The Library

The train had taken one of its customary stops as they waited to switch onto another track. The two-story library with the peeling yellow paint from Ividan stood beyond the tracks. Beneath the milky disk of a full moon, it looked like an eerie, grotesque thing, leaning with malicious intent towards the train. He gasped, wiping at his teary eyes. This problem, it seemed, was not going away. It was a problem of a different kind which sent cold hands clawing down his back. One day he wondered how quickly he would have to move to stab her slender neck.