This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/razzlez1 on 2023-08-10 11:59:53.

It’s a universal thing; the drop in your stomach, the checking of your planner, frantic organisation of materials and constant eyes on the time as they droop towards the deadline. I knew I couldn’t avoid it nor justify it at the same time- but even though I had meticulously kept track of the essays that had to be completed this term OF COURSE the one in my hardest history module was forgotten. OF COURSE it had to be the essay that would be marked by the most stuck up bitch of a professor who would love to find an excuse to bring my average down. I couldn’t believe my absolutely tremendous luck.

It was half 10. I had just finished an exceptional microwavable meal and was halfway through a Netflix binge until my eyeline skimmed past my calendar, which was pinned above my desk, the glaring red-penned ‘HISTORY SUBMISSION DUE’ ignored until this very moment. 3000 words, fully referenced and needed in less than 3 hours. I hadn’t even picked my question yet. I swear at that very moment I almost vomited the ultra-processed junk I had just scoffed all over my duvet.

It took me an record-breaking amount of time, I will give myself that, to get out of bed and out of the door. I gathered everything I needed, threw on a coat and boots over my clothes (to both cover the fact that I was wearing faded pajamas and shield myself from the biting cold) and rushed to the library across campus. I could have stayed in my room and avoided this whole mess but I didn’t trust myself around all of the comforts that provided. Nope, I would have to slog it out in a hard-backed chair and cavernous halls if it was going to kill me.

The library in my university - and my university itself - is extremely old. I haven’t really read into it, despite my degree, but I know that the path I take to go inside has been walked hundreds of times before by those who are long gone. I silently prayed to them for guidance in this exceedingly difficult time, trying not to think about how they’d see my existence at that very university as an abomination in itself. It just gave me some comfort that I was not the only one who had been through this at all. But this line of thought was extinguished the minute I stepped inside.

It was empty. As in, nobody else was there, not even a student helper or a cleaner. I sometimes do come for study sessions at night and even then you’d see stragglers hunched over their laptops, overachievers pulling their hair out and whole friend groups having a feast instead of working.

‘Hello?’ My voice echoed, ricocheting from the stone walls. It was so cold that mist came from my mouth. The strangest thing was that everything was functioning - from the lights to the communal computers to the machines where you could borrow and return books. It was like everyone had just gotten up and left, or sent in their assignments on time altogether. I was alone.

I sank into a cubicle near one of the tall windows, opening my laptop. I know you must be hoping I left at this point but to be honest, there wasn’t really a reason for me to. I was going to put my headphones on anyway and try and get this stupid essay done, and the lack of distraction was something pretty appealing. I wasn’t particularly creeped out, just confused that I had missed a memo or something. Maybe everyone had gone to work in the science building. Or in the fancy study hub on the other side of campus, the one with the coffee machines. Yes, that must be it. The workers might be on their break too. There wasn’t a need for me to ask for help with finding things either, so the whole situation was fine. I just needed to eke out some acceptable paragraphs that weren’t plagiarised, make the five minute or so trek through the frost back to my accommodation and crash in my room.

The first 20 minutes were uneventful at most. I picked the easiest question, started researching and found out, to my extreme elation, that I could use texts that I had read before for some of the information instead of trekking through the archives online and the shelves next to me. This fueled some rapid bibliography-compiling until I hit a roadblock and had to go to the history section to get a book.

I came back to my cubicle being exactly how I’d left it, except for one thing being different. There was a folded piece of paper that had been placed on my laptop keyboard that I’m pretty sure wasn’t mine - I use a notebook whilst doing work but the paper was different from that. It was weathered, almost a parchment-type material instead of the white lined book I had. I placed my book down on my desk and with a quick glance to see if there was anyone who could have put it there - still, not one person was in the library with me - I opened it to see what was inside.

It was completely blank, except for a small sentence that had clearly been hurriedly written in cursive black ink. The handwriting was loopy, archaic. Ink spots dotted the paper.

Beware, dear reader. I fear it has not seen new blood in a long time.

I don’t believe in this shit. I have never been superstitious, spiritual nor religious, and the logical part of my brain was ready to debunk this as a simple prank, some kind of hazing. Maybe the third years just picked a random student to horrify every term. Maybe they were all hiding in here, trying not to laugh and eventually one of them would chase me in a costume or something and it would be posted on the university meme page.

But another part of me, the part that was afraid of the dark, of all things intangible and unknown - that you bury once you pass childhood - was also present. You know how we often talk about primal fear? How years of evolution and being prey have made us aware and ready to run at a single sign? How we can tell when we’re being watched? This part of my brain was sending warning signs, a beacon that was flashing on and off, on and off in my brain. I tried to make some sense of the note, swallowing deeply.

There was nobody else here, I was sure of it - and surely I would have heard their footsteps if they had put the note on my cubicle, especially since they would have had to have moved quickly as I was only away for less than 30 seconds? How could someone have evaded me like that? I didn’t even have my headphones on when I got up, and in the stillness of the library every sound was like a cannon.

I was dumbfounded. I was also sure that I could feel eyes on me, but I pushed this down, turning to the paper again. My breathing was speeding up slowly, and I blinked, hard. What was ‘it’ and did ‘new blood’ mean me? Was I about to be killed by something hidden in the recesses of this place? Would students return in the morning and find my corpse? It was a terrifying thought that I didn’t want to encourage at all. Even if this was a joke I knew that I didn’t want to stick around and find out.

I shoved everything into my bag, including the note - I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it - and hoisted it over my shoulder. Fuck this. I’d go back to the safe, 21st-century accommodation that I’d paid for and crank the rest of my work out, which I had just over an hour or so to do. This was the plan until I turned around.

Behind me was the library noticeboard. And there, amongst the ads and student society events, was another piece of paper. The handwriting was significantly untidier and blotchy, larger spots of ink seeping into the material.

Reader, I fear it is no longer safe. You must conceal yourself for the time being.

My breathing quickened, and I was about to leg it out of there and back to the safety of outside until I heard it.

From somewhere inside the library, there was a deep hum. The sound was indescribable - not animalistic or completely human, a cacophony of orchestral instruments and carnal screeching. It was just… old. I didn’t know what it was or what it was trying to do but I felt like I was listening to something that I was simply to young to hear. My legs were already weak from fear but immediately after the sound began a thin stream of blood came out of my nose, dripping onto the floor that had been there since long before my grandparents had been born.

I ran. I ran into a cubicle a few meters away and crawled under the desk, cowering and trying not to be too loud. I felt dizzy, incomprehensible. Blood was still coming out of my nose, pooling onto the floor. It could probably smell it. Smell my fear and vulnerability. I screwed my eyes shut, not wanting to see. Not wanting to hear. I wanted it to be quick, instantaneous.

Something was lumbering, stalking. I felt the heavy footfalls, heard the echoes. My eyes were still closed. I didn’t see. I didn’t think I would have been allowed to. I simply waited, shivering.

I then felt its body heat. The pure energy of this thing must have been immense, its presence so accustomed and so powerful that it overtook all other forces in a space. It was panting, I think, and I waited. For jaws to sink into me, for claws to rip me apart.

And waited.

Until it stopped. Until the temperature dropped again to the cold I was used to, the cold I had braved to come here and had been working in. I felt something in the air shift as it became still again, like something had been leeched out of it. And I opened my eyes.

There was nothing there. Instead, the library was full. There were friend groups dotted around the tables, overachievers and stragglers alike, workers chatting behind the helpdesk. Thankful…

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