Library of Inspiration

Library of Inspiration

By E. M. Areson
Photo By Christophe Maertens

When she saw the old farmhouse sitting next to the cornfield of ripe corn, on an early February morning she knew she’d found the place she was looking for. It was cold and the wind seemed to make it twenty degrees colder. The farmhouse was crisp white with a bright red roof and trim. It seemed to have several doors and all of them were painted a different color. The yard too, what little of it wasn’t part of the corn field, had green grass. Light came from many of the windows and a sign painted on the front read, in big letters, MAZE MOTEL, ROOMS ALWAYS AVAILABLE.

She walked towards the blue door she guessed was the front door. It was closest to the road and looked friendlier than the other doors. She cupped her hands together and blew into them. Her jacket seemed to thin for this weather, and once again she wondered what she was doing. She tried to think of what the weather had been like when she’d left home, but her thoughts muddled as she tried to remember. Shaking her head, she stepped into the yard.

Once she had fully stepped in she felt the warmth. She smilled feeling it sink into her flesh. Finally, her tennis shoes weren’t just a cold brick encasing her feet. She stratened the t-shirt she was wearing under her jacket an hopped she didn’t look like a runaway. She wasn’t a runaway, at least, she didn’t think she was a runaway. Her homelife was another thing she couldn’t remember.

She stepped onto the porch and approached the door. Her stomach twisted into new shapes and she wondered what to say. Even though she was warmer now she shivered once, an uncontrollable reaction. The blue door was the color of the sky on a clear day, and it had a white door knob. She looked and couldn’t see a doorbell. If she wanted in, she would have to knock. Somewhere, behind the fog that separates her from her memories she thought it was ironic, but she didn’t know why. Gathering all the courage she hopped she had, she knocked on the door.

She weighed for a minuet as she heard someone run to the door. If was quickly opened by a smiling teen boy wearing nothing but a pair of pink basketball shorts. The smile vanish, obviously he’d been expecting someone else. His mouth dropped then looked like he was trying to say something. He then ran and hid behind the door.

“I- Uuuu. Hi. Ummm. I...uuuu. How are you? Ummm. Please some in.”

She walked into the house and he ran off down a hall to the right. She was in a big living room, across from the hallway was a staircase that lead up to a second floor loft. Dozens of kids, teen and twenty somethings littered the couches and wandered around. Those who were looking were laughing their heads off but most were just doing there own thing.

One girl stood on her entering, she was shorter by about a head and yet, had a presence that made her seem greater than her height suggested. She had short, golden curls that didn’t even touch her shoulders. Her soft pink shirt matched her orange skirt in a way that didn’t look like it should work even though it did.

“I’m Cindy. Who’re you?” She held out her had to shake.

“I...Uuu…” Her name was one of the anything lost to the fog in her mind. Then unexplainably she found herself shaking hands and saying. “My name’s Maybell.”

“That’s a cool name.” Cindy pointed to the hall, “You probably need to see the curator. Come on, she’ll get you a room.”
“Okay.”

The girl, whose name was apparently Maybell, followed Cindy down the hall passing five or six doors of all different colors. Finally Cindy stopped in front of a teal door with green infinity symbol on it. Cindy knocked three times then waited. The door opened to an office, with a middle-aged woman at a desk in the back.

“See you,” Cindy said then she walked off down the hall, heels clicking behind her.

“Come on in.”

Maybell, or whoever she was, tentatively stepped into the room. She looked for the person who had opened the door and found it was just her and the curator. This disturbed her, and once again the shiver came over her. She looked more closely at woman she was sitting with a folder of papers in front of her. She looked relatively undisturbed by the intrusion, as if it was expected. The room itself was the same color as the door. There were two matching chairs in front of the white desk were the curator was sitting.

“Please, take a seat.” Maybell chose the one to the left of the woman.

“So, are you here with questions about the corn-maze? Or are you a different kind of person?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think I’m interested in the corn-maze but I don’t know what you mean about being a different kind of person.”

“Do you remember the day you were born? Have you ever do something unexplainable? Have you ever talked to animals, plants or non-humans? Can you predict the future. Can your thoughts of good or ill hurt or kill someone? Are you able to curse and bless people. Do certain things attract to you? Have you ever been poisoned or poisoned someone else? Can you fly, breath underwater or photosynthesize?” The curator resisted the questions as if she was asking something as mundane as eye color.

“I don’t know… I can’t really remember all that much.” The girl who thought her name was Maybell replied.
“Well then, what do you remember?”

“Not that much. I think my name is Maybell, but I’m not totally sure. I know that sounds weird but, I just don’t. I think this place is where I’m supposed to be, but I don’t know why.” She rubbed her fingers together, they felt cold even though it was a comfortable temperature in the room.

“Hmmm.” The curator set back. “Interesting.”

The girl who thought she was Maybell looked down. At least she was interesting, she could be something or someone of importance. Then the thought hit her, she thought something before someone. Did that mean something was wrong. The tendrils of an idea began to form, slowing swirling inside of her. She tried to speed up the process but only succeeded in shattering the image.

“Well, I think you belong here. But since there is no clear indicator of your place the rules of the Collection say you must find at least ten supporters from the borders, but I won’t make you leave quickly. I’ll give you time to get your supporters.”

“Thank you. May I ask your name? Cindy just called you the curator.”

The curator looked down, “Actually… I’ve forgotten it. Cindy will take you to your new room. I’m sure you’ll find this place makes a wonderful home.”

