The Phantom of Harlingen Library

It was a dreary December day when Annie MacClendon walked the few blocks from her home on Baynter Street to return a book, "The Cry of the Wolf" she borrowed from Harlingen Library. Harligen Library was a gift to the town of Minister from George Harlingen, a wealthy industrialist of the early 1800s. But Harlingen Library was like no other. It was a three story white brick building with a promiment portico supported by 3 gleaming, white marble columns. The exterior was nothing, if not imposing, as it rested high above all other homes and buildings in Minister. Minister was one of those off the beaten towns that had only a sufficient number of businesses to keep the 100 or so residents satisfied to keep their shopping, not to mention their basic needs locally sated. The interior of Harlingen Library was full of all of the books George Harlingen had collected over his 82-year lifetime. Wherever he traveled, he found at least a half dozen books. It had 3 winding staircases that had platforms where a patron could step off the platform and access books on the 2 upper levels. The Harlingen Mansion on Doridge Lane had been empty until a nephew, Donald Harlingen, inherited it in 1888. The Harlingen Mansion was no less elegant than the library that bore his family name. George Harlingen was obsessed with neatness and order. So just as in his mansion, library floors gleamed with polished wood and the wood paneled walls and book shelves never saw as much as a speck of dust. Even the two large heavy oak doors were highly polished and the brass lions' head door knobs gleamed. The library's first and second floors each had 200 books, a small alcove on the first and second floors where someone could be seated as they perused a book they wished to borrow. The building also had stained glass windows in a fleur-de-lis design in red, blue and green hues that cast a lovely shadow on each floor. Each floor had reading desks with 2 long benches for those wishing to make notes. There was a large, ornate oak reference desk but no reference librarian. George felt it was the responsibility of the book borrower to locate whatever references were needed and to be honorable and return the books. Suprisingly, no book was ever missing from the collections. Given the small number of residents and the fact that a book removed from a shelf left a trail to the borrower caused by a gaping vacancy, there was no need for a librarian either. George felt it would be best for borrowers to log in and log out in a journal that rested comfortably on the podium at the etrance. His expectations of honesty from borrowers in such a small town did not go unrewarded. Donald Harlingen saw to the upkeep through the trust George had left the library. Annie loved the library and as the only daughter of John and Anne MacClendon, she was almost as obsessed with reading as George Harlingen was with books. From winter to winter and spring to spring, Annie could be found walking from one floor to another, her long, tapered fingers lightly brushing over the books on the shelves until she found one she thought she might borrow. The third floor of the library had nearly as many as the other two floors with one exception, most of the books on the shelves on the third floor were either George's personal diaries or chronicles of his numeropus travels. Annie's parents never needed to worry about their daughter's safety. Most days, The library was empty except for an occasional patron or student. "Annie be sure to come home before dark. It looks as if we may have snow tonight," Anne MacClendon warned. "Yes Mother," Annie responded as she headed for the library. That was the last time Anne MacClendon would ever see her daughter again. At the library, Annie climbed a set of spiral stairs with a hand rail of carved wood heather branches until she reached the third floor. There were fewer book shelves but all were neatly lined with books of the same size. She passed the personal diaries and decided to read about one of George Harlingen's travels. It being early afternoon, Annie decided she might choose one of these books to borrow. She settled down on the polished wooden floor with a book George wrote as a young business man starting out. He first sought a business in Wales and Scotland. Annie read about his meetings with local officials and his overnight stays at local inns. She felt as if she was traveling with George Harlingen and was transported back to that place in time. She lost track of time and reading often made her drowsy. She slumped over and fell asleep. She dreamed she was in Scotland and was a servant girl at the inn were George Harlingen was a guest. "Annie take Mr. Harlingen's things to his room. It's the last on the right of the hall." Thomas Leister the inn's manager said. Annie dutifully guided the tall, thin man with the thick reddish mustache to his room. "Thank you, Miss," George said. He handed her a coin. "For your assistance," he added. Annie woke, shook herself and thought it was a dream. But the library was gone and only the hall of the inn remained. She was on the verge of tears. Somehow her dream was no longer a dream but real. She remembered the inn's manager downstairs and rushed down to speak to him. She flew s down the wooden stairs to the first floor. There was an eerie draft and yet a fire in the stone fireplace. She shuddered as she drew near to the flames. "Hello?" She called out. She heard her hollow voice echo as if in a chamber. Suddenly, the inn's Manager appeared seemngly out of nowhere. "What