Strolling, somewhat aimlessly, around the timeworn books seamed to easily calm my dancing mind.

The aroma of them brought euphoric sensations bopping through me. I rather enjoyed having myself immersed in the feeling of work - or any work - as a welcomed distraction that could help me figure out a tiny bit more of myself; or possibly to whom I might be and become.

I also enjoyed having the answers to every question to life, or some 'theory' that could at least help, was held somewhere in these ancient books (well, at least, that's what they looked like - worn-out).

Not knowing exactly what I was looking for - as far as books were concerned - I walked over to the Library Computer and used the catalog of books online. Old catalog card ways are of the past; such a time-consuming chore; plus, its better this way, than having to ask for someone's help, and wait for them to search up a questionable topic such as myths. You'd be surprised - or appalled - at how many people are still in the dark, when it comes to anything dealing with mention of the supernatural; even after all the incidences; or more a less the 'cover-ups.'

Ah-hah! Luck behold, my own resourcefulness found that there were more books on that subject than maybe the theories of the evolution of man; obviously, this was my own constantly revised conclusion.

Out of all the myth titles there appeared to be, one seemed to strike the fear in me the most - "The Legends of the WitcLand Pures' of the Supernatural", I'm not completely sure why (perhaps it was just too humoring old; stagnant memories, or just too emotionally draining to fill up the flood gates that most call their eyes sockets) but I was just captivated by this unexpected urge to read this particular book. Plus, what the hell's the difference between a 'vampire' and a 'vampure?' I thought while reading the table of contents.

Writing down the book title; number and book isle that it was on. I abandoned the computer; and paced up the stairs - ugh, a three-story Library... how did that lil' ole woman climb these stairs every day with a loaded cart? - that led to majority of the older books.

Hundreds of isles - okay, maybe not hundreds, but this place seamed to go on and on.

Ten minutes of wandering in one long rectangle till finally finding the aisle to the home of his supposed book should be, I turned down the five-stack high shelved corridor.

Placing my finger tips on the bindings of the first book, on the adjacent shelf at shoulder length, I began tracing over every book passed, until I stopped to see the worn-out lettering of "The Legends of the WitcLand Pures' of the Supernatural" staring at me with its thick and deteriorating leather-bound binder.

Grabbing it, I started immediately flipping through it, just as to about the exact time a cold rush of wind spontaneously crept down the aisle, flaring pieces of hair all around my face.

Smoothing the strands of hair back to a more modern style, I looked around to maybe see a window open; a fan blowing, but nothing was around.

Over dramatic, I thought. Grimacing at myself for thinking that the boogeyman may be lurking just around the corner. A few moments of panicking for the worse to come popping out of... well, just about anywhere - I placed the wind incident as my imagination going into over-drive.

Of course, after logically analyzing how absurd I allowed my mind to creep, I chalked it up as a possible side effect from the constant catnapping at night (that's taking the tole on the less-than-stellar functioning brainwaves) instead of an actual full night's sleep that has probably caught up with me.

An elongated sigh cooed my throat as my eyes fell back to the words sprawled to the now parted book, I rummaged to the table of contents, (well it wasn't exactly easy to read, I couldn't see most of the letters; isn't that just great!) so, I hesitantly carried the book with me, back to my perfectly spotted table. Forcing my head to lower, where I just started reading, engulfing in every detail I read. I guess now is when my irritation grew to new heights about Vampures.

"...Origins of the vampure; Theories of how Vampures are completely purer than those that are vampires..." or "...why Vampures may exist; ways believed to kill or weaken a vampure..." associations of almost every myth out there including: "...Frankenstein; the Werepures; Witchpures..." The list goes on and on.

I couldn't believe of how far back the vampure goes throughout the peculiarity of history. It's odd how the myth has so many disbelievers - then, as well as now - but the fascination with it still lingers heavily to keep it alive.

How could something with that much depth not be known to be real? I chuckled with amusement. One could say the same thing about Bigfoot. If they only knew what the shadows hid from all around them.

As I dove (eyes first) deeper into the last few chapters, specifically into those sections containing all about the Werepures, I was amazed (or maybe shocked is a better analogy) to see the town I had been persuaded to live in, had made its way into this apparently antique lore.

A more horrifying and astounding find was that the last few pages of the book held a name I couldn't believe was mentioned. A name I had just recently become associated with. The last name Brenhin jumping from the lines like a brightly annoying neon light.

The name 'Brenhin' from this wish-wash of a manuscript-esque wannabe grimoire, gave exact meaning of the said name: 'a tributary prince; or king.' "REALLY!" I smeared out. I looked up to witness or hear anyone shush me for being more than respectably quiet. Nothing.

I quickly took to the books leering words again.

What did Blayke's family name have to do with this book, or even freakin' Werepures for that matter? And, I suppose, the main and real question should be - do I care to really open that door to know?

I withdrew from the book again to give my brain a suddenly much needed break from the extreme overload.

I can only hope that this isn't going towards another downward spiral descent into a stroll through the crowded demented shadows.

Let me be wrong... please, I implore!

I can be more than known to over-step the truths of reality.

As I sat back in my chair, grieving the chance at having maintained a semi-normal life, I immediately noticed no one was left in the Library.

Looking around for any signs of life, the empty room looked eerie and creepy, all at the same time. I may be a wee bit nervous now!

Okay, yeah, we do have campus security around somewhere, but there's no telling where they might be. I imagine them scarfing down a dozen crème-filled Bavarian doughnuts or catching up on their nightly soap-operas.

Looking at my watch, the shorthand resting after the nine; while the long hand straddled between the nine and ten. Well, that may shine a light with the sudden lack of students in the building. It is a weeknight, and many - including myself - have early classes.

I started gathering my books, placing them in my messenger bag. I'll just place these Library books on the cart near the desk as I pass by it on the way out.

I swung the bag onto my shoulder, and creaked onto the wooden floor, which was sandwiched between a cement wall, and the endless towers of books.

The whole room was illuminated by the spectacle that was the moon suddenly appearing.

The moonlight was unusually bright; shining through the wealthy vast of windows that lined, from floor to ceiling.

CRASH! THUMP! THUMP!

A debauchery sound echoed through the Library as like a water-filled tub falling through limber flooring. Poorly placed books falling onto the floor perhaps? The wind incident suddenly being remembered.

I absent mindedly sucked in too much air, causing my lungs to feel as though they had collapsed. I dared not a scream, as I hushed all sound cringing within my tortured throat.

A feeling of someone staring at you - yea, it was a real feeling - was at this specific moment (this was a whole new level).

"What the hell could that be?" I murmured under slightness of teeth.

A judder sleuthed from the small of my back, to the tip of my round head. Nope! Not this! I shuttled around. Heart racing... blood flushing face as it weaved faster through my body.

"Who's there?" I said in a surprisingly demanding voice.

"Me." an unexpected rusty but familiar voice returned.

A shadow from along a back aisle started to move. It streaked closer, pausing just of the last window cast from the lofty glass; where the moon's rays cut off into darkness.

I gulfed in air, again.

Riley.

I relaxed - some.

"Riley... why the creeping in the dark routine?" I croaked, gaining my small voice back. He appeared not to be in the chatting mood. "...I hadn't heard from you since last Monday...what've you been up to?" I added, voice calmer now.

"I've dealt with some...changes." He countered with a peculiar, striking tone.