“Okay,” Maybell stood. “Do you think I can call myself Maybell?
“Dear girl, what else is a name but what we call ourselves and others?”

Maybell, now determined to keep a name for herself, went to the door.  She was a couple feet from it when it opened, showing only the empty hall. Maybell looked over at the door. The infinity symbol on the door wasn’t the only symbol. Inside each loop of the infinity was an eye. The one on the right winked at her making her jump a little. She hurried out and the door shut behind her.

“Hay.”

Maybell, still startled from the winking door let out a little cry.

“Sorry,” The boy who’d answered the door came fully out of one of the doors to her right. He wasn’t wearing only pink shorts anymore, instead he was in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt.

“It’s okay.”

“Look I...uuu… I didn’t mean to- I thought it was my friend Alden...I…”

Maybell smiled a little, “That’s okay.”

“Good. I’m Hanitril,” He held out his hand to shake and Maybell took it.

“I’m Maybell, nice to meet you.”

“Same,” He let go of her hand. “Are you staying?”

“Yeah, but I need backers. What exactly does that mean?”

Hanitril smilled, “Means ten people need to say they want to stay. I’ll be one if you want.”
“I’d appreciate that, I don’t really know anyone.”

“You know Cinderella,” He said it rather plainly but something within Maybell stirred and she thought it was very strange for a girl’s name to be Cinderella.

“You mean Cindy?”

“Yeah, I always call ‘er Cinderella though. You know, same difference. Plus Cinder has the same name, so.”

Maybell nodded.

“I’ve got a couple guys I know who’ll jump at the chance to back ya. I’ll go get ‘em.” He nodded and then went back in the room he’d just come out of.

Cinderella, something wasn’t right about that. Two Cinderellas, that was even weirder. Maybell went back down the hallway and looked around for Cindy. She saw her going out a back door, this one was black. Maybell followed, as if pulled by something she both couldn’t remember and couldn’t forget. The air was still cool when she opened the black door. It lead nearly straight to the corn maze.

The ground was frozen mud and yet the corn still looked as though it had just been cut like that for hallows-eve festival. Cindy was at the entrance to the corn maze, she seemed very stiff and with a near mechanical motion she entered the maze. Maybell hurried to follow, she wondered if she should call out but the idea felt wrong somehow. Why exactly, was yet another mystery to her.

Entering the maze Maybell had a strange sensation of something slipping away inside her gut. It was a bad, unsettling feeling that made her feel like something important was slipping away from her and she might never get it back. It was at that moment that Cindy vanished. Maybell blinked, she must have saw wrong. Hurring to the spot where Cindy had been. There was a trap door. Somehow going out the black door led Cindy and her straight here.

Maybell made a choice, “I’ll find you Cindy. I promise you that.” Then she opened the door and climbed down into the unknown.

Hanitril burst into the curator’s office. “Curator! Cinderella, Cindy, it was her time!”

“Hanitril, I’m surprised. You’ve seen many people come into their time.”

“Yeah but Maybell followed ‘er into the maze!”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm! She’ll never find ‘er way out! You should know better then anyone. Let me go after ‘er so she doesn't stay in there forever.”

“Be careful, there are things in the maze even the peanut butter can’t control.”

“Thank’s Curator. I’ll get ‘er out in no time.” Hanitril yanking open the door and rushed out ignoring the door’s angry squeak at being treated like a normal door.

The curator thought for a moment. Then she rose and walked to a bookshelf, she stroked several covers before she pulled out an old copy of Moby Dick. The sight of a white whale jumping out of the water greated her, it was a side view with no ship or mad-man in sight. The great whale’s eye was closed and she gently stroked the cool, leathery whale.

“Moby. Wake up, I have something for you to do.” The whale opened his eye. “I’m sending you into the maze, there’s a girl looking for someone who’s time came. See what you can do to help her.”

“Help her out?” The white whale asked.

“No, help her find what she’s looking for. If she’s who I think she is she’ll find it before she needs to get out.”

Once she was under the corn maze, Maybell realized just how cold and dark it was. The light came only from naked light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. It wasn’t only the temperature that felt cold. The course carpit and the far out of sight walls added to the unwelcoming feeling. She looked back up to the ladder she had climbed down from the corn maze with. It was no longer there.

In shock she stepped back and nearly lost her balance the dark was remaking itself. Or maybe she was just seeing past it. Weather the difference between the two thoughts really mattered or not the change itself did. Now she was surrounded on three sides with walls less the a foot away from her. They were tall, gray walls. So tall in fact that even though she could see the light bulbs hanging down only three feet above her from their long wires, she couldn’t see the ceiling.

“But I only climbed down a couple feet.” She whispered.

Only one way left to go now her feet took her even though her mind wasn’t truly keeping up. She suddenly felt the pulling feeling again but this time it was a pull up, like a bubbling of her ribs. As she continued down the only path she could find, winding left and right, she discarded her fear. She was still cautious but something in her had accepted and filed away the strange maze as simply another part of life. Maybe it was because she had so few memories, or maybe it was something else she couldn’t name.

Suddenly a breeze, or something like that, blew through the long hall. It wove round her and twisted her hair behind her. It pushed against her rolling over her skin like water washing away something, not dirt, maybe sanity. That made since, she spread out her fingers and breathed deep. Yes, sanity, but not gone, merely re-imagined. A deep pleasure filled her. Something clicked and what could and should have been her mind fell away. This was right in the deepest and truest sense of the word.