are you yammerng about?" he asked. , "I want to go back to the library from whence I came!" Annie said, "Library Missy? What are you talking about? This is the "Tartan Inn at Cavendish Moor." "No. No. The Harlingen Lbrary." "But Mr. Harlingen has no library. Are you unwell? You just took Mr. Harlingen to his room. Have you forgotten?" "What happened to the library?" Annie demanded, fear growing in her voice. She shook her head to waken from this dream. But, she was still in the reception area of the inn. "Lassie, we have no library in our village." Annie felt dizzy and nauseated. She had no idea what had happened between time she left home for the library and fell asleep. "I'll go back to the third floor and maybe will wake up. "Lassie where are you going?" the inn manager asked. "Back to the third floor where I had this dream!" Annie said. "We have only two floors, not three. And it's near closing time. Your father will be here soon to take you back home in the wagon." "My father has no wagon!" She began to cry. What had happened to her? She was in an inn she never saw before and speaking to an inn keeper with a thick accent. She'd had dreams before but always woke up. Now, she was terrified. She decided to climb the stairs to find the book she was reading before this dream. The inn keeper was right. There was no third floor but the book she was reading rested on a small table in the second floor hall. She hurried to fetch it. She felt if she could turn the page she bookmarked she'd be back in the library. Instead, the page she bookmarked now had a small, hand drawn sketch of her own face. The caption beneath read: "Annie MacClendon, daughter of Sean and Annabelle MacClendon. What followed scared her the most: "Born 1879. Died 1894." This just couldn't be! I'm alive! George Harlingen peered out of the door of his room. "Something I can help you with Lassie?" "I want to go home! My mother will be worried." "She knows you work here to help out with the family's finances." "I don't work here. I found a book about your travels and seem to have gotten lost." "I have been a guest here for several years. You were here for the past two years." "My dear lass, I think you are mistaken. Perhaps you have spent too much time reading fiction novels as young people do>" The inn manager said her "father" would be by to collect her in his wagon. She hastened down the stairs to the reception area to wait. Maybe her father would shake her from this nightmare. She sat down on a small wooden bench near the two heavy wooden oak doors at the entrance. Slowly the brass door knob turned just as Annie began to fall asleep.She slumped over slightly on the bench. John MacClendon and his wife walked through the door of Harlingen Library in search of their daughter, Anne MacClendon was in tears fearing the worst. "Anne, she has to be here. She probably fell asleep and lost track of time," John MacClendon said. "We'll search the second floor. That's where her favorite books are," he said. "Why not the third floor?" Anne asked. "She wouldn't have gone up there. It's only the history of the Harlingens." Harlingen Library on a sunny day always seemed cavernous and spooky. On a dark, snowy night, it was certifiably eerie. John and Anne climbed the spiral stairs to the second floor. Half way up, Anne paused. "What's the matter dear?" John asked. "Nothing. Just a little dizzy spell from the sharp curve of the stairs." "The second floor platform is just a few more steps. Can you make it there?" "Yes. It's odd though. I've never felt dizziness before." "As you say, it may be the sharp curve of the stairs. Let's go." When they reached the second floor, it was much colder than the first floor even though the first floor fireplace had already burned down to a few glowing embers. Anne shivered. "It is colder up here. Here, take my jacket." John removed his tweed jacket and placed it around Anne's shoukders. Anne stayed close by his side. She had an eerie feeling she couldn't explain. She didn't believe in ghosts. But somehow this empty library seemed strangely frightening. She felt the chestnut brown hairs on her neck stand up. As they turned toward the stained glass window, Anne shrieked in horror at what she saw. "Anne what on earth is the matter?" "Look over there on that bench. It's a phantom." "I don't see it." "Stand here where I am standing. Now do you see it?" "I see a shadow. That's all." "Look again. It's a phantom I tell you. Not a shadow." John squinted to see what his wife thought she saw. He saw it too. But it was not a shadow or a phantom. It was a just a silvery wisp that seemed to float toward the oak bench in the alcove under the stained glass window. Anne felt an odd chill as she and John tried to focus their eyes in the dim light. The library was never fully wired with electricity on the upper floors since lighting on the first floor provided the second floor with enough illumination and the library was never occupied after dark. Also the large windows during daylight hours flooded sunlight into all three floors. The library's east wing had large, arched crossed windows that were unusually wide and long, almost ceiling to floor. It was George Harlingen's eccentricty that his library should provide a full view for passersby in town. He had grown quite proud of his book collections. Whenever there was an opportunity, he would attend book sales whenever he traveled. "Anne there's no sign of our daughter on this floor." "But she must be here...John! Look! That phantom is gone. Did we let our imaginations get