HERE WE HAVE A FLASH FICTION STORY WRITTEN BY OUR TEAM MEMBER, AUTHOR EVA BIELBY. TODAY SHE IS SHARING 'THE FORGOTTEN REPOSITORY' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat

THE FORGOTTEN REPOSITORY

This place is truly magical; a treasure trove. Today, it’s my second visit and fortunately for me, I’m alone this time. I’ve been entrusted with the keys. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed this long but how could I help it! I’ve been here for what feels like hours already. I should make a move, lock up and return the keys, yet I’m reluctant to tear myself away.

I saunter through each aisle in child-like fascination. Around each corner, more shelves – more riches waiting to be unearthed. The old carpet runners are worn and thick with years of dust. I feast my eyes on each and every shelf in turn. The titles, all of them, reach out to me; crying out, desperate to be carefully plucked from their place where they’ve sat cover to cover with their neighbours, undisturbed for many years. It is impossible to select them all. I randomly choose each title that draws me in. I blow the dust from the tops of the pages and return to the little step-stool, where I sit and devour some of the most exquisite work of yesteryear. I carefully caress each precious page. Each printed masterpiece is worthy of being treated with the utmost love and respect – that same love and respect given by each author as they masterfully penned their stories for others to enjoy.

My eyes are drawn to a title that is vaguely familiar, ‘The 39 Steps’ by John Buchan. I haven’t previously read the book, but I recall watching the old black and white film (1935) with my parents many years before. I think it was Robert Donat who originally played Richard Hannay, the protagonist, and in the later version of the film (1959) the character was portrayed by Kenneth More. I pull the book out from its rightful place and carefully open it to the front matter. To my delight, I discover that it is a rare antique – a third impression of a first edition which was published in October 1915. Handling the treasured find with the care one might bestow upon a newborn, I sit and devour three full chapters. I’m enthralled from the start. Fearing I will be here until midnight if I keep on reading, I return the piece to where it came from.

It doesn’t escape my notice as I scan the shelves, that many spines are faded and shabby. Some of the titles are indecipherable. The edge of the pages I read are yellowed through time. If any at all, the few illustrations within are sepia-coloured. There are no modern-day, garish and tacky dust-covers to protect the books from harm. I can’t stop my eyes from scouring the scuffed and tatty collection on a number of shelves and it saddens me that these are the classics – Tolkien, the Bronte sisters, Tolstoy, Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, Mark Twain, HG Wells, Jane Austen, George Eliot and many more besides. As old as these books are, it’s hardly surprising that they are not in better shape, but it pleases me to also realise that many have turned the pages and been fortunate enough to maybe disappear into another world, or perhaps to be one of the characters.

I choose again and this time it is Jane Eyre that draws my attention. I don’t open the pages at the beginning but almost at the half-way mark. One chapter is sufficient to render me completely spellbound. I know I need to revisit the story at a later date when I can read it from the outset. I slide the volume back into place and continue my exploration.

To the rear of the building, the store-room holds little else but several cardboard boxes – some filled with ancient sheet music while others contain large, weighty tomes.

With my perusing coming to an end for today, I replace the last piece of treasure from whence it came. I sit for a while longer deep in thought, and slowly, my plan starts to take shape. I’ve already been in contact with a gentleman who restores battered old books. Not one piece of the literature within these walls will be discarded.

The old threadbare carpets will need to be removed and the floorboards restored to their former glory. Looking at my watch, I see it’s time for me to leave. As I collect my purse and make a move, an old man appears before me. His image is somewhat hazy and I see the shelves through his stooped old frame. I have no fear, though. Instinctively, I know who he is. He brings to mind an image of my wonderful grandfather. His kind eyes have a mischievous twinkle to them. A solitary tear escapes one eye and he nods at me in greeting. His face lights up as he smiles.

“You’re the one, my dear,” he whispers.

I smile back and mouth a ‘thank you’ and that was it, he was gone as swiftly as he’d appeared. His words had rendered me speechless. Shortly after, I lock up and return the keys to the agent.

Despite several warnings, I disregarded the main reason why this forgotten cache of antiquity stood abandoned for many years. ‘It’s haunted.’ All I know with absolute certainty, is once the property legally becomes mine, I will never see the spirit of the hunched and kindly old gentleman again. He’s finally been able to move on.

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© Eva Bielby 2025

COMING SOON: On Wednesday, 23rd July, our amazing guest author is Richard 'Doc' Correa, who is sharing the prologue of his SciFi novel, 'Rapier'.