If she really was normal, she was a kind of normal people were never told about. What could compare to this feeling? What love could be more lovely? What passion could be more fulfilling? This was what it meant to be happy and herself. What little she remembered was not really her. This was her. Everything else she lived and loved was fake compared to this. She felt self-love, not out of vanity, but because she was herself.

Her skin began to tingle and she shivered once. Now it didn’t bother her though. Walking on she both saw and didn’t see the world around her. It was amazing seeing possibilities, ideas, concepts and stories. Worlds of infinite possibilities were in her mind. Nothing was impossible. She could be anything.  

Suddenly the wind stopped and the hall opened up. The room was an average size, she supposed but it was rather hard to tell because of all the two-sided metal bookshelves that filled the room. Old laundry baskets were sitting around many of the bookshelves, filled with books. There were boxes of books on top on the bookshelves and books on shelves on the wall. The room almost looked like it was made of books. Several pulpits around the room held closed books.

On one of the pulpits, like a icon to knowledge, was an old book. It was the closest to her, only an arm length away. It had a giant white whale on the cover, its great eye open and looking over at her. It was rather odd, the whale looked as though it would make more sense if it was looking ahead. And yet, it looked at her. She approached holding her hand up as if to stroke the binding, but refrained.

“Hello.”

It was a simple greeting and yet it made Maybell scream, she backed into a bookcase and nearly toppled it. “What in the world!”

“That’s a nice way to greet something. I’ll have to try it sometime. Screaming when something introduces itself. Hmmpp.” The whale frownd, which looked both odd and rather funny.

“How can you do that?”

The whale rolled it’s eye. “I’m a talking book. That’s how, you’re rather rude you know that.”

Maybell stepped forward towering over the book. “Who are you? You don’t have a tile.”
“Of course I have a title, it's on my spine. I’m Moby Dick. And no, I will not talk like a pirate or curse like a sailor. I’m a very civilized whale you should know. It was Ahab's fault they all die in the story. He was hunting me after all.”

“You’re a talking book named Moby Dick. I’ve seen it all.” Maybell shook her head.

“Hmmpp. If you think you’ve seen it all when you see me it only shows you’ve seen nothing at all. What are you doing here anyway? Looking for something?”

“A friends of mine vanished. I’m trying to find her. Her name’s Cinderella but everyone calls her Cindy.” Maybell pushed a strand of her hair back out of her face.

The whale rolled its eye. “Now that’s unusual.” It said very sarcastically. “If you carry me I should be able to help you find where she went.”

“How would you know?”
“Because they all end up in the same place. Now carry me whale out. I don’t like having to use Ahab’s eye. It’s rather blurry.”

Maybell picked up the book, it was only about five inches wide and an inch thick. On the back she saw a rowboat of sailors, only one’s face was visible, Ahab, she assumed. The one eye that was visible, was shut tight.

“Careful!” The book warned, she held it loosely in her arm, trying not to cover the whale. “You’ll need to go straight out the door to your right. We better go to the peanut butter room first, it never hurts to have some. Plus its been to long since I ate.”

“You eat peanut butter?”

“Dear girl, everything in this library eats the peanut butter.” And no matter how she prompted, through countless halls and rooms that was all he’d say about it.

The library, which still seemed more like a senseless maze, was full of everything. Shoes were visible, usually after Maybell tripped over them, all over the floors. Hats set on piles of books and on pegs on the walls. Chairs, also covered in books, were in corners and more inconveniently in hallways. There were toys, puzzles, clothes, school supplies, windchimes, boxes of scrap metal, even an old car. And yet, more than anything was the books. She hadn’t realized this many books were in the whole world, they covered nearly everything and had made travel nearly impossible.

“What’s up with all this stuff, Moby?”

“Well, this is the Library of Inspiration. It holds things that inspire. Fortunately or unfortunately depending how you look at it, everything and anything can and does inspire people.”

“Why is it all so unorganized? Shouldn’t a library be neat?”
“Normal libraries, yes, I suppose. But insperation is messy, and unrganized by its nature. The library and maze reflect that. Why would it be a maze if it wasn’t meant to be interesting? Hmmpp. You’re a strange thing indeed.”

“Don’t call me a thing I’m a person.”

“A person is a thing too, we are all things. Pieces of the universe. I’ll try and remember but I can’t help but consider everything as things.”

Maybell considered this, “I suppose it’s only natural to think of things in relation to yourself and your experience.”

“Hmmpp. You think do you?”
Maybell frownd, but of course Moby couldn’t see with Ahab’s eye closed. “So are you a whale or a book?”

“I’m both, and more. Things are rarely what they seem. I have complete knowledge of the story on my pages. I have the memories of all the characters and I feel when any part of the book is touched. I prefer to think of myself as a whale though.”

They turned and found themselves in a room filled with peanut butter. It was in jars of course, but also in barrels and in bottles. It was similar to the other rooms in that respect but in the center a giant stalagmite of peanut butter rose up to the ceiling. It should have been disgusting, but it wasn’t.

“What it the world?”

“Hmmpp. That’s the peanut butter mountain. What else would it be?”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu…” Maybell blinked at the mountain.

“It’s not that impressive.”

“I…uuuu...guess.”

“Stop dilly-dallying. Grab a jar. It’ll come in handy, plus I wouldn’t mind a snack. I haven’t had a meal in almost twenty years.”