away do you think?" "Maybe Annie fell asleep and when she woke started for home." John said. "You kmow that's not possible. Not with that snow coming down."There's only the third floor. But she wouldn't likely go up there. She'd have no interest in George Harlingen's diaries," John said. "All the same, it can't hurt to search up there before we alert the town constable," Anne said. "I agree.I never realized how spooky this place was at night. That's why I think Annie tried to make it back home. I know this is frightening you terribly, Anne. But we will find her if we have to look all over town." "This library has not real closets for storage. Just the bookcases with the storage bins beneath them." "I hadn't noticed. That means there isn't a place where Annie wouldn't be seen clearly." The two climbed to the third floor. It was arranged pretty similarly to the other two floors with the exception that the book shelves had a small space in the center where large volumes were placed on special book stands. John walked over to the first one he saw and lifted it from its stand. "My heavens but this sure is heavy. Don't try to lift one. It has to weigh at least 20 pounds. What could George Harlingen possibly have to write so much in a diary about that it takes..(John looked around the room and counted) five large volumes." "Open the one in your hands and see what he wrote about," Anne said. "This one has old sepia photos and some drawings. Looks like designs. Oh wait, it's the design plans for this library. Here's something odd..." Jon's voice trailed off as Anne walked over to see what John thought was "odd." "It looks as if old George believed in hocus pocus. See? he built this third floor expressly as a place where he believed these books would keep him forever alive. It looks as if for a time this building was only two floors and was some kind of an inn. See where the third floor design was added?" "I remember something about there being an inn for wayfarers as a stop over on their way to Glasgow." Anne said. "George must have bought the inn in the early 1880s. That would mean he must have made some major renovations to the inn to turn it into a library. It explains the wide open spaces on the second floor. They were probably guest rooms." Anne shuddered. "I think we better speak with the Constable. It's clear our daughter is not here. She would have heard our voices by now." Annie did hear her parents' voices but she felt a if she had been swallowed up into one of those Harlingen volumes her Father found. Was it even possible she couldn't be seen by her own parents and if not, why not? She didn't understand why the innkeeper or the guest, George Harlingen thought she worked at an inn when she knew she was in the Harlingen library. John and Anne walked the quarter block to the Constable's office. It was in a building about three quarters smaller than the library. As they walked in the office, the room felt as cold as the library had. Anne shuddered. John put his arm around his wife protectively. They noticed a short, squatty man with a thick white mustache wearing a heavy winter coat sitting behind a large counter. John nudged Anne and they proceeded toward him. "We are looking to speak with the Constable. Are you he?" John asked. "Yessir I am Constable James Crocker. How can I help you?" "It's our daughter, Annie. She's missing." "Missing in such a snow storm?" "Yes. She left just after noon today to return a book to the library. We haven't seen her since," Anne said, on the verge of tears. "Have you checked the library?" "Of course! We went through all three floors and there was no sign of her," John said, stifling his annoyance. "Perhaps she is already back home. It could be she was late because of the storm," Constable Crocker said. "That's not possible. We would have seen her. There are only a few roads into town and besides Baynter Street is not far from the library. She'd have no reason to take a detour," John said. "It's almost white out conditions. She may have lost her sense of direction," Crocker said. John sensed the Constable didn't want to search in a snow storm. "You say she was in the library?" Crocker asked. "Yes." "Did you see the book she returned or the date and time she signed in the book register?" "No. But that could be because she was looking for another book and planned to sign the register when she left," John said. "Mr...."Crocker struggled for a name for the man and his wife. "MacClendon, John and Anne. We live on 113 Baynter Street. Our daughter is missing." "Mr. MacClendon, I always check all the buildings at 6 PM. The library is never locked. No need for locks. The library was empty. I checked it thoroughly." "All 3 floors?" John asked. "No need to check that 3rd floor. Nothing up there but Old George's diaries," Crocker said. "We checked the 3rd floor. Have you ever read any of those diaries?" John asked. "No. Besides, Old George always believed he would never really die if he could live in his books." Anne and John looked at each other knowing what their next question woukd be. "Anne and I both thought we saw something phantom-like sitting on a bench under the window." "Was it that large 2 story stained glass window?" Crocker asked, stifling a knowing smirk. "Yes. Does it make a difference which window?" John responded. "Sure'n it does. The stained glass window has bedeviled more'n a few of us." "What do you mean?" Anne asked. "Old George put that window in as a kind of joke. Ya'see with the dim light in that place, it natcherly makes odd looking shadows. Ya arn't