Outside the library, a cool autumn breeze swept a sea of leaves into the air, creating a whirlwind of the earth’s colors. A single brown leaf attached to a short stem was blown to the entrance of the cold, ancient, brick building, where it lay only for a second on the dull grey carpet before being crushed by a visiting patron. The girl, who was heading to the library for the second time that day, strode haughtily in without so much as a glance to any of the librarians who whispered indignantly to each other while they turned to look her way. She made her way to her favorite section, where the books she’d left lying about were still there, scattered like colorful fallen leaves on the floor. She chose to ignore them, and instead looked around the room for any brand new novels. A thin book at the top of a creaking shelf caught her eye, and she stood on tiptoe to see the title. She couldn’t quite see the cover, so she reached her arm out to take it down.
“Looking for something?”
The girl jumped and pulled her hand back in response to the voice behind her.
“Obviously,” she replied, returning to her usual self and turning around. The librarian speaking to her had thick lenses on his glasses that dilated his eyes, and an armload of beaten-up books. He wore a navy blue, loose, robe-like sweater. His snow-white beard made him look like a wizard. She hadn’t seen him in the library before.
“Well, what are you hoping to find in an old library?” the old man asked, stroking his beard.
“An interesting book, one that I haven’t read yet,” she said informatively. “Do you have any?”
“Hmm. Very interesting,” the librarian said thoughtfully. He strolled over to the tall, swaying shelf of books and pulled out the one that the girl had been looking at.
“This book,” he said, examining the cover, “is an antique; it is very precious. I’m afraid you can’t check it out.”
“I’ll take that, thank you,” the girl interrupted, busy thinking about how cool it would be to take an antique home. If she couldn’t check it out, she would just take it directly home. No one would miss it, right? She yanked the book from the man’s hands and turned to walk away.
The old man scowled at the girl’s rudeness. How dare she take his book from him! In his mind, it was as bad as stealing a priceless treasure. His face darkened, making him look more like an angry wizard than an elderly librarian.
“I won’t waste my time arguing with you,” he growled stormily, startling her into turning around again, “You’ll be punished soon enough, you ill-mannered thing. But I’ll warn you: I wouldn’t take that book if I were you. Good riddance!” With that, the old man frowned upon the girl again and stormed away.
~????~
The old librarian couldn’t scare her, the girl thought defiantly as she took the smuggled book out of her backpack. She’d taken it from the library despite the old man’s “warning,” which she concluded was just a weird prank. And as for his wizard-like look, it was probably a fashion fad back in the olden days when he was young. So she had nothing to worry about, right?
One thing was for certain, though: the book was older than she’d thought. It was enmeshed in cobwebs and had a layer of dust that prevented her from reading the title. The girl flicked a small dead spider off the tangle of webs, trying not to shiver. She wiped the dust off the cracked cover with her sleeve and found that there was no text that might indicate a title. There was only a realistic-looking muddy green vine with several dead-looking leaves growing out of it. The leaves were varying shades of rotten-looking brown. The vine’s sharp, twisted thorns made it look almost savage. The only thing on the cover that appeared to be alive and fresh was a small yellow-green leaf that looked more recently added, somehow, than the other ones.
The girl opened the book to the first yellowed page and read the sloppy, curving line of text:
A warning from the writer of this book: Return this book now, and you may yet escape. But keep it, and you shall --
         An ink blot covered the rest of the sentence, preventing her from reading it.
Or I will what?  the girl wondered. She lifted her hand nervously to turn the page, and shivered at the cold breeze that entered through her slightly open window. She made up her mind to just read the creepy book quickly, and get it over with.
         The beginning of this book started with a thieving thief. Call it what you will: stealing, robbery, shoplifting, purloining, or simply taking. Whatever it was, if it involved taking something that was not his own, the thief was glad to do it. Material goods were taken, along with other people’s time; stealing time was as easy as leaving a mess on the floor and waiting for someone to neaten it. Even if it was as trivial and subtle as “forgetting” to return a borrowed fountain pen, the thief stole something every day. Whether he meant to or not is not important to this book.
         Now, it happened than on the 5,332nd day of his existence, the thief made up his mind to steal something from a particular book store that was quite famous among his local people. Strange, almost supernatural things were rumored to have happened there. Customers complained of spells and curses in the often expensive books they bought, and many sought to return them. The books were said to have souls of their own; the furnishings and decorations were said to watch over the store and guard everything in it, for the storekeeper hated to part with any of his books. The bookstore itself was located on the corner of a dark and dismal street, and in the fading afternoon light, its appearance was even more chilling than usual. But, despite all this, the thief still wanted a book. Selling one from this legendary store could make him quite a bit of money.
         And so, at exactly two minutes before midnight, he entered the bookstore through a certain back door that was left open. He stepped inside with caution. In the dim moonlight that peeked in through the window, little gnome knick knacks cast tall, quivering shadows on the shelves and the floor. A large vine grew from a pot and was looped among the ceiling beams, the tips of its thorns shining even in the dark light. Oddly enough, it had no leaves. A floorboard creaked suddenly.
