Here's another **very long**, dark story in its own block —**Story #14: "The Whisperer of the Bodleian Library"**.--
# 📚 **14. "The Whisperer of the Bodleian Library" – A Very Long Horror Tale**
---
## *Prologue: England's Oldest Walls Hold the Darkest Secrets*
The Bodleian Library in Oxford is one of the oldest and most revered libraries in the world.
It holds over **four million** volumes.
Some of them have never seen the light of day since the Middle Ages.
Some of them have pages so fragile that the touch of a human hand could destroy them.
But there is a book that must not be touched for an entirely different reason.
Not because it's old.
Not because it's valuable.
But because…
**it talks to people.**
They call it the **Whisperer's Code**.
It's not in the catalog.
It's not on the shelves.
And yet it keeps appearing.
Sometimes on a table, sometimes in a book cart, sometimes in the hands of a terrified student who swears they can't remember picking it up.
And it always begins the same way:
First you hear a whisper.
Then a word.
And then—your name.
--
# 🎓 *Chapter I: The Student Who Stayed Late*
Oliver Hart—a first-year Classics major—was the type of student who loved staying up late in the library.
He stayed late that night because his Latin exam was approaching.
It was 9:45 PM.
Fifteen minutes until closing.
The reading room was empty.
The silence was so thick that only the rustle of turning pages could be heard.
Suddenly, Oliver heard:
> *shhhh… shhhh…*
He lifted his head.
The book at the end of the table…
was trembling.
As if something inside it was trying to escape.
“Am I asleep?” he muttered.
The book stopped trembling.
It lay still.
Too still.
Oliver ignored her and went back to studying.
But then…
> *whisper… shuffle…*
He froze.
“Who’s there?” he called.
Silence.
And suddenly, right in his ear, **right next to him**, he heard a distinct whisper:
> — *Oliver…*
---
# 📖 *Chapter II: The Whisperer's Code*
Oliver's head snapped up, his heart pounding.
On the table, a meter in front of him, lay a book.
Old.
Leather.
Clutched with rusty clasps.
It hadn't been there a minute ago.
Fragments of leather were peeling from the cover, as if the book had been… too long in the damp.
It had no title.
But a symbol was carved into its spine—a spiral with an eye in the center.
Oliver didn't want to open it.
But in that same moment… his fingers grasped the cover of their own accord.
The pages were yellow, strewn with brown stains that looked as if someone had spilled old ink on them…
…or something worse.
The text was written in Latin.
But the words felt like… a distorted reflection of the language.
As if the Latin had been deliberately distorted.
Broken.
Oliver swallowed.
The first sentence was:
> *Vocem tuam audiam, et me inveniam.*
> *I hear your voice, and you will find me.*
Then he heard the whisper again.
But this time—**from inside the book**.
> — Oliver…
> Oliver…
> Oliver…
---
# 🕳️ *Chapter III: A Voice from Beyond the Page*
Oliver closed the book abruptly.
But the whispering continued.
> — Oliver…
> don't go…
The voice sounded as if someone were speaking from behind a thin curtain of paper.
As if trapped inside.
Oliver backed away, causing the chair to tip over with a bang.
Then the library went dark.
A crack.
Darkness.
Only the lamp above his table remained.
Oliver grabbed his phone, but there was no signal.
There was no Wi-Fi either.
And the whispering grew louder and louder.
> "Oliver... come here..."
> "I want to show you something..."
The book began... to open on its own.
Page after page.
Faster and faster.
As if something were turning them from the inside.
Finally, it stopped on an image.
On an engraving.
On a woodcut depicting... the **Bodleian Reading Room**.
Oliver froze.
In the engraving, on one of the chairs, a figure was drawn.
Tall.
Bending over.
With tentacle-like fingers.
The figure held an open book.
The same as the one on the table.
And she was looking straight at Oliver.
---
# 🔒 *Chapter IV: Trapped in the Library*
He tried to leave.
The door was locked.
