when they left and the library’s peaceful silence was restored.

Glancing up at the large clock, I grinned. There was only an hour until closing. That was when all the patrons would be shooed from the building, and I could stretch out on my favorite olive-green leather sofa in the middle of the library with my latest read. Until then, I’d go hideout in the archive room and read a few chapters while I waited for the library to be all mine.

I headed toward the librarians busy re-shelving books.

“Did you notice Dr. Gerland’s wedding band was missing today?” Bertha whispered loudly enough that two patrons glanced up from their books.

Tilly nodded her head. “I certainly did. You know, none of the ladies at Monday night’s book club meeting have seen his wife in town in the past month. Agatha heard that Mrs. Gerland went to help her sick sister in Wisconsin. Maybe she decided to divorce him?”

“I wouldn’t blame her. The single women in this town have increasingly questionable morals, and he works with them every day of the week.” Bertha clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Just yesterday, one of the nurses checked out a monster romance. Can you imagine?”

Tilly gasped as Bertha continued. “How is an attractive man like Dr. Gerland supposed to resist if one of those young nurses set their sights on him and use the wickedness from those books to tempt him? Mrs. Gerland is probably saving herself the inevitable embarrassment of her husband having an affair.”

I rolled my eyes. Or he had simply gained a few pounds and had to have his ring resized, and he’d used his bonus to pay for his wife to go to a spa retreat with her best friend because he appreciated how she’d tirelessly supported him over the years. It was amazing what you could pick up from one-sided phone calls.

Turning sideways, I squeezed between the two gossips. Neither woman gave me so much as a nod of acknowledgment, but I didn’t mind. I’d always been on the introverted side, but over the last three years, I’d become downright antisocial. No longer being subjected to tedious small talk was quite possibly the best thing that had ever happened to me.

I was living every bookworm’s dream. No longer having to worry about keeping a job to get a paycheck, no stressing over where I was going to live, and no wasted time trying to decide what I was going to eat.

Nope. For the last three years, I’d been free to spend my days and nights reading to my heart’s content.

Even so, my to-be-read list was still about fifteen miles long. I really felt for the incredible women who were trying to keep up with an actual life, advance their careers, grow a family, and still managed to whittle away at their TBRs. They were doing the impossible.

Heck! I was beginning to have serious doubts about whether I’d ever make it through my list, and I was lucky enough to be able to focus all of my attention on reading. It had become a full-time job.

I might be dead, but I’d never give up on my to-be-reads.

“Dead, but well read”had become my afterlife’s motto.

I made my way down the dark hallway, walking by several storage rooms, before finally reaching the archive room. Without stopping, I strode through the closed door into the dark room.

Unbothered by the dust and ancient cobwebs, I walked through a large spiderweb that had been abandoned by its owner. I could walk through spider webs, roll in dust, and never get dirty or end up sneezing. It was my second favorite ability—second only to not needing to worry about adulting.

Yep. Being a ghost came with some amazing perks.

The only time I could touch things on the earthly plane was when I gathered a surge of energy. That had proven challenging at first, and to my endless frustration, I’d been stuck reading over people’s shoulders. I was a speed reader, so waiting for someone to turn the page was a special kind of torture.

But with stubborn determination, I’d learned how to move small items like books. And eventually, after countless hours of practice, I’d gained enough finesse to turn pages.

Better yet, with each passing year, it had grown easier to touch things, and I found myself less exhausted afterward. In the past six months, I’d even learned how to work the computers so I could borrow books from other libraries in our system. Unfortunately, that had caused my TBR list to nearly triple in length.

The archive room was dark, but that wasn’t an issue for me since I could see as well in the dark as I could in the light.

I glanced around at the six-foot-tall shelves mounted against three of the archive room’s walls. Each shelf was stuffed with large leather-bound books that looked like they belonged at Pigworts Academy, rather than the back room of a small-town library.

When I’d first claimed the room as my bedroom, I’d tried to open a few of the volumes to see what was inside, but they’d been too heavy, and my energy had been exhausted by the strain.

Hmmm. Maybe I should try again…

I would. But not tonight.

Walking to the back of the room, I floated from the ground, rising toward the ceiling. On top of the wide shelf, far above the librarians’ line of sight, folded stacks of thick brocade curtains that had once adorned the library’s windows were folded neatly and stored on top. It wasn’t the plush pillow-top mattress I’d owned while alive, but it gave me the illusion of sleeping on a decently comfortable bed.

---