While The Spoke (and Emory University as a whole, see Eagle Hall’s renaming) thinks that dredging up history is a waste of time, a special exception must be made for an ancient journal The Spoke recently recovered from the Rare Books Library. While the journal seems normal from the outside – titled CHEM 150 Notes, laden with tear stains – its contents provide an enthralling tale of a brave student’s eerie trials and tribulations on the eighth floor of the Woodruff Library. Now, for the first time ever, The Spoke proudly presents the first published version of this journal, offering readers a haunting glimpse into Emory’s dark and mysterious past:
My name is Steven P. Age. To whoever this journal finds, it is currently around 9pm on October 9th, [note from The Spoke: the year unfortunately got smudged out and although details in this journal make it chronologically impossible for it to be really old, pointing it out would make you a nerd]. The frat I recently joined (you know the one) took up some rather unorthodox hazing activities. They told me that somewhere in the new Woodruff Library was one copy of John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars and I had to find and read it front to back without “crying like a pussy.” As I turned the final page, narrowly avoiding breaking down, a loud alarm sounded. Before I realized it, the bookshelf walls were closing in on me. Any other day, I would have been able to outrun this new technology; however today was my only leg day of the month. Before I knew it, my left arm was trapped betwixt two bookshelves. Now that you know how I got into this predicament, I will be using this notebook to document my time here in case I don’t make it out to tell my tale.
It feels like it’s been an eternity, but it’s really only been about an hour. I have an 8:30am tomorrow with graded attendance. Surely someone has to come to the 8th floor of Woodruff. Surely.
2 more hours have passed. In my attempts to wiggle my arm out, a small yet mighty book fell off the shelf directly onto my head. I thought I’d be safe from concussions at a school with no football team. Although the book contained hundreds of thousands of patents, when it hit the floor it opened up to the patent on the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile. This library mocks me.
It has been 3 more hours. Nothing has happened. I miss my family. I don’t miss the DCT. I need to make a CAPS appointment.
It is 7am. I jolted awake because I heard some shuffling sounds nearby. Unfortunately, in my slumber I pushed my notebook away and couldn’t reach it. I soon discovered the shuffling sound was a janitor passing by, who after I slipped him a 5 dollar bill, generously pushed my notebook back.
9 am. It is 9 am. I have been here for 12 hours. Some people read books. I’ve begun talking to them.
3 pm. Do you hear that? You are a notebook. You cannot hear. I can hear. I hear them all.
The clock stopped. Its batteries died. I am in the eternal hour. I hear it all – every creak and moan of the building, the strain of hundreds of pounds of paper and ink, bound by leather or cardboard. They speak to me. I am no longer just a footnote. I have become more than even this place’s appendix. These bookshelves need me. This building needs me. The whispers. They are so loud. THEY NEED
My pen ran out of ink. Have you ever tried unzipping a backpack with one hand? Not very easy.
A human. A student. Someone finally found me. They pressed the button to free me, and I started to feel the pressure on my arm ease up. As the shelves inched apart, we exchanged pleasantries. I revealed my major: business. The student, taken aback, hit the button again, trapping me once more. “You know, this actually might be for the best.” I’ve been entombed once more in my sarcophagus.
I woke up this morning(?) scratching my face with my left hand. I am free. While trying to comfortably lean against the bookshelf, my arm hit the button. I get to go home. As I am writing this I am in the elevator going down from the 8th floor. I won. I beat this library. I finally
What
That sound
It can’t be
[…]
Hour 4 of being stuck in the elevator. I should have checked out a book.
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