Hello, human who reads my book! You are among the very, very, VERY few people who actually reads any of my stuff. And for that, you deserve a prize. However, seeing as I have no golden geese at the moment (I know you ate them, Mister the man-bird), I suppose I'll just write some more.

This is the first of a series of chapters I'll be doing, all based off of some drawings by a guy named Harris Burdick. Burdick gave a publisher these drawings and was never heard of again, according to legend. The intriguing pictures needed only titles and one or two sentences to inspire and create a whole plot in the mind of the reader. Above, you'll see the image for this chapter. This is my twist on Mr. Linden's Library (above), but I'd love to hear yours! (Cough cough, Mewstar, cough cough, poppeteyt, more fake coughing, RadiantSkies, cough cough.)

***

The photo is pretty fuzzy, so here's a description. The picture is titled "Mr. Linden's Library". The only given description is as follows: "He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late."

***

"Books are works of the soul, Rachel. Always remember that." The small girl nodded enthusiastically.

"I will!" The old man in front of her smiled.

"Good. Good." Rachel just beamed up at the elderly gentleman, happy that he was happy. Mr. Linden smiled down at the young girl, who seemed to shine some light and youth back into his life. Then he set off to work, moving books out of his desk, opening them briefly, muttering something or another to himself or the occasional, "Oh, now here's a beauty," to his small friend. Rachel just sat in the chair Mr. Linden had made her, tall enough for leg-swinging but short enough so she could hop right off. These books didn't really interest her, not yet. She only caught glimpses of dull, dusty covers and saw lines upon lines of meaningless ink. She was just learning to read fluently, and still preferred colorful pictures to help her create the story in her mind. Mr. Linden agreed with this opinion wholeheartedly.

"Sometimes I want a picture of a rainstorm, instead of having to figure out what it looks like," he'd told her once.

"Yeah," she'd agreed. "Because you have to know what color the clouds are! Are they black clouds, like your kitty? Or are they grey clouds, like... like your beard?" Mr. Linden had laughed at this, and although Rachel hadn't been trying to be funny, she was glad to keep the man entertained. He was like a grandfather to her, and she was like a granddaughter to him. Each thought the other to be the best neighbor one could ask for.

This is what Rachel was thinking about when a book caught her eye. She wasn't sure why. It was a plain book, not really much different from the others. Not different at all, in fact. Except... it was different, somehow. Rachel could feel the difference. She knew it was there.

"Mr. Linden, what's that book?" she asked, pointing to the book that had grabbed her attention. Mr. Linden followed her pointed finger, and his calm gaze landed on the book. And suddenly, his eyes went wide. He grabbed it immediately, and stuffed it in his desk. His movements were sudden and jittery, and he looked terrified.

"This book? Oh, that... that book..." Mr. Linden's mood switched again, and now he shot a deadly serious and calm look at Rachel from behind the desk. "Rachel, you want to read every book in this library, don't you?" Rachel nodded uncertainly. She'd told him this many times. "Well, you should. I support you entirely. You go, and you read every book in this library." Mr. Linden's thin hands pushed down on the desk as he leaned over it to stare Rachel in the eye.

"But not that book," he whispered in a tone so serious, so scared that disobeying was never an option.

"That book..." Rachel began, trying to figure out why her friend was so horrified by the book. "That book is different-y."

"Every. Last. Book," Mr. Linden said in the same whisper. "But not the different-y book." Rachel nodded, a bit disappointed in herself. She'd made Mr. Linden angry. She wasn't sure how, or why, but she had.

Mr. Linden, seeing her confusion, softened.

"Sorry, dear," he said quietly. "Now, are you up for the make-a-name game?" Rachel's face brightened instantly. Mr. Linden wasn't mad at her at all!

"Okay," she said. "You go first." Mr. Linden was always the best at the make-a-name game.

"Okay," said the old man slowly, continuing to sort the books on his desk. "My name is... Willy."

"Who's Willy?" Rachel asked, curiosity filling her as it did every time they played the game.

"Willy is a silly filly with a brother named Billy and a mom named Milly and they all live in Tilly Villy." Rachel giggled.

"Mr. Linden, you're just silly!" Mr. Linden just kept sorting the books as a warm smile crept into his face.

***

Rachel stared across the desk. It seemed that her whole life was right here in front of her. It was, after all, Mr. Linden's old desk. This was where Mr. Linden had stood, day after day, as they talked and read and played. This was had been her favorite place to be, for nearly five years.

The first of the two items on top of the desk was the will. A few things were in bold, the things Rachel had received. There was the desk, of course. There was also Mr. Linden's old vase, the chair he'd made, a few framed pictures, and his cat named Gertrude. All of them were in the room with her now. All hers, when she just wanted to be able to hand them to their rightful owner. But time was cruel, and Mr. Linden had given her these things, so she kept them.

And then, of course, the last thing on the list: the books. That was what the will said: The books of my library will be given to Ms. Rachel West for her enjoyment and use. A letter from Mr. Linden that had been given to her, along with her new possessions, encouraged her to read every last one, just as she'd planned. It was a tall task for a now ten year old, but Rachel did intend to read them all.

But not the different-y book. That's what it said, in Mr. Linden's handwriting, right next to the statement that put her in charge of the books. But not the different-y book. No one had known what Mr. Linden had meant by this note, and had simply given Rachel all the books. Including the book with the ash-gray cover, the one that somehow stood out. The different-y book. And now Rachel's mind was at war with itself.

Mr. Linden said no.

Mr. Linden's not here.

He said you couldn't have that book! It's not even yours!

Fine, then it's the library's. And what do people do with library books?

They read them... I'll read them...

Rachel slowly reached for the book. She was old enough now to know that Mr. Linden had probably been protecting her from something she shouldn't be reading about. A grotesque war, maybe, or some foul language. But, Rachel reasoned, she was mature now. She could handle it. In fact, she'd open to a random page. Yes, that's what she'd do! She'd just open it and see. Just to end her curiosity.

Just then, Gertrude, who was on the floor next to Rachel, meowed. Rachel glanced at the cat, who gave her a look that said, You don't know what you're doing.

"Hush, Gertrude," Rachel ordered. "I do too know what I'm doing." Satisfied with her reasoning, Rachel took the book in her hands and opened it to a random page. She began reading.

The girl had made a mistake. She'd made a mistake, and she knew she'd made a mistake. A mistake that would cost her everything. She was in a JUNGLE of chaos, horror, and darkness...

The book continued describing this mistake the girl had apparently made, making it very clear that the consequence would be horrible. Rachel reached the end of the page and turned to the next.

Hello, Rachel. It's a JUNGLE-

Rachel slammed the book shut, her heart racing all of a sudden. The book... there was no way! But why would that sentence be there? It didn't fit in at all... Rachel decided she'd changed her mind about this book. She was going to get rid of it.

And so, Rachel grabbed a shovel and went to her yard, where she dug a hole that was a meter deep. Then she threw the book in and replaced the dirt.

"There," she muttered. "Now only worms can read it." Satisfied that the creepy book had been disposed of, Rachel walked back to the house. And that was the end of that. She never dug the book up.

Two weeks later...

She didn't have to.