Everywhere and Nowhere

Written by Deanna Nguyen

Miro’s forehead almost slammed onto the counter when the door opened, letting in a breeze that roused him and the goosebumps along his arms. 

“Welcome in,” Miro called out, not bothering to look past the shelves of dusty books. He rubbed his tired eyes, pushing his glasses up his forehead. An audible yawn escaped from his mouth. Miro glanced at his phone on the counter and tapped the screen—still an hour left before closing. 

Now that Miro was wide awake, he noticed that the customer who’d come in was very quiet. He glanced down the aisles but didn’t spot anyone. 

He never understood why the layout of the secondhand bookstore placed the register at the back. With no clear view of customers who came and left, he couldn’t tell if someone had slipped a book under their shirt or thrown one in their bag. The owner, Martin, didn’t think it was worth investing in security cameras. 

Or this crummy place, Miro thought. The only reason why he stayed was to get paid for doing nothing while dealing with as few customers as possible. 

“Let me know if you need help looking for something,” Miro said, raising his voice even though the store was silent. Aside from security cameras, stereos were also on the list of “A Waste of Money,” according to Martin. Miro liked peace and quiet, but the silence right now was different—eerie. 

No response. Miro scanned the aisles from behind the counter once more before stepping away. Just as he did, a book from the sci-fi section fell off the shelf with a loud thud. Startled, Miro hurried over to the fallen book and picked it up from the floor. It was a paperback of 1984 by George Orwell. The eye on the cover stared straight at Miro. 

He slid the book back on the shelf and began searching for the customer. “You can’t fool around in here!” His tone reflected his growing irritation. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the book

slipping off the shelf was deliberate—a prank. No way a book that’d been tucked in between other books could just fall on its own. 

Miro peered down the aisles in different sections of the store but couldn’t find anyone. It felt like an anonymous game of hide and seek. He rubbed his arms as he kept searching; the goosebumps from earlier never disappeared. 

Another thud—this time from the fiction section. Miro hurried over and picked up The Strange Library by Haruki Murakami. Miro returned the novella back to the shelf and tried to keep his breathing level. 

“Okay, fun’s over!” Miro weaved through the aisles and still couldn’t find the prankster. “I’m going to need you to leave!” 

He really wished Martin had installed security cameras. It would’ve made his life so much easier to check who was running around the store, disrespecting the books and Miro’s time. 

He headed for the door and held it open. “Please leave or I’ll have to call security.” 

Even after waiting thirty seconds, no one showed up. Miro checked the sparse parking lot and tried to find the security guy who usually hung around at this time. Not that he was very diligent at his job, being on his phone and all, but at least he was there. 

With no sign of the security guy, Miro let the door close behind him as he rushed to the register to grab his phone—only for his hand to swipe the empty counter. Losing patience, he yelled, “This isn’t funny! I’m going to report you for theft if you don’t give me back my phone and leave immediately!” 

Rather than a threatening tone, Miro’s words sounded hollow. He had a guess as to who was messing around with him, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. 

A vibration trilled near the mystery and thriller section—that had to be his phone. Miro’s body was taut like a stretched rubber band about to snap if the situation continued to spiral out of

control. With cautious steps this time, Miro went over and found his phone on the floor, specifically in front of the supernatural genre. He checked who called him, but his screen didn’t show any notifications. He opened up the call history but no incoming call had been made in the past minute. 

“This can’t be happening,” Miro muttered, dialing Martin’s number. The line rang and rang before it went to voicemail. He tried to send a text but it didn’t go through. Just moments before, his phone had signal, but now the bars were gone. 

The next logical step was to close up early and go home. Clutching his phone, Miro returned to the register to grab his keys and raced to the door. He grabbed the handle and pushed, but the door refused to open. 

Breathing heavily, Miro pushed harder and shook the handle as if trying to get it loose. The attempt was futile. 

“Shit!” Miro slammed the palm of his hand against the door. He checked his phone again, only to find that it had powered off and wouldn’t turn back on. 

Then, as if hitting the last nail in the coffin, the lights in the bookstore flickered off and doused Miro in darkness. 

This was it. Miro had watched enough horror movies to know what would happen next. Characters who were alone didn’t make it to the end, especially ones who never questioned that the place they worked at could be haunted or prone to serial killers. 

Miro’s trembling knees finally gave out. He crab-walked until his back pressed up against the door. His eyes darted in different directions despite the darkness, wondering where his killer would jump out. As he waited for death, he suddenly regretted choosing the easy way out in life. He could’ve had friends who kept him company during the last hour of his solo shift or a partner who texted him and asked when he was off work. 

When his life was about to end, he remained alone—like always.

Another thud. It came from the children’s section which was furthest from the door. Miro contemplated his options: stay by the door and die, or find out what book had fallen and then die. 

He made his decision—curiosity killed the cat, after all. 

Miro stood up and made his way to the children’s section, holding out his hands in front of him to avoid bumping into bookshelves. He knew the layout of the store by heart, but his raised arms felt like a shield, albeit an ineffective one. His heart pounded so fast that he started to hear it in his eardrums. Once his vision adjusted to the dark, Miro scanned the floors and finally found the fallen book: Matilda by Roald Dahl. 

As soon as Miro picked it up, the lights turned back on and his phone buzzed. He checked the text he’d received—it was from Martin who told him that he should close up shop early. Miro stared at the book, then flipped it over and skimmed the back cover summary. 

Matilda, a young girl with special powers, was on the receiving end of abuse from adults. She was intelligent beyond her years, and because of her parents’ neglect, she turned into a prankster. Miro flipped through the yellowed pages; he’d forgotten that Matilda was one of his favorite books when he was younger. 

As he skimmed through some passages, a memory of his younger days surfaced. Instead of playing with the kids at the playground in his neighborhood, he sat on the swing with his small face inches away from the pages of Matilda. He loved that Matilda was a bookworm and fought against authority figures who denied that she was special. 

Miro placed the book back on the shelf and took a deep breath. Now that he thought about it, the books he’d picked up and returned to their shelves offered a message. At first, he didn’t think too much about 1984 and the watchful eye, but then the hairs on the back of his neck stood up with The Strange Library. That was the moment Miro started panicking and found it difficult to control his breathing—the boy in the story was imprisoned in a ghoulish library.

But the negative energy that overtook his body and senses disappeared when he found Matilda—a story of hope and courage. The main character took control of her own story and realized she wasn’t alone in her journey. It was a life lesson that Miro had lost his grasp on the older he became, wandering without a destination. 

Miro glanced at his surroundings, wondering what supernatural entity was trying to communicate with him. He guessed that it was telling him to stop dawdling in a dying—and haunted—secondhand bookstore. He needed to go out and finish his story. 

At least that’s what he hoped it was conveying. 

Miro texted Martin back, letting him know that he was already planning on closing the store early, but he didn’t mention the spooky incident. Martin probably wouldn’t believe him anyway, but his next text cemented the direction that Miro’s life would go. 

I’m closing down the bookstore. You’re better off elsewhere, Miro. 

Miro didn’t know how to respond, so he tucked his phone away and started closing up shop. He opened the door—to his relief—and closed it behind him, locking it, before he peered into the windows. Before he turned away, another book fell from the non-fiction section. A part of him wanted to unlock the door, go back inside, and check the book, but the other part—the one that he’d ignored for a long time—convinced him to let it go and leave it behind.