“How do you even eat?”

“Well, I just do. I never really thought about it.”

She looked for a clean place to set Moby and finally decided on the top of a dusty, but clean barril. “So do I feed you? Or can you eat on your own?”

“I can eat on my own thank you very much. Hmmpp! Just set an open jar next to me, I’ll take it from there.”
Maybell grabbed a jar, and set it in front of Moby. A cloth bookmark wormed its way out from between his pages and with fascination she watched as it unscrewed the lid and then scooped out what was probably a spoonful at a time. After ever spoonfull the bookmark rolled itself up and the peanut butter disappeared as if it had been swallowed. She probably watched it work for about ten minutes. Moby closed his eye and smiled.

Maybell grabbed a jar near her, “How long do you think you’ll be?”

“Mmmm.”

“Moby?”

The bookmark scooped the last of the peanut butter into itself then wormed back into Moby’s pages. “I’m done. You can pick me back up now.”
“How do you do that?”
“Hmmpp. I just do.”

Maybell picked him back up, “Does that mean you poo too?

“Of course not!”

“Okay…”
She walked out of the room, “Where to now?”

“I don’t know. We’ll need to consult the five magic books of the library. They should know where to go.”

Maybell frowned, “I thought you knew where to go.”

“More or less, I just have to be sure. Take a left, right, left, left, climb the ladder and take another left and you should be there. Need me to repeat that?”

She couldn’t see his whale face but she was sure he was smirking. “You’re intolerable.”
“Hmmpp.”

She tried to follow the instructions as well as she could but despite her best tries she had to have the instructions repeated twice. Once Moby got over his gloting they made good time. Lefts, and right, up and down seemed to weave together in an unusual pattern that felt right. Everything was strange, but it was a strange that, as time passed, felt normal.

Finally they came to a room that was mostly clean. It was filled with the metal shelves like the rest of the library but it also had none of the other junk. It had a cherry carpet instead of the same brown and green that covered the rest of the floor, when the floor was visible, and the books here didn’t have as much dust.

“We need to find the third magic book, it’ll tell us what we need to know.”

“Okay, where is it?”

“In the laundry basket.”

Sure enough, there was a laundry basket at the end of one of the metal shelves. “Are they in order? How do I tell them apart?”

“I don’t know, the books are eternal. They chronicle everything in there own way. They are connected to the library. It is said the world will end when they are filled.” She set Moby and the peanut butter jar down on a shelf above the laundry basket. “The third book has the ability to answer any question about the library and offer good advice.”

Maybell looked at the books, the first two were very colorful, the last two black, and the middle one was white. She supposed that was the third book, she pulled it out. It looked ordinary enough, black letters announced it as The Book.

“Is it a Bible?”

The title changed to As I Lay Dying.

“Is that a no.” Maybell now addressed the third book.

The book now read, Ripley’s Believe it or Not.

“So you’re title changes to tell me what you want to say?”
Educated.

“So where am I?”
The Secret Garden.  Then quickly, The Library of Thieves.

“Okay who are you?”
The Giver.

“Of what?”

Wonder.

“Where is Cindy?”

The Secret Garden. The Library of Thieves.

“Where here?”
Where the Wild Things Are. The Land of Stories.

“How do I find her?” Bit by bit the lights where starting to go off in the distance.

When You Are Engulfed in Flames. The Sound and the Furry. Brave New World.

“So I need to look for fire, follow the noise and then I’ll find her?”
Firegirl. The Call of the Wild. Neverwhere.

“Something with fire, noise and a place?”

Atlas Shrugged.

“Am I close?” Maybell was starting to worry about the growing dark.

Getting to Yes.

The Forgotten Art of Building a Good Fireplace. Radio Underground. The Dollhouse.

“So I need to find a fireplace, or at least something with fire, follow the noise and find a building of some kind?”
The Best Yes.

“Where is it from there?”
Gone with the Wind.

“You don’t know?”
Up the Down Staircase. I Never Promised You a Rose Garden. Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

“Okay, up stairs, not in a garden. Where is she though?”
Paradise Lost. A Swiftly Tilting Planet. Silent Spring. The Shadow of the Wind. The Big Sleep. A Midsummer’s Night Dream.

“None of that sounds so good.”

We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live.

Something in Maybell felt satisfied at that answer even though she didn’t yet understand it.

“Can I leave now?”

Make Way for Ducklings.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Thank you.”
The title changed back once again to The Book.

Maybell set the third magic book back in its laundry basket between it’s other friends. She felt a chill as the lights outside the room finally disappeared she picked up the peanut butter, holding it out like one might a crucifix for a vampire. It was only after the thing began to enter the room she remember how Moby had said everything in the library ate the peanut butter.

As it came into the room she wanted to scream. It was a giant snake, but unlike a snake it had two arms. The snake-like-thing was white and had bright green eyes. In one arm it was holding something and with its other it reached for the lightbulb and darkened it. It looked up at her and Maybell prepared for it to strike.

“What are you?”

“Aaaa!” Maybell backed into a bookshelf.

“I’m Hermy. I’m a bookworm I’ve never met an Aaaa, before.” The bookworm replicated her scream with surprising accurately. “Do you have a name?”

“I”m Maybell. What are you doing with the lights.”

