The rosy light of dawn crept up the side of the building, slowly chasing away the shadows of the night. A small beam of light poked its way through a crack in the black curtains. That tiny spotlight traced its way across the dusty wooden floor to the golden picture frame on the wall. The frame reflected golden light across my face. I closed my eyes tightly and pulled the patched quilt over her head. Moments later, a sharp beeping and an earsplitting cry shattered the early morning tranquility. The beeping intensified as I rolled over. I slammed my fist on the clock and it was silenced, but the crying continued. Groaning and massaging my temples, I pushed myself into a sitting position.


“How did I forget to shut the damn alarm off?” I thought.


“Someone make it stop!” I shouted through the plaster wall.


There was no reply. With a sigh, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stared at the floor. Gingerly, I put my feet on the cold ground. I stood up slowly, to keep the creaking down to a minimum, but a loud crack issued from beneath my feet anyway. Wincing, I tried again, another loud crack.


“Screw it, you win. Play me the song of your people floorboards,” I whispered to the ground.
They didn’t disappoint as I ran across the hall to the baby’s room. It sounded like some horrendous symphony of screaming and creaking.


When I opened the door, a blonde infant was clutching the railing of a crib and screaming with every ounce of strength she had. I grabbed the baby under the armpits and rested her on my hip. Walking with a slight bounce, I took the baby down stairs to the kitchen, continuing the Saw man’s Symphony as I went.


“Please stop crying,” I said wiping the tears off her small red face. “You’ll wake up the entire building.”


It was only another five minutes before it finally stopped and the Saturday morning silence repaired itself. I seated the baby in a high chair and poured a generous amount of Cheerios in front of her.


“Is it unethical to put a muzzle on babies?” a friendly voice asked.


“Yes, “I looked up to see a boy standing in the doorway.


He was tall and skinny with blonde hair that looked red when the sun hit it, like now. He pulled up a chair and helped himself to some Cheerios.


“These are nasty,” he said through a mouthful of cereal.


The baby giggled and she shook her head as he reached for more.


“Why are you up so early?” I asked.


“Because it is unethical to put muzzles on children like Layna,” he tapped the baby’s nose.


She giggled again and reached her tiny fist towards his face.


“Sucks that you’re the oldest,” he said.


“No, this stupid ‘Rebuilding Policy’ sucks,” I said.


Ever since the end of the Civil War the population has been declining rapidly. The president’s solution to this is not better healthcare or living conditions, but let’s have more kids! Each family is required to have at least four children or they’re facing a yearly fine of half their combined income. As far as I know, this policy has only resulted in the creation of the Have-Nots and the Lessers. Two distinct social classes from the Elites, as the general population calls them. The Have-Nots are exactly what they sound like, a large percentage of people who are completely destitute. In the small towns, like around here, the Mayors usually provide housing and food either through taxes or out of their own pockets, but in the cities its every man for himself. Mayor Callahan, our mayor, used a combination of fundraisers and taxes to build a couple of complexes for them, but there’s too many people and not enough space so the majority of them live in alleys or on people’s doorsteps. The Lessers, like us, have decent homes, little money, and generally four kids. Most of our parents work in the factory outside of town, or own the little shops downtown. The Elites have two to three kids, because they can afford to pay the fine, and own the factories, supermarkets, department stores, and anything else worth owning. Like I said, I’m not sure it’s really a solution, but I’m just a kid so what do I know.


“Hey, Al,” he said, pulling me out of my thoughts.


“Mhhmmm.”


“I was wandering around the woods the other day and I found this…this thing. I think it used to be a building but I don’t know what it could possibly have been used for. I was wondering, well I wanted to know… Would you come check it out with me?”


I looked over at him. He was looking at a pile of cereal, as if waiting for them to answer him. Blood was slowly creeping up his neck and face. Spencer and I have been neighbors and friends for sixteen years, ever since we were toddlers. I guess this was bound to happen, but I wasn’t sure if I was okay with it.


A weird feeling spread throughout my stomach. Not butterflies, but more like worms wriggling around; slightly nauseating and exciting all at once. I could feel the blood rush to my face as we sat there in an extremely awkward silence, even Layna was quiet for once.


