What was I doing? I was standing there with my foot stuck in the door, staring what I could foresee as certain death in the face. The shopkeeper.
"What are you doing?" He growled. It would be fair to say that I might have gotten under his skin.
"I... uh... I... want to buy a book." I stuttered, not even sure what I was even doing.
"We're closed." More growling.
"Well... my... uh... the door is still open a little. Could I... uh... just look around for a bit?"
More growling.
I almost thought that he was going to drive me off with a broomstick, or possibly something a little more painful, when he said the words that would continue my journey along the path that has led me to write down this story. It is quite late at the moment, so I might just get off to bed now. Oh, I need to finish this piece or I'll never get any rest. Anyways, my foot was stuck in the door, and I had just asked the devil of a storekeeper if I could interrupt his closing to look around for what only I knew to be... well, not even I knew what.
More growling. "You have five minutes. And I expect you to buy something."
He opened the door, and I scooted past him as quickly as I could and began to look around. Throughout the entire series of events that had taken place since I had shoved my foot between the door and its frame, I had heard the voice that had beckoned me to the shop. It still spoke to me, although in words so soft and muffled that I could not make out a single word.
Keeping my eye on the guardian of the old bookstore, I followed the sound of the voice until I found myself looking at the books that were stacked longways along the wooden shelves of shelf 7 L-R. The whispers were becoming louder, but still no more distinguishable. I felt along the unorderly collection of novels, some bound in paper, others with cloth-covered cardboard, until I found one that, although it seemed quite ordinary, stuck out to me like a king in the dirtiest of slums. Curious that that specific comparison would come to mind. My own mind must be getting ahead of me in this tale.
Anyways, I pulled the book out from under its companions, careful so as not to damage the fragile subject of my attention. I held it up to my ear. The voice was definitely emanating from the leather bound pages of this book.
"Good grief. He's a loony." I heard from the other side of the shop. I ignored him. "Alright, either buy what you have in your hands now, or get out before I go figure out where my shotgun is."
Knowing I had found what I was here for, I quickly made my way towards the front desk, where the obviously put out shopkeeper was waiting to remove my body from the premises, either with or without legal approval. I paid the price for the mysterious book, thanked the still scowling man, and scurried out the door.
I had the book.
But why?
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