“I’m putting clothes on them. I heard a girl say something about the light bulbs being naked and that’s not proper at all for a library. So I made clothes for them,” He held out his hand, he was holding a box filled with tiny, odd shaped dresses and suits.

“May I?” She reached out a hand and he nobbed. She took out a little dress and laughed, amazed at the care and accurisy. “This is great.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t find any light bulb clothes in the outfit room so I made them. I’m glad you approve.”

She knew light bulbs didn’t actually need clothes but in that moment, looking at the bookworm, smiling with pride in his work, she didn’t care. If it had been a normal place she might have worried about the bulbs overheating and burning the outfits, but this place was too amazing, to magic, for something like that to happen. Somehow, she was glad there was something in the world that cared enough about how other things felt to put clothes on light bulbs.

“How many have you clothed?”

“Not nearly all of them, but I’m nearly done. Only a few thousand left. I make more clothes as I run out.” His tongue flicked out like a snake but it didn’t bother Maybell.

“Hermy, do you know were a fireplace, or at least something to do with fire is?” Maybell put the little dress back in the box.

“I know where Burning Rose is, he’s not too far. Is he what you're looking for?” Hurmy started moving around the room putting the clothes on lightbulbs, he was probably three times longer then she was tall.

“Maybe, I’m looking for my friend Cindy and the third magic book told me where to go.”

Hermy ran a hand along the tops of the magic books, “I pity the third book more than any of the others. It’s the most sentient, but it can never say anything original. I can only use the words of others to communicate. A thing never knows what it truly means. I think it must get terribly lonely.”

“But it's surrounded by other books.” Maybell then remembered Moby, who by the look of it was asleep, and tried to climb over Hermy's tail to get wake it up.

“Sorry,” Hermy movie out of the way as best he could. “Your right about being surrounded by books, but think of it like this. How would you like it to be unable to speak, or move, or make any noise or do anything yourself. The only way you can communicate is by holding up different signs and hope people understand your meaning. No way to communicate a new idea.” Hermy looked up with such sorrow in his snake-like eyes, Maybell wanted to cry.

“You’re right, that would be terrible.”

Hermy moved away from the third magic book and begin dressing the rest of the light bulbs. Maybell tried nudging Moby to wake him.

“Moby. Moby. MOBY.” She picked up the book and shook. “Wake up sleepy- Umm- page.”

“Hmmpp! Hasn’t anyone ever told to let sleeping books lay.”

“I alway heard let sleeping dogs lay, not books.”

“Hmmpp!” Moby opened its eye and looked out across the room. “Is that a bookworm?”
“Yeah, that’s Hermy. I’ll introduce you-”

“Nope. You know one bookworm you know them all. They have no unique personalities. They’re all the same. You may think they’re different, they have names all they’re own, they’re a kind of people. They are born and have children and they die, but they’re all the same. I’ve never known a bookworm to do one original thing,” Mody frowned.

“How many have you known?”

“Two.”
“Two? You can’t judge something just because you met two uninteresting ones!”

“Says what?”

“It's fine, Maybell,” Hermy said, she looked over and found he’d finished with the lightbulbs. “Very few people like bookworms. We seem to be very unpopular with the books in particular. Something about rumors of our ancestors eating them. Come on, Burning Rose is this way.”

Hermy left the box on top of a bookshelf and went out the door he’d come in from. Maybell reagusted her hold on the peanut butter jar. She tried following Hermy as best she could but because of his tail she couldn’t follow directly behind him. Several times she nearly lost her balance by tripping over his tail. They would both apologise instantly, and Moby would sigh. It wasn’t to far but Maybell still didn’t think she could have made it without help.

Then Hermy turned, “He’s in there, I don’t think I’ll fit in the hall so you’ll have to go ahead without me.”

“Hmmpp! Good riddance,” Moby said smugly.

“Actually, talking books aren't allowed past this point either.” Hermy smiled.

“What!”

“It’s okay Moby,” Maybell turned him to look at her, even though it was very awkward. “I’m sure Hermy will take you back to your shelf if you ask nice enough.”

“But-”

“I’d be happy to,” Interupted Hermy, taking Moby.

“He’ll eat me!” Moby wined.

“Did the other two bookworms you know eat you?”

“Of course not but-”

“Then Hermy won’t either. They can’t do anything original can they?” Maybell made sure the sarcasm was clear in her voice so as not to insult Hermy. “Will I see either of you again?”

“Probably.” Said Hermy at the same time Moby said, “Probably not.”

Maybell smiled, “Good luck with the light bulbs.”

Hermy waved as he began moving out of her way, “Good luck with your friend.”

“I’m blaming both of you if he eats me! Hmmpp!” Moby complained once again.

“Bye Moby, I’ll miss you too.” Maybell waved once more, then turned back to the narrow hallway.

She stepped in, it was even smaller than she thought at first. There was barely an inch on either side including overhead. No light bulbs lit up this hall but there were fingernail size pebbles embedded in the walls and ceiling that glowed nearly every color, shifting from one to another very slowly.

Then all of a sudden there was an alcove. In a normal place she would have thought she didn't see it until she’d nearly come upon it, but this wasn’t a normal place. In the alcove was a tree, twisted and with strange shaped leaves. It was a juniper tree, though how she knew Maybell couldn’t guess. There was a millstone under the tree and sitting on the millstone was a very beautiful person. At first she thought she must have heard Hermy wrong for calling this person, who must be Burning Rose, a he.

“Come in,” The voice however, was the voice of a teenage boy.