The thief lit a stub of a candle and held it up cautiously. The flickering light caused the shadows to dance and move alarmingly. But he was alone, thank goodness. Now he could begin looking at the books. He would do it with speed, for the store was beginning to frighten him.
         The thief looked through the shelves and shelves of tales. Some were elaborately decorated, some had thick, creamy pages, and still others had glowing jewels on the covers. Eventually he shook his head in frustration. He needed something that would fetch a high price, yet would not be noticed if it was missing. An old clock ticked as the seconds passed. Five seconds, one minute, ten minutes. Then twenty minutes, thirty, an hour.
         Two hours had passed, and the thief was starting to tire. Why were there no suitable books for him to take? He rubbed his eyes and looked around the room. Something peculiar caught his eye. The vine had moved! The bulk of it was now piled on the ceiling beam directly over his head, casting an eerie shadow over his body. Gazing up at it, the thief shook his head in disbelief. Something was wrong, very wrong with this store.
         From somewhere above the ceiling, there came a sharp crack. The thief stood in place and flicked his gaze around the room. No one was there.
         The sound of soft footsteps could be heard now. Someone was coming.
         A strong gust of wind blew the window blinds wildly. A chill went up the young girl’s spine as it blew the old book closed. She made up her mind not to read any more. She could throw the book away the next morning, forget about all that had happened, and return to her life normally, she comforted herself.
         But, unknown to her, that would not happen. For while the girl slept that night, the vine on the cover twisted angrily and glowed. The little yellow-green leaf had already begun to wilt and droop.
~????~
         The young girl woke up early the next morning, still a bit skittish from the book’s tale. She didn’t want to keep this stolen book, nor did she want to go crawling back to the library and return it. She could bury it in the woods near the library. Yes, that was what she would do.
         After dressing, she stole down the stairs and out the door. Once outside, she held the book in her hands and examined the cover uneasily. Was it just her eyes playing tricks on her, or did it look different? She shook her head. She was probably just tired.
         After a few minutes, she reached the woods. It was dark and cool, and the early morning dew was still on the fallen leaves. The girl knelt down in these rotting leaves to dig a hole for the book. Suddenly she stopped. Perhaps she should at least finish the first story in the book before she buried it. It lay on the forest floor, ever so slightly open, as if imploring her to finish the story she’d started. Perhaps she should. It couldn’t hurt to read a bit more, could it?
         The thief’s heart raced as he froze with panic. He must act immediately! He could not bear to leave without a book, yet he could not risk being caught by the storekeeper. Looking down, he grabbed the first book he saw. The footsteps were louder and clearer now, and they were faster. He ran to the back door and tried the knob. It would not move. He was trapped in the sinister bookstore.
He looked about frantically, his heart pounding. He rushed to the front door. It was frozen as well. The footsteps were becoming so close that he could hear their echo within the walls. Yet he could see no human to whom they might belong. The vine above him shifted.
         All of a sudden, in a flash of light, a figure appeared. It was the storekeeper! But he did not look like an ordinary person. He wore a dark blue robe that had a faint glow. He had a pure white beard which he stroked with his aged hand. He was a wizard, and a very angry wizard by the look of his face. He scowled, and his glare intensified when he saw the book in the thief’s hands. His eye twitched furiously as he spoke.
         “You must be punished.”
         The vine grew thicker in response to his raspy voice, like an animal that obeys its master. It elongated, and grew larger and larger, its thorns sharper and sharper. The thief cried out for mercy, for he feared the dreadful end the wizard could deliver. His pleads did not soften the wizard, who waved his hand at the vine. It wrapped around the thief in coils, again and again, and it squeezed tight.
         When all was done, the wizard waved his hand once more. The single-leafed vine shrunk and flattened itself to fit on the cover of the book. It would stay there for many years to come, guarding it, and punishing those who dared to steal it.
         The girl gasped as the book closed by itself. It twitched, like a beast that still has a bit of life in it. Was the story true? Even as her mind told her no, the book at the girl’s feet twitched again. The vine grew thicker and popped off the cover, as real as could be. It grew, and kept growing until it was as tall as the trees. Its leaves flopped lifelessly in the wind as its thorns grew sharp and glinted in the light. She turned and ran, no, sprinted for her life as fast as she could. She thought her heart would burst with terror and regret. Why, oh why had she ever stolen the wretched book?
         The disgusting vine grew and grew, chasing after her. It circled her, surrounding her with its horrid dead leaves and twisting thorns. She cried out in fear, turning and looking around desperately for an escape. She found none, to her terrible dismay. A final cry flew from her lips as the mass of hideous vines engulfed her in claustrophobic darkness.
         The old wizard watched from afar as the last little leaf on the vine faded to brown and drooped lifelessly. Then, as the vine flattened itself and returned to the cover of the book, he disappeared.