Little Book-Keeper

By Ivanna Lalsangzuali

Anna was convinced that she must have multiple personalities, because every time she sat down to write something, her pen in her hand, she would feel like a completely different person. Lost in her own stories, she spent her days cooped up in the family library. ‘Spend some time with us’, ‘Please make sure to eat and sleep’, ‘Go out and play’, her family would try to coax her out. However, Anna loved the time she spent alone. She could sympathize with her family, they were worried about her because they loved her. But they were unaware that she was already happy. Writing made her so happy.

Father was a businessman. He was successful and handsome and rich. He provided his family with everything they could ever want. We’re so blessed to have father, Anna thought to herself at least five times a day. She had the privilege of having her own study library because of him. He was a provider for their needs and desires, so mother would cater to his every whim.

Mother is the sweetest person alive. She is the reason Anna was alive, the reason she could be herself. She was cheerful and sweet, and Anna loved her but sometimes she could be a bit much. Often intruding on her private time, this greatly annoyed Anna but mother was the only one who could see her when she was writing.

Little Sue, sweet little Sue. Anna adored her little sister, she was completely different to Anna in almost every aspect. Little Sue had wavy locks where Anna had straight hair, Sue was outgoing and friendly but no matter how Anna tried to go outdoors she preferred to be at home. Accordingly, Little Sue could not bear to stay cooped up in the library the way Anna loved to do. The only way one could tell they were sisters was through their eyes, they had big lovely eyes full of curiosity.

Anna was lost in one of her stories when there was a knock on the door, she quickly closed her book as the door swung open. She did not like it when people read her stories before they were completed. Anna lived through her stories, therefore she would isolate herself when she starts on a new journey. Little Sue popped her head in from the door that was slightly ajar, narrow enough to barely fit her little head. Anna could not understand Sue’s repulsion towards the study.

‘Hey Sue, something wrong?’

‘No,' Sue replied. ‘Its Father’s birthday today, Mother wants you to clean up and join us for dinner.’

Anna frowned as Sue quickly closed the door and left after relaying the message. She wasn’t thrilled with the news but she had to obey her mother, she recalled the last time she dared to disobey her parents and shuddered. She was restricted from the library for a week and made to stay in her room. It was awful.

It was a typically beautiful day outside, Anna did not care about it. All she wanted to do was write, and she still had time before father’s birthday dinner. Who should I be today? She thought to herself as her other persona began to take over. Wordsworth again? One of the Bronte sisters? She paused for a bit. No, today feels like Poe. To any other person, the day was definitely not a Poe kind of day, but Anna was not just anyone.

Minutes went by and Anna was carefully tracing the words in her book, only the sound of her breathing and the clock ticking could be heard. No one came to check on her or remind her of the birthday dinner, and Anna had completely forgot. She was immersed in her book.

‘My little book-keeper’, Anna’s father would call her. She discovered her inclination towards literature at a young age, she could spend hours on end in the library hence her father called her his little book-keeper. She would read and write during all her free time and wrote a number poems and stories, not confining herself to just one thing. Anna loved to write in ink, and father happily supplied her with an abundance of it. Anna always received support even when she was at loss for words.

Minutes turned to hours and dinnertime arrived, but Anna did not show up. Father sighed, did his little girl simply not care about him anymore? After all he has done for her, he always provided everything he could. Mother and Little Sue looked sad after seeing Father so visibly disappointed. Little Sue got up and ran towards the library. The huge door creaked open, and mustering up all her courage Little Sue walked over her sister’s still body on the floor where she would always write. Mother and father sat quietly at the table, listening to the sound of Little Sue opening the door of the library, a second passed and they were jolted awake from their self pity by Little Sue’s piercing scream.

A week had gone by since Sue had found her sister’s dead body on the floor of the library, it was definitely the longest week she had ever experienced. A week had gone by since Sue received confirmation that her family was messed up. She was always aware of how different they were from others, so different from all her other friends. But her parents loved her, they cared for and provided for her anything she needed and wanted, and that made Little Sue happy. However, she would crave for more, she wanted to hear laughter inside their huge house, and she wanted a big sister who would play with her and care for her. Even then, Little Sue loved Anna.

Everything was different now. Sue hated Anna.

Little Sue walked over to Anna’s dead body and screamed at the sight that lay before her. There was her sister, dead as a doornail. The blood still spilling of the veins she cut on her wrist. Little Sue fell on the floor sobbing, her legs were too weak to run away, even her intense fear of the library and horror at the sight before her eyes could not make her move.

Mother and father arrived at the library. ‘My little book-keeper,' father kept repeatedly muttering under his breath as mother embraced Anna’s lifeless body.

The library was a mess. Anna had taken every single book and traced every story from word to word. She would fancy herself as the different writers and live through their stories as if they were her own, and when she ran out of books and ink, Anna snapped. Using her own blood as ink, her last words were the blurred lines, ‘All out of ink, words have failed me’.

The little book-keeper haunts the big hall, unseen but very much there. The guardian of both written and unspoken words.

By Ivanna Lalsangzuali