“Are you Burning Rose?” She looked in aw.

He was beautiful, probably more beautiful than a boy should have been. He had visibly long lashes and hair, it went nealy to his waist. He had skin that was so white, it was nearly see through. He was in a red tunic and paints that only went to his calves. His lips were an unnatural red.

“Yes, and I know what you’re thinking. He’s too pretty for a boy.” He said the last bit in a very convincing falceto.

“Well, yeah.” His eyes were so dark Maybell felt drawn to them.

“It’s my curse. My mother wanted a child with lips red as rose, skin white as snow and hair as dark as… some wood. I forget which one, but I was born male. So instead of being a beautiful daughter, I ended up being a slightly disturbing son. The shock of my being a boy killed her.”

“She didn’t know?”

“How could she be sure until I was born?”

Maybell shrugged, “Why are you on a millstone?”

“Very simply, I can’t untie it from my leg.”

“Why did you tie it to your leg?”

“So I could crush my step-mother.” Maybelle did a double take. “Long story. To be fair she did cut my head off and killing her was the only way I could turn back into a human. So, you know.” He shrugged.

“Not really.”

“I mean, she did cut off my head. It was only fair. Do you have a knife I could cut this with.” He held up a thin piece of twine.

“How did that hold a millstone?” Maybell reached over and felt the twine.

“I’m from a fairytale, for Grimm's sake! What do you expect, it to make since?” He said it so sarcastically she almost thought he was kidding.

“Are you kidding?”
“No.”

Maybell looked closer at the twine then at him, “Are you sure. I can’t tell.”

“I’m not kidding. Why don’t you believe me?”

“It doesn’t seem like its true,” Maybell crossed her arms.

He smiled like a little girl and obnoxiously rolled his eyes.

“Your kidding. I have places to find. Goodbye,” Maybell turned to leave.

“Wait!” He sounded like he was crying. “Don’t leave, I really am stuck.”

Maybell turned, “It's not that I don’t believe you, it's just I can’t tell if your kidding.”

“I’m not kidding. How can I convince you?” He sounded kind of desperate.

“I don’t know,” Maybell rubbed her arm.

“I will swear to you while literally on my mother's grave!”

“I don’t swear.”

He rubbed a hand through his hair, “Spindles, why not?”

“Are you swearing?”
“No, ‘cause you don’t swear.”

“I mean by randomly dropping fairy tale references into your sentences,” Maybell decided she didn’t like Burning Rose all that well.

“Uggggg. Please, cut this stupid twine!”

Maybell walked back over, just out of arm reach, “No.”

“Why!”

“If your here it's for good reason, besides. You killed your stepmother. I call this, karma. I mean, you’re literally re-incarnated. Have some peanut butter,” She dropped in in front of him. “Good day.”

“You evil stepmother! You’ll regret this.”

She continued down the hall, “I seriously doubt it.”

She continued down the dark hall and ran her fingers along the wall. The hall began to widen and soon her finger tips could not touch both sides at the same time. A odd humming sound came from farther down the tunnel and as she walked closer she realized it was music, though not from any instrument she could name off hand. When she came to a split in the tunnel with only a moment's thought she turned in the direction of the music.

The hall began to turn gently to the left and bronze double doors appeared a few feet before her. The doors were illuminated by torches on either side, revailing intricate carvings of people and monsters. In the very center was a gorgon head, whose snake hair was meant to serve as the door handles. She wasn’t disturbed by the place like she probably should have been. Insead, she was curious and without really thinking grabbed two snakes from the bronze gorgon head and pulled open the door. The doors were light despite their size and she pulled them open easily.

Maybell was awestruck by the room the doors had lead to. Two rows of columns on either side of the main space held up the ceiling, which must have been at least thirty feet high. In the center of the room was a giant tiered fountain with crystal water flowing down. But the things in the room that were most impressive, was the people.

They turned to her and Maybell couldn’t believe both the differences and the similarities. On one glance they looked identical, on the next they looked completely different. They all had the same skin and hair colors, but what colors those where Maybell couldn’t decide. There were nine of them, each in a white dress of an unusual design.

“Who are you?” Asked the tallest, she wore a gold crown and was holding a scroll.

“Maybell.”

“What do you want?” Asked another, she was holding a tragedy mask in one hand and a knife in the other. She didn’t look very threatening though, more dramatic than anything.

“To find my friend, Cindy.”

“Why do you care?” Asked one of them sitting riggedly on the floor with a finger to her mouth.

“Because she’s my friend.”

“What is friendship, such a thing has never made an empire.”  A different one said.

“Okay well then who are you?” Maybell crossed her arms.

“We are the Nine Muses, and I am Calliope.” Said the first one.

“Do you know where a staircase is?”

“That depends, there are many. Which god do you serve?”

“I don’t remember…” Maybell wondered why this botherered her so much when she thought about it.

“Then come,” The first muse lead her through a doorway in the back Maybell hadn’t noticed before.

The next room was both huge and circular, with what must have been thousands of doors going off in every direction. There were some big enough to walk through and others only the size of her fist. Each door had the name of a god or goddess over it.

“Chose who’s path you want to walk. Very few paths are safe, though all will lead you where you want to go. They are the gods of Greece and Rome, the greatest of all civilizations. They are, however, rather petty. Each will take or require something from you.”

“Are they all that bad?”

Calliope considered for a moment. “That can depend on many things, but usually the mortals around them do not fair well.”

