By McKenzie Snellgrove
What follows is an anonymous testimony of a Centre student trapped in the library overnight. What they saw has never been recorded or publicly shared, until now…
It all started when I was up late studying in the library, like any good Centre student does during midterms. Working on a particularly difficult chem equation, and trying to memorize whatever a (insert specific chemistry term that I don’t know) is, I happened to fall asleep. When I woke up, everything was dark. Turning on the desk lamp, I noticed that my notes were smudged with drool and my arm was imprinted with holes from my notebook. My watch read 3:01 am – the witching hour. Suddenly, I heard muffled voices coming from above, and reasoned it was likely Chris Ross patrolling and locking up. Obviously, I had to go explain to him that I was not an intruder but had merely fallen asleep in the basement and no one knew I was there.
As I made my way up the stairs, I could hear the voices get louder, but there were so many overlapping voices that I couldn’t identify a single one. Through the bars of the railing, I could see a few people gathered in a circle chatting and laughing. Were the librarians having a secret meeting I didn’t know about? My feet tread quietly up the stairs, but as I reached the top step, the squeak of my shoe announced my presence to the room. As the group turned to face me, I couldn’t help but notice how familiar they looked…One girl had a flower in her hair and knowing eyes that I remembered watching me as I cried during finals my freshman year. Another had a glowing smile that had lifted my spirits in the great 365 Market drought of early spring semester. They were the women from the photographs on the second floor! I couldn’t believe my eyes! How was it that they were standing before me, clear as day? Well, I soon retracted that statement as I looked down and realized that though their faces looked just as they did in the photos, their bodies were nothing more than colored smoke billowing out from their torsos. Very odd. I tried to talk to them and ask them how it was that they were standing there in front of me, but they just turned and floated away in a herd.
Dumbfounded, I looked around the main floor and saw tons of other art pieces come to life. The needlepoint dinosaurs and glass pieces were jumping from couch to couch with little regard for anything in their way. Some still-lifes rolled around on the floor, the pieces of fruit flying off in different directions before falling to the ground and tumbling back to their bowl. All of these small and spunky pieces seemed adorable to me, almost like toddlers running around unsupervised. I reached down to pet one of the needlepoint letters, but as soon as my fingers were inches away from it’s stitching, teeth suddenly emerged from the middle and bit me! All at once, they all stopped moving and zeroed in on me. I took a step back to show that I meant no harm, but that didn’t stop them from rolling towards me at top speed. Their teeth and claws bared as they bounded up the chairs and leapt into the air, aiming towards me. Terrified I backed up as much as I could before I collided with the wall and watched in horror as they approached. I covered my eyes and anchored my back to the wall, bracing for the worst! I then began to feel a soft scratching on my ankle and looked down to find a tiny stegosaurus gnawing on my sock. Even as the letters and different needleworks reached me, all of their tiny teeth and claws combined just felt like a cat pawing at my feet. With a shake of my leg, they all went flying across the room and went back to bouncing around.
I kept exploring the library, hoping to find a way out that wouldn’t alert anyone of my presence, but as I walked past the desks, I found something I had never hoped to find. It seemed as if every nude portrait in the library had gathered together for some kind of meeting. Everywhere I looked I saw bare butts, backs, legs, and feet. They were all splayed out in odd positions, circled around the circulation desk. One had its leg up on a book cart, another was curled up in a chair like a pretzel. The leader of them all was a woman with no pants or shorts on, wearing a shirt. “Give us identity or give us clothes!” She cried. The rest of the art cheered in response, calling out their wish to have their faces shown in the artwork or at least be given some clothes. They complained about being placed in the most visible places in the library without any kind of buffer from students. “Stop laughing at our bodies!” They cried out in unison. Maybe if their faces were included in the art, people wouldn’t be so quick to laugh and point at their nakedness. They were suddenly interrupted by the clock chiming 4 – the witching hour was over. In a flash, all of the pieces of art retreated to their canvases and moved back into their poses. “Don’t forget us!” I heard quietly in my ear as I turned to leave. The library looked just as it did in the daytime, just dark and shadowed in the low light. As I snuck out the side door, I felt a renewed sense of appreciation for the art of the library and all that is.