The Museum of Literary Souls (A Short Story) Read Online Free PDF Page A

the corner of the building
to the right, for any progress to the left was barred by the wall. Here was a
smaller laneway, but it ended in another brick wall, and there were no windows
on that side of the building, nor was there a door. Behind the wall was a patch
of waste ground.
    Mr. Berger returned to the front door. He banged on it once
with his fist, more in hope than expectation of an answer. He was unsurprised
when none came. He examined the single keyhole. It did not look rusted, and
when he put a finger to it, the digit came back moistened with a hint of lock oil.
It was all most peculiar and not a little sinister.
    There was nothing else to be done for now, Mr. Berger
thought. The night was growing steadily colder, and he had not yet eaten.
Although Glossom was a quiet, safe town, he did not fancy spending a long night
outside a darkened lending library in the hope that a spectral woman might
emerge so he could ask her what she thought she was doing throwing herself
repeatedly under trains. There were also some nasty scratches on his hands that
could do with a spot of antiseptic.
    So, with one final look back at Caxton Library, and more
perturbed than ever, Mr. Berger returned home, and the Spotted Frog was
deprived of his custom for that night.

CHAPTER
SEVEN
    Mr. Berger returned to Caxton Library shortly after 10:00 a.m. the next morning
on the basis that this was a reasonably civilized hour at which to appear, and
if the Caxton was still in business, then it was likely that someone might be
about at this time. The Caxton, though, remained as silent and forbidding as it
had the previous evening.
    With nothing better to do, Mr. Berger began making
enquiries, but to no avail. General expressions of ignorance about the nature
of Caxton Private Lending Library & Book Depository were his sole reward at
the newsagent, the local grocery, and even among the early arrivals at the
Spotted Frog. Oh, people seemed to be aware that the Caxton existed, but nobody
was able to recall a time when it was actually in business as a lending
library, nor could anyone say who owned the building, or if any books still
remained inside. It was suggested that he might try the town hall in Moreham,
where the records for the smaller hamlets in the vicinity were kept.
    So Mr. Berger got in his car and drove to Moreham. As he
drove, he considered that there seemed to be a remarkable lack of interest in
Caxton Library among the townsfolk of Glossom. It was not merely that those to
whom he spoke had forgotten about its existence until Mr. Berger brought it up,
at which point some faint atavistic memory of the building was uncovered before
promptly being buried again; that, at least, might be understandable if the
library had not been in business for many years. What was more curious was that
most people seemed to be entirely unaware of its existence and didn’t care very
much to investigate further once it was brought to their attention. Glossom was
a close-knit community, as Mr. Berger was only too well aware, for comments
about hallucinations and train delays still followed him as he asked about the
library. There appeared to be only two types of business in the town:
everybody’s business, and business that was not yet everybody’s but soon would
be once the local gossips had got to work on it. The older residents of the
town could provide chapter and verse on its history back to the sixteenth
century, and every building, old or recent, had its history.
    All, that is, except Caxton Private Lending Library.

    The town hall in Moreham proved to be a source of little
illumination on the matter. The library building was owned by the Caxton Trust,
with an address at a PO box in London. The Trust paid all bills relating to the
property, including rates and electricity, and that was as much as Mr. Berger
could find out about it. An enquiry at the library in Moreham was met with
blank looks, and although he spent hours searching back issues of the