This is the first short story that I created in almost four years. In that time, my poetry has being outgrowing the amount of my stories. The real-time tale that inspired the story is quite amusing. Whereas the moment after that event, I began writing the first two pages. This story is unlike any other that I wrote. Since age ten I’ve been reading classical literature and I’ve decided to put this in an elder form of English, and I’m only seventeen. This story is my groundbreaking one, a horror/suspense short story, unlike any of my mystery ones. But truly, if anyone thinks of it, all genres are interconnected into mystery. I hope the reader enjoys, for as all that I’ve shown are amazed at how well it is written. It is copyrighted so no stealing. Even though that it may look REALLY long, it is only fourteen pages long. I also did the cover art which took me just about three hours to entirely. Comments are greatly taken.
Each bookcase was almost as tall as the windows. Each of them was quite unique and by means of this, they were mahogany, yet they were also handmade. These bookcases were antiques and at a first glance, perhaps a typical man wouldn’t know the difference. As I looked into the books with close inspection, I noticed that they were of different languages. In examination, they were not only of English and of elder English but also of Latin, German, a few scrolls of the ancient Egyptian language. Other languages that even I could not understand were all located among this superior world of knowledge.
I grew a curiosity of what or who may this owner of these books be? A genius of superhuman abilities or did this man just study anything that needed to be studied? Did he just want to have a collection of ancient artifacts just for himself? I wanted to meet this person, if I could. I only wished the opposite in the present world of today. Right after I mentally asked if I could meet this person, I heard a voice behind me. I almost jumped out of my trousers.
“Seeking inspiration?” said a rather rusty voice.
I slowly turned around and saw a middle-aged man, perhaps in his early fifties, dressed in a full suit. The style would be from the Eighteen-Fifty’s, or so I guessed.
“Are you looking for a good form of enjoyment through literature?”
The man walked over to one of the bookcases and plucked a book out and handed it to me.
“So tell me, do you like the written word?”
“I do like to read sir. Pardon me, but what is your name”
The man chuckled.
“My name is Judge Gilbert Miller. I welcome you to my library. Come, let us get acquainted”
He ushered me into his office, by which it was a small room that was aside the library. He directed his hand for me to sit in the chair in front of his desk.
“So what may you wished to be called?”
“Judge, Judge Miller, or Miller” he was then reaching out for his wine cabinet and pulled out two glass cups and a glass bottle of brandy. He slowly poured out two helpings and handed me one. He sat down at his desk.
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