The Librarian by Mr. Peanut

I’m trying to remember whether I told Miss S

I would eat her first born because I don’t have any other explanation for the look she’s giving me.

After racking my brain for a few seconds I come to the conclusion that I definitely didn’t. I just asked her where the physics section was — so why is she looking at me like that? The inner corners of her brows point toward her nose like arrows, like they’re telling me to look at her flared nostrils — as if I wouldn't know she’s about to lose it without this detail. Her jaw is set so tight she could grind her teeth to dust any second— at least that would break the mortifying silence that has settled between us. God knows I’m not breaking it myself — I wait for her response completely still as her sharp gaze pins me in place, shrunken pupils pointing at me like daggers and who in their right mind would speak while being held at knifepoint? But it turns out the woman isn’t going to speak, instead, she points to some bookshelves, her stare never leaving me.

I try to thank her before sitting down but as soon as I open my mouth she shushes me with such fervor spit flies right to my face. As I try to focus on my project I suddenly get a sense that I’m being watched. Looking to my right I spot Miss S, staring at me with the same expression. Gosh, what did I do wrong? I don’t even know her name for Christ's sake! Everybody just calls her “Miss S”. I wonder if the “S” stands for Satan… I try to hide behind the textbook, and when I look back up she has a cup in her hands. The room fills up with the sounds of slurping; I assume she’s still wearing that grimace and it makes it harder to sip like a normal person. I try to give her a tiny smile as an offer for peace. When she sees this, the cup drops from her hands and shatters into tiny pieces, the brown mass of coffee spilling everywhere. I stand up to help her, Satan or not — She's still an old lady who needs help cleaning, but as soon as I try to move I’m frozen in fear as she fixes that glare back on me. Instead of trying to clean up, she paces towards me, her steps loud and deliberate, and, for a second, I think she might break the floorboards. This whole time i thought I did something terrible to her to deserve this treatment, but now I understand… she’s the one who’s capable of eating my first newborn. Or scratch that — she looks like she’s about to eat me. I briefly sigh in relief when she walks past me only to notice her standing behind the bookshelf to my right. The shelf starts to lean forwards and I don’t have any time to react before it falls on me.