the first to think you saw ghosts. But if ever you should hear the howling sound through the eaves, make haste and be gone." "Now what does that mean?" John asked. "That library has an old curse on it long before old George turned that Inn into a library. Some of the old town folks tell that there was a hanging in that Inn." John and Anne waited to hear more about the hanging. "Ya, the oddest tale I ever heard. Seems a young lassie who worked at the Inn waited for her Mama and Papa to fetch her at the end of her work day but there was an accident along the way and their horse was spooked suddenly and the buggy overturned on Cairn Street and both were killed when they were crushed beneath the buggy. When the lassie heard the news she ran up to the second floor room at the end of the hall and hung herself. It was George Harlingen who found her that very night. He always asked to stay in that room whenever he was in town. Some thought he cursed that room and was blamed for her death. That was why he had the third floor added when he bought it and some say he kept his diaries there to prove he was innocent of blame." John listened intently, even as questions popped into his head. He and Anne purchased their home over a decade ago. Cairn Street was just one block from their home on Baynter Street. Still there was much history he had not known. "What did you mean before when you said to flee if we heard a howling?" Anne asked. "Seems like it could just be wind drafts," John added. "Not wind of any kind I've ever heard. Folks say it's the lassie screaming." "This is all very well but our daughter is missing," John said. "With this snow coming down, it's likely your lass has found shelter. Try the church. The curate holds eventide services no matter what the weather is, She may have sought refuge in the church. Have you looked there?" "No. But you may be sure we shall," John said. John motioned to Anne that they should leave Crocker's office. "He never intended to look for our Annie," Ann said. "Well maybe Crocker is correct. We've got nothing to lose lookng for her in church." St. Andrew's Vicarage was a half block from the Constable's office and two buildings from Harlingen Library. The snow fall had gotten much heavier and John held Anne tightly as powdery snow fell on their faces and made it difficult to see more than a foot ahead of themselves. The door to St. Andrew's was unlocked just as the library had been. There was a register inside the church vestibule. They shook the snow from their outerwear and John opened the register and started to sign. "Anne, look at this. The names in the register go back almost to the founding of the town. Should we sign in? Not being congregants and all." "No, John. Let's just go inside and see if we can find Annie first." The church was simply designed. Like the library, it had pews that were highly polished wood and a center aisle that led to a slightly elevated altar. To the right was a statue of St. Andrew on a large pedestal and to the left, attached to the wall was a pulpit that was about 8 feet off the ground. The stairs leading to the pulpit curved sharply upward almost identical to the stairs in the library. Anne began her search from the last pew on the right side of the church while John searched pews on the left side. "John, it looks as if no one attended services here for a very long time." "Why do you think that?" "Look at the hymnals. They look almost new." "They may be replacements of the worn ones." Anne agreed that was a possibility. Still when she removed one, there was a smattering of dust. As she drew closer to the altar, she saw he same thing. They startled when the sacristy door opened and for a few brief seconds hoped their Annie would appear in the doorway. Instead, a wizened old man with a full head of white hair, dressed in clerical clothes started toward them. "No. Our daughter is missing, We thought she might have sought refuge here," John said. "No one has been here for many years. After the Vicar passed on, folks just stopped attending services, such folks, that is, as were still living in town." John and Anne were puzzled. There seemed to be quite a few folks still living in Minister. "We live on Baynter Street and have several neighbors,"Anne said, "Baynter Street? That's near Cairn Street where that terrible accident occured. You remember? It was a night like this, snowy but with a heavy fog. That's why the buggy overturned and the man and woman were killed. Folks say Cairn Street is bedeviled and ices over faster than other roads. A double tragedy it was.They were about picking up their young lassie. She worked half a day three days a week at Tartan Inn at Cavendish Moor. It's just half a block down the main road." John and Anne thought the curate's memory was faded. "It's Harlingen Library, you mean, don't you?" John asked. "Library? There wouldn't be much need. Folks don't attend church services. No need for a library. But George did say one day he would settle in Minister and build a proper library for his many travel books. Some folks thought he had his eye on that property over on Doridge Lane. After the Inn tragedy, he disappeared from Minister. Some say he felt the lassie's suicide was his fault. He was staying at the Inn that very night when the accident happened and the lassie killed herself." "How so?" John asked. "He asked her to help him and she was a bit late finishing up. He felt if he had not asked for her help, she would not have done herself in. She would have started for home and her Mom and Dad would still be