The Old Library

At midnight, the library was a different place.

The shadows were longer, the shelves were taller, and the books seemed to be breathing in the dark. The golden light Sara had seen from her room was coming from the east wall, between two enormous cases of travel books.

But that was impossible. Sara had seen that wall in the evening: an ordinary stone wall with an old map of the world hanging on it.

Now there was no wall.

There was a door.

A tall wooden door, arched at the top, taller than any door she had ever seen. Its wood was dark and smooth, as if thousands of hands had touched it, and from top to bottom it was carved with tiny stars, crescent moons and letters in languages she didn't know. Some were Arabic, some looked like the ancient writing on museum walls, and some looked like nothing she had ever seen.

From the brass keyhole in the middle, a warm golden light was pouring out, making a small bright circle on the library floor.

Sara stood on the bottom stair and didn't move. Her mind said: Go back to bed. This is a dream. Or it's dangerous. Or both.

But her feet walked towards the door.