“Umm… yeah, sounds like fun,” I said.


“Awesome, meet me by the ugly tree in half an hour,” Spencer said standing up.


I smiled and nodded as he left.


“I am so glad you are too young to understand that,” I said to Layna.


“Understand what?” my other sister, Claire, asked.


“Nothing,” I replied as she pulled up a chair. “Can you feed her? I’m going out.”


“Where? With who?”


“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” I pushed her shoulder and went upstairs to get dressed.


I pulled on a pair of ripped jeans and a blue tee shirt. No need for anything special, we were going into the woods, but yet I kept glancing into the mirror, making sure I looked okay.


“This is ridiculous,” I thought as I threw my hair into a messy pony tail and headed downstairs. The morning breeze swept over my skin, leaving goose bumps and a shiver behind. The street was completely deserted, the only sound issuing from my sneakers as they slapped the pavement; each step warning the next section of sidewalk of my approach. I ran my fingers along the beautiful curves of the wrought iron fence that enclosed Pearl Village, the home of the Elites. The glass on the pristine white mansions glittered in the sunlight, giving off the impression of a village made of pearls. Across the street, was the Complex, a dirty plaster building with black tarps in the windows and holes in the roof. It’s a very odd place to put a homeless shelter, if you ask me. Some people think it was put there as a reminder to the Have-Nots of what they could have if they had more children. Others think it’s a reminder for the Elites so that they keep working. I guess it just depends on which side of the street you walk on. Either way, it was no accident.


By the time I reached the tree, Spencer was already there. He was looking up into the branches, I followed his gaze. It really was an ugly tree. The trunk was gnarled and gray, while the branches entwined with each other at every angle. Overall, it looked like a large, deformed, microphone sticking out of the ground.


“Whacha lookin at?” I asked.


“Nothing really,” Spencer said. “Shall we go?” he asked holding out his arm.


Laughing, I hooked my arm with his and we set off towards the edge of town. The shortest way was to cut through Midnight Alley, so named because of the general lack of light. On both sides, tall slender apartment buildings seemed to grow out of the pavement, sending tall, crooked shadows across the alley at all times of the day. Many of the Have-Nots, like Mrs. Garcia, live here. The buildings shelter them from the wind and their sloped roofs help with the rain and snow.


As we turned down the dark alley, a depressing sight greeted us. Walking through places like this was never pleasant, but especially so with Midnight Alley. The stench of unbathed bodies hits your senses like a brick wall and the moans of the hungry ring in your ears. A chill that had nothing to do with weather clawed its way up my back.


“Alice, dear,” a raspy withered voice called from the endless shadows.


An old woman, Mrs. Garcia, shuffled forward. Her torso was wrapped in a tattered blanket and her blackened feet were bare. She smiled at us, revealing only two yellowed teeth. She had lost weight since I had last seen here. Now, her dirty face was sunken in and her gray skin hung so far off her bones, she seemed to be drowning in it. Her veined and bony fingers shook as they clutched the blanket to her chest.


“How are you?” I asked.


“Oh, just fine, dear. How are you?”


“Fine,” I said as she erupted into a chest rattling coughing fit.


“Why don’t you two run along, I wouldn’t want to get you sick,” she smiled wiping the corners of her mouth.


Somewhere deep in my chest, an empty feeling blossomed as I looked at her, but we did as she asked. The streets were full of people like her, pushed into the dark shadows; out of sight, out of mind. Thinking about it made that empty feeling intensify throughout my chest.


We walked for a while in silence, each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts. I glanced at him and he quickly turned away; he was looking at me. The worms were back in my stomach and the blood back in my cheeks. I looked at the forest ground. Something caught my eye. I bent down to pick it up, but it was lodged in the dirt. Digging a small hole around it, I unearthed a metal coated rock with words inscribed on it. It read: Roseport Public Library.


“Hey, Spence, come look at this,” I called.


“What is it?” he asked kneeling next to me.


“I don’t know. What’s a library?” I looked at him.


He furrowed his brow, thinking hard. His brown eyes were shut tight and his mouth was drawn in a tight line, his thinking face. Opening his eyes, he shrugged.