alive." "Still? How would she "still" be alive after all these years? That happened a half a century ago!" Anne said. The curate was puzzled. A man and woman walk in out of the snow and claim their daughter is missing. Missing? Or, disappeared? "Did you folks sign the register in the vestibule?" he asked. "No. We wanted to see if our daughter was here," John said. "Well as you see, the church is empty. Before you leave, please sign the register." The curate disappeared almost as quickly as he appeared. They headed for the vestibule and John started to read the register just in case Annie signed in. He flipped the pages back to the last page. "Anne! Look! Annie's name is not here." "Does that mean she never came here? It started to snow about a half hour after she left. It only takes about ten minutes to get here. Perhaps she was so engrossed in something she was reading that she dozed off and when she woke, she saw the snow had gotten worse." "But she wasn't anywhere in that library. We looked everywhere. Let's go back to the library. We will never get back in this," John said. He diverted his attention to a page in the register. He flipped past several pages. "Oh John, let's go. Or we'll be stuck where we stand in the snow." "Anne look at this" "What is it?" "The two names in the register on the second page...at the top." "Sean and Annabelle MacClendon? How can that be? Did you have a long lost relative who lived in this town?" "Not to my knowledge. Most of my ancestors lived in Glasgow. Let's hurry back to the library. Maybe our Annie will be there now." Back at Harlingen Library, John had to move a foot of show the wind had piled against the door. Once inside, he lit the fireplace and the wood stove to keep his wife warm. "We're lucky someone thought to keep the wood box loaded. There's enough wood to get us through to morning," he said. Anne found a wooden bench near the fireplace and sat down shivering. She began to cry. "Anne we will find our daughter. I promise." John wanted to reassure his wife but sitting there in that room with the oppressive odor of wood and wood polish, he felt nauseated. Where could Annie be? He decided to venture to the third floor. She had to be there. It was the only room that had no windows in the alcove nor a small blustrade for a landing that overlooked the second floor. "John where are you going?" Anne called. "I'm going up to that third level. There may be a hidden room or closet Annie somehow got locked into. You know how eccentric people were back then. They were always creating secret rooms behnd hidden walls." "John I want to go wth you. Please don't leave me alone down here. This place is eerie." "Well come along." There was a reason Harlingen Library was always empty. For many decades the town rumor was that it was haunted. The rumor went around that somethng strange happened to anyone who ventured up to the third floor. The claim was that there were books on those shelves that had the power to make patrons sleepy and fall into peculiar dreams. Shortly after George Harlingen died, people went missing. The logical conclusion was that Minister was not a flourishing town and the missing just packed up and left without a word of farewell. The first to disappear was James Bowman, a former blacksmith who never married and fellow townspeople believed was a loner who was all to aloof and distant. Thus, few got to know him outside of his business. Though a voracious reader of travel books, he rarely left Minister. It was rumored he tired of living in a small town and just got wanderlust. That seemed a satisfactory explanation until Delia Mallen disappeared a few years later and was last seen entering Harlingen Library. Delia was a spinster who spent her life under the control of her somewhat mad mother, Catherine. When Catherine died of the complications of old age, Delia entertained the companinship of Wallace Smythe. As usual, Wallace and Delia managed a mild town scandal when she allowed him to move into the homeshe inherited from her mother, along with a tidy financial sum. There was no surprise when Wallace disappeared. He had an affinity for betting on horses and townspeople assumed he took off with Delia's money. But when Delia disappeared, at first it was believed she joined Wallace. Still, she was last seen entering the library. The natural conclusion was that she was researching for her travel plans to join Wallace. Then there was the final straw that linked all the other disappearances. After the suicide at the Inn and the accident on Cairn Street, it was just possible that the rumor about the phantom of Harlingen Library became town history. "John, what are you doing?" "John? Why don't you answer me? You're scaring me." Anne had the oddest feeling as if John had been swallowed up in a hidden niche. She moved about the third floor on tiptoe until she came to a book on the floor. "John? Where are you?" She bent over to pick up the book. It was quite old and appeared to be a diary of some kind. She carefully fingered the cover to see the title of the book. Her face went white when she read the title, "The Cry of the Wolf." That was the book Annie had returned. She was here! Anne felt a sudden chill. Had John found Annie? "John, John! Please answer me!" Anne's voice echoed throughout the library chamber. The answer never came. Terrified, Anne fell into a faint with the book in hand and the rhythmic sound of the howling winds outside. "Annabelle! There you are!" Sean MacClendon called. "Annalee is here. See? She is finished her shift. Let's go home."