“Who do you worship?”

Calliope smiled faintly. “I’m a minor goddess. I cannot worship anyone, I’m nothing more than a collection of inspiration anymore. I believe in Eternal Truth, but as far as these gods I worship none.”

“If your real does that mean other religions are wrong?”

Calliope shrugged, “Like I said, I believe in Eternal Truth, but I’m also a goddess. There are many religious figures in the Library. After all what inspires more than faith? But one fully right and one fully wrong, I cannot say. I don’t even know the real name of what I believe in, for I was imagined without the wish to worship something real.”

Maybell pondered for a moment with thoughts and questions so deep she didn’t know how to ask them, “Who do you think I should worship?”

“I think every person must decide that for themselves, however, you don’t need to worship. You only need to chose a path.” Calliope motioned around the room.

“Surely there is someone here you would deem safer than another.” Maybell looked at some of the names. Zeus, Hera, Apollo, and Artemis, all familiar and yet none felt right.

“Think Hestia would be a good fit for you.”

“Hestia,” The name sounded better than the others. “I don’t know anything about her off hand.”

“She is the goddess of the home fire. In a community she traditionally would have a fire that if anyone in the communities fire went out they could get it from her. Whenever new towns were started they would take a little of the fire from there home town to put in the new one as a sign they were always connected.”

“What would she want?”
“I can’t guess.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Maybell bit her bottom lip.

“Both.”

“Which is her’s?”

Calliope pointed to a small path the size of her fist.

“How do I fit in that?”
“You put your finger in the hall and say you choose her path. If she accepts you the tunnel will widen.”

“If you have to be accepted to enter why are some of the other doors big enough to enter?”

Calliope glanced to her left, “Because some gods are less picky than others.”

Maybell felt there was more to the story but she didn’t want to press. Carefully she put her finger in the tiny hall, “I chose the path of Hestia.”

Maybell felt a slight tingling in her finger that spread to all her body. She closed her eyes. It was warm and comforting and nostalgic. Though what it reminded her of she couldn’t remember. She smelled pine wood and smoke seemed to swirl around her. She shivered, just once, and didn’t feel ashamed for it.

Opening her eyes she saw a dais up a few stairs. Pillars with vines entwining them were all around and in the middle was a lady next to a fire pit. At least at first glance Maybell thought she was a lady when she’d been staring at the painted sunset on the wall. But when the lady, who could have only been Hestia, turned to her Maybell realized they were nearly the same age in appearance.

Hestia was sitting on the floor but Maybell guesses she was tall. Her long brown hair went straight down her back. Her skin was the color of toasted almond, and her smile was kind but reserved. Hestia had a haunted look deep in her eyes, like long ago something had been torn inside and never been quite right since. She remained silent, barely even breathing, apparently content to just look at Maybell.

“Hello.” Maybell waved a little awkwardly.

Hestia looked away, “Hello, innocent one.”

“I was wondering where I could go from here to find my friend Cindy.”

Hestia sighed. “That’s nice. It's always good to remember those who cared about you.”

“I suppose.” Maybell bit her lip again.

“Do you know why I let you in?” Hestia didn’t weigh for her answer. “I let you in because you can’t remember… And all I want is to forget.”

Hestia let out a little sob, “I know Calliope told you I would require something. This is what I want. I want your memories. They are beyond your reach forever, but I can still enjoy them. They were good, I can tell from your face... Please…”

Maybell let go of her lip. “If all you want is to forget then why take my memories? If you can take memories couldn’t you just take out the ones you don’t want?”

Hestia made a little noise in between a cry and a laugh. “I’m afraid what I want to forget is something I cannot get rid of. It has become me. I was shattered. And when a heart is healed alone in the dark it never actually heals.”

“So what will my memories do?”

“Help me forget.” Hestia’s lip quivered. “Please.”

“If you take my memories, won’t that mean I’m not me anymore?” Maybell rubbed her elbow nervously.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Who could say?”

Maybell closed her eyes, “Go a head.”

She heard Hestia stand and walk over. A cold hand was placed over her forehead and she shivered. All the warmth seemed to drain from her and go into that hand. Even though she already had her eyes closed the light, she supposed it must have come from her own mind, went out. She felt empty, what was missing she didn’t know but it was important. A bit of her was gone forever. Now she truly was lost. As the hand was pulling away from her forehead a name, her real name formed in her mind. Then the hand was gone and so was the name, never to be remembered again.

Despite closed eyes, she cried.

“It’s over.” Hestia whispered.

She didn’t need Hestia to tell her, she already missed what she hadn’t known she had.

“I’ll open the path now.”

Maybell heard Hestia walk away, but she still didn’t open her eyes.

“You may leave now.”

Maybell opened her eyes and tears flowed more freely. Hestia looked happier then she had before, her eyes seemed to glow. But it still wasn’t close to repayment. Maybell, the real Maybell who’d been born with a different name, was dead.

“You… tricked me…”

“No I didn’t. Everything I told you was true.”

“I feel so… empty… Why?”

“Because that’s what it’s like when someone takes what makes you, you.” Hestia looked sadly at her. “It rarely affects people this strongly. I’m sorry.”

“Why take it if it even has a chance of doing this?!” Maybell nearly screamed, through her voice gave out and could only whisper.

“Because… it's all I have. You can go out and make new memories. I can only try and forget my old ones. If you want to vilify me for that then go ahead but you’ll thank me one day.” Hestia set down. “You don’t believe me, but I know.”
“How?”

Hestia turned away, “Because you’ve done it before.”

Maybell looked for a door and saw it to her left. She looked at Hestia for as long as she could but left nonetheless. Somehow, she’d left herself in that room. She walked up stair after stair, nothing was in this hall other then the stairs under her feet and the ceiling above her head. Time passed and the emptiness inside her filled. It must have been an eternity, walking up those stairs. She tried counting but several times the numbers got too big for her to remember.

Many times as she went up the stairs she remembered her journey through the library. She reminded herself of it and of the friends she made over and over. Whenever she was tired she set down on the stairs. Surprisingly, even though months must have passed since she started up the stairs she never grew hungry or thirsty or needed to go to the bathroom.

Often she thought of Hestia, and as the shock left so did her anger. She realized now that Hestia hadn’t tricked her and looking back she believed Hestia honestly didn’t know the shock it would cause her. She pitied Hestia and hoped the memories were enough to help with whatever burden the goddess carried.

Then one day, when Maybell’s hair had grown to her waist, she saw the top of the stairs. With joy she ran up the remaining flight with a lightness she hadn’t felt since first coming into the maze long ago. She looked out from the doorway into a city. There was no plants she could see other then a few trees reaching up to the ceiling and light bulbs high above and the grass that reached out of the carpet.

In the not-so-far distance Maybell saw houses and castles, manors and hovels, skyscrapers and trailers. People and creatures of every kind roamed the streets. The whole place seemed to stretch on forever and ever. If anything could be certain, it was that this was the place. Millions if not trillions must live in that city, but Maybell would find Cindy. It was all she had left.

Something held her to the stairs as she looked out, so close and yet so far. She hadn’t thought this would be easy, she hadn’t really thought about it at all. And now depression overwhelmed her. How could she do this? Was she crazy? What was she even going to do once she found Cindy? If the city was as big as it looked would she even be able to find Cindy?

“Mayblossom!” A young woman ran out from the crowd, many looked on with smiles as she ran towards Maybell.

The stranger wrapped her in a hug. “Who are you?”

The young woman stepped back. “It’s me, Cindy. Hanitril arrived some time ago saying you followed me into the maze. I guess it had you take a while.”

Maybell blinked, yes, she could see it was Cindy. “Have I really been in there that long. It seems like just earlier this morning we were children.”

“Time works strangely in the maze, I happen to live here in Bound City now. I’m a character in a story. I bring inspiration to so many! Oh, and Hanitril, he lives here to now, he found his soulmate isn’t that awesome?” Cindy began to take her into the city.

“Yeah, awesome.” But Maybell didn’t feel awesome at all. “Why’d you call me Mayblossom?”

Cindy shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe that’s your new name. People tend to get those. In fact, they call me Ella. Ella Enchanted.”

“So everything is different.” Maybell whispered it so softly Cindy or Ella or whatever her name was, didn’t hear.

For a time she lived in the city. For a time her name was Mayblossom. And for a time she was, at least a little bit, happy. Or at the very least she wasn’t unhappy. She found herself thinking often of the corn maze, the farmhouse and the maze. The house she lived in was very similar to the teal office of the curator and sometimes at night Maybell would pretend that was were she was. Why exactly she did this Maybell couldn’t guess but finally, she left. She didn’t tell anyone. She only left a note and slipped quilty back into the maze one night.

When she emerged again, after many long years or maybe even decades of adventures with Hurmy and Moby, she was a middle-aged woman. Why the time exploring had aged so slowly her she couldn’t begin to understand. It was dark, so she quietly slept in the farmhouse. She looked for anyone awake and finally found the curator, sitting on a couch, in a den with a fireplace.

“So, you finally came back.” It wasn’t a question.

Maybell set down next to her. “Yes. I was gone a long time.”

“You were.” The old curator didn’t look away from the fire.

“What is this place?” Maybell turned towards the fire and thought of Hestia.

“You’re thinking of Hestia. So did I. So will the next, and the next after her. This place is a mystery. An attempt to explain the unexplainable. Either you see the farmhouse and the cornfield or you don’t. My life is the journey meant to explain this.” The old curator touched her arm and Maybell looked over. “If a writer were to retreat into their mind what would they see? Would they actually see everything that inspired them? Would every half-formed thought and idea be there? The ideas behind the ideas that inspired them? The little things they see and never even notice?”

“I don’t know.”

The old woman sighed. “I think we never will.” She got up, “My time is done, you’re is beginning. My story is on the couch,” The old woman pointed to a stack of papers, then turned to the fireplace. “Thank you, Hestia.” Then the old woman went to the window now. “I’m ready now.”

Maybell couldn’t quite describe it, but it was like the old woman faded away into nothing. Maybell picked up the manuscript and as she read the opening paragraph of the curator's story, she shivered once. But yet, it felt right.

Library of Inspiration

When she saw the old farmhouse sitting next to the cornfield of ripe corn, on an early February morning she knew she’d found the place she was looking for. It was cold and the wind seemed to make it twenty degrees colder. The farmhouse was crisp white with a bright red roof and trim. It seemed to have several doors and all of them were painted a different color. The yard too, what little of it wasn’t part of the cornfield, had green grass. Light came from many of the windows and a sign painted on the front read, in big letters, MAZE MOTEL, ROOMS ALWAYS AVAILABLE.