With each push, the wood creaked, and the lock grew colder.
As if someone were holding him on the other side.
Oliver screamed, banging on the door.
Nothing.
He returned to the table, panting with fear.
The book was open.
And new text appeared on the page, as if someone were writing it with a quill at that very moment:
> *Iter in tenebris incipis.*
> *Your journey into darkness begins.*
Whisper:
> — Turn the page…
Oliver closed the book with a snap.
The whisper fell silent.
For a second.
And then…
…footsteps echoed.
Tall.
Slow.
Inhuman.
Walking between the shelves.
---
# 👤 *Chapter V: The Whisperer Comes Out of Hiding*
Something was among the shelves.
Oliver illuminated the space with his phone.
A silhouette briefly flashed at the other end.
Too tall.
Arms too long.
A shadow, as if stretched.
Oliver began to back away to the table.
And then he heard:
> —Oliver…
From behind him.
He turned.
The figure stood right next to the table, leaning over a book.
Her face was featureless.
Smooth as a sheet of parchment.
In the center of her forehead—a spiral symbol.
The same as on the book.
The Whisperer will open
He picked up the book and placed his long, thin hands on it, ending in sharp claws.
> “Read…”
Oliver stepped back.
“I don’t want to!” he shouted.
The figure lifted an invisible face.
> “Read… or I’ll read… you.”*
The book began to tremble.
--
# 🔥 *Chapter VI: The Book That Wants More*
Oliver fled.
He ran between the shelves and turned toward the window.
Behind him, he heard footsteps.
> “Oliver… come back…”
Each step was a thud, as if something heavy were sliding across the floor.
Oliver reached the window, covered by a heavy curtain.
He opened it.
Beyond the window… there was no city.
There was no street.
There was no Oxford.
Only blackness.
Smooth.
Infinite.
Like the inside of a book.
> "That's me too..." whispered the Whisperer, standing right behind him.
Oliver screamed and rushed back into the library.
The Whisperer followed.
He wasn't running.
He was **gliding**.
As if he weren't touching the floor.
---
# 🌀 *Chapter VII: Spiral Trap*
Oliver fell between two tall bookshelves.
The light from the lamp above the table pulsed, now bright, now dim.
The book lay open in the center of the table.
The page was blank.
Empty.
Until the moment when...
a drawing appeared on it.
A drawing of **him**.
Standing between the bookshelves.
First the outlines.
Then the shadows.
Then the details of the clothes.
And then…
…a tall figure was drawn behind him.
Step by step, in real time.
So close.
Too close.
Oliver glanced back.
There was nothing there.
He looked back at the book.
The figure raised a hand.
Long, thin, tentacled.
Oliver's drawing screamed silently.
--
# 📚 *Chapter VIII: Engulfed*
The Whisperer appeared at the edge of the light.
> — Oliver…
> The last word…
Oliver screamed and lunged for the book, trying to close it.
But when he touched the parchment…
…the page opened like a maw.
It sucked in his hand.
Then his forearm.
Then his arm.
Oliver screamed, trying to wrench himself free.
The Whisperer wrapped his thin arms around him and whispered:
> "It's time, Oliver... to stay among the words..."
The last thing Oliver saw was a swirling spiral, drawing him deeper and deeper...
...until he was completely swallowed.
The book slammed shut.
Silence.
--
# 🧳 *Epilogue: New Entry in the Library*
In the morning, the librarian opened the reading room.
She found overturned chairs, Oliver's notes on the table...
and a book.
The Whisperer's Codex.
She thought it was some kind of medieval bible.
She closed it and put it back on the cart.
She didn't notice that a new entry had appeared on the last page, in trembling ink:
> *Oliver Hart - missing January 23rd*
> *Vocem perdidit. In libro manet.*
> *He lost his voice. It stayed in the book.*
As the library filled with students, one of the girls sat down at the table.
A soft, gentle whisper hung in her ear:
> "Can you hear me...?"
The girl turned around.
The book lay on the table.
Open again.
--
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