Congratulations, you’ve been hired for the Overnight Shift at the Old City Library.
The job sounds simple — keep the place safe, maintain order, and follow a few rules. But as the night begins, you’ll realize this isn’t your ordinary night shift job.
The Overnight Shift at the Old City Library isn’t about cleaning or guarding books — it’s about surviving until dawn.
Section 1: The Offer You Couldn’t Refuse
You didn’t apply for this job. The envelope arrived on its own, addressed in careful handwriting, sealed with red wax. Inside was a simple note signed by The Archivist:
“Report at 10 PM. Follow the rules. Do not deviate.”
Desperate for work, you tell yourself that the Old City Library is just another night shift. A routine job guarding books and dust. But as soon as you step through the massive oak doors, you realize this isn’t a normal workplace. The air feels heavier. Every corner seems to hum with forgotten whispers.
The clock in the reading room ticks unevenly, and somewhere in the distance, a faint thud echoes—like a book falling.
Section 2: Rule No. 1 — The Fallen Book
The first rule reads:
“When a book in the history section falls by itself, pick it up and return it to the shelf. Do not open it. Turning a page may send you into that moment in time, and you will never return.”
You laugh nervously. Books don’t just fall by themselves… do they?
But soon after midnight, you hear the sound again—a gentle thump from the back shelves. A single book lies open on the floor, its pages trembling as if touched by wind. The cover reads, “The Fire of 1903.”
The air smells of smoke. A faint screaming sound seems to rise from the paper. You slam it shut and shove it back onto the shelf. For a moment, your reflection in the glass case shows someone else’s face.
You don’t look again. The Old City Library has a way of remembering those who stare too long.
Section 3: Rule No. 2 — The Thirteenth Chime
At 1:00 AM, the grandfather clock in the reading hall begins to chime. You count each tone carefully—ten… eleven… twelve—then one more. Thirteen.
Rule No. 2 warns:
“When the clock chimes 13 times, keep your eyes on the floor. Do not look at the windows.”
The air grows ice-cold. The sound vibrates through your bones. You grip the edge of your desk, staring at the floor as frost begins to form across the tiles.
From the corner of your eye, something moves beyond the windowpane—figures, pale and shifting, watching from the outside… or maybe from the reflection within. You don’t dare raise your head.
When the final chime ends, the warmth slowly returns. You glance up, and every window is now covered from the inside by dark, hand-shaped prints.
This is no ordinary shift. The Old City Library is alive, and it’s watching.
Section 4: Rule No. 3 — Footsteps Above
You walk the halls to steady your nerves, flashlight trembling in your hand. The silence presses against your ears—until you hear it: footsteps above you.
But the rules are clear:
“If you hear footsteps upstairs, remember—the second floor has been closed for decades. Do not go there.”
Still, the sound continues—measured, deliberate, crossing from one end of the ceiling to the other. Dust drifts down from the beams.
You want to believe it’s a trick of the pipes or wind. But then a shadow moves along the upper railing, where no light should reach.
You whisper to yourself, “Don’t go up. Don’t go up.” But the sound of the footsteps seems to echo your heartbeat, slower and slower, until it stops—right above you.
A whisper floats down: “You shouldn’t be here.”
You back away slowly, and the Old City Library groans, as if the building itself disapproves.
Section 5: Rule No. 4 — The Thirteenth Chair
At 3:15 AM, exhaustion drags you into the study hall. The room is simple—twelve wooden chairs, one long table, and a single lamp burning low. You count the chairs once. Then again.
This time, there are thirteen.
Rule No. 4 rings in your mind:
“If you notice more than twelve chairs in the study hall, leave immediately and lock the doors behind you.”
You freeze. The thirteenth chair sits at the far end of the table, slightly pulled out, as if someone just stood up. A chill crawls up your neck.
You rush to the door, fumbling with the keys, the wooden legs scraping behind you. Something invisible is rising from that chair.
You slam the door shut just as a whisper seeps through the keyhole: “Stay for one more story…”
But you don’t look back. The Old City Library doesn’t take kindly to those who linger.
Section 6: What the Rules Really Mean
Each rule isn’t just for safety—it’s for survival. Every instruction protects you from the library’s true nature.
The falling books aren’t random—they are gateways to moments trapped in time.
The thirteenth chime opens a window between this world and whatever lies beyond.
The footsteps upstairs belong to former staff members who never left.
The extra chair appears when the library tries to make a new addition to its eternal “staff.”
The Old City Library doesn’t need guards. It needs witnesses.
Section 7: Surviving Until Dawn
As dawn approaches, the darkness begins to fade. You wait by the main doors, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
At exactly 6:00 AM, the clock strikes once. The doors unlock themselves. Morning sunlight creeps across the floor. You step outside, trembling but alive.
Then you see it: another envelope lying on the steps. Same handwriting. Same wax seal. It reads:
“Thank you for completing your first shift. Your next shift begins tonight at 10 PM. Attendance is mandatory.”
You look back toward the towering shadow of the Old City Library. The windows seem to blink, just once, as if acknowledging your return.
You realize then—this isn’t a job you can quit. It’s a story you’ve been written into.
Section 8: The Library Never Forgets
Every city has its mysteries, but the Old City Library stands apart. Locals say it was built over a forgotten graveyard; others claim the books themselves contain the souls of those who read too deeply.
Whatever the truth is, one fact remains: the library remembers everyone who enters—and eventually, it calls them back.
So if you ever receive an offer letter promising easy night work in a quiet place, think carefully before accepting. Because once you clock in at the Old City Library, you may never clock out.
Conclusion: The Story That Keeps Reading You
The story of the Old City Library is more than a ghost tale—it’s a warning about curiosity and obedience. Rules exist for a reason, and some doors should never be opened.
The next time you find yourself alone in a library after dark, listen closely. If you hear the thirteenth chime or see a chair that wasn’t there before, walk away.
Because some stories don’t end when you stop reading. They end when they stop reading you.