“Never heard of one, but I would assume that’s what the building is, a library,” he stood up and pointed to a large mass of overgrown vines and bushes.


If he hadn’t told me it was a building, I would never have known that’s what it was. As we approached, I could just barely see miniscule patches of grey stone. Spencer lead me to the ‘entrance’, which was really just a big hole covered by bushes. It looked as if someone tried to knock it down, but gave up after one try. We stepped over thorns and bricks into a large open room. At the back was set of wooden doors and a stone desk. The floor was littered with dirt, dried leaves, and what appeared to be ash. The doors opened with a creak a thousand times louder than my floorboards. Inside the room, the ceiling was extremely high and rounded. The broken windows were colored and probably once depicted beautiful scenes. Vines had begun to creep their way up the walls, some of them had flowers budding, while others were just immobile green snakes. The most astonishing thing was the hundreds of shelves that filled the room. They were at least six feet tall, with two or three wooden slats in each. The wood was rotting in places, and some of them had even fallen apart.


“What is this?” I wondered aloud.


“Hey Al, I found something,” Spencer called from across the room.


He was crouched over something underneath a particularly large window. Broken glass glittered on the floor like gems, making this place seem even more fantastic. I knelt next to him and immediately saw what he had found. It was a latch in the ground; a trapdoor.


“We should open it,” he said.


“We’d be fools not too,” I replied.


Smiling, he grabbed hold of the handle and pulled it open. A large cloud of black dust enveloped us and a smell beyond comparison festered in the air. Coughing and gagging, I waved at the cloud, forcing it away. Once it had cleared, we peered into the hole. There was nothing but darkness. Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket and used it to penetrate the darkness. It seemed to be a stone tunnel. We looked at each other, my curiosity mirrored on his face.


“Let me see your phone,” I said suddenly getting an idea.


He handed it over and I typed the word, ‘library’ into the search engine. Seconds later, a white screen popped up bearing the phrase: No matches to your search.


“That’s weird,” he said taking it back.


“What the hell is this place?” I looked around.


Nothing about it seemed familiar. How could it not exist if we were in it? It didn’t add up.


“Only one way to find out,” Spencer said swinging one leg into the hole. “You coming?”


I nodded and watched the darkness swallow him whole. I waited for the thud that signified his landing and followed. My feet hit the floor hard and my knees buckled. I reached my hand out to steady myself. The wall was damp and cold. The putrid smell burned my nostrils and left a rancid taste in my mouth. I pulled out my phone to use as a flashlight and looked around. Spencer had done the same, but even with the combined light we could only see a few feet ahead. We headed down the passage in silence. The blood was pounding in my ears; the only sound was our breathing and footsteps. Soon, the square of light from the trapdoor was consumed by the darkness. I looked back and walked into Spencer.


“Hey, why’d you stop?” I whispered.


“Be-be-because of that,” he said shaking.


I followed the spotlight and gasped. There, leaning against the wall was a skeleton. Next to it was another and another, this one not fully a skeleton yet. We found the source of that pungent odor. I lifted the light up higher to illuminate as much of the passage as possible. Bodies and skeletons lined the walls. My breath caught in my throat and my heart skipped a beat.


“Spencer?”


He didn’t respond. I grabbed his shaking hand to make sure he was still there.


“Alice, “he whispered. “Do you remember the Civil War?”


“What?” I was dumbfounded.


He was asking me about history right now? Really, when we’re in a mass grave, he asks me if I remember the Civil War.


“I know of it. But, is that really important right now?” I asked confused.


“Yes, very. There’s writing on the walls. Listen,


“I pray for you reader, I truly do. How you ended up here I know not and I assume neither do you. Let me explain, for you deserve to know. The so called ‘Civil War’ was in fact a way to dispose of the rebels. The Rebel General, Ross, was one of their spies. They sent him to rally the disloyal, to expose them really, and fight against the government. Once he had their trust, Ross led them all down here to survive the coming nuclear missiles. Those weapons never came, they probably never even existed, but almost half of the population was led down here, none of them ever returned. If anyone spoke of the Great War, they were thrown down here to die. All books (thin pieces of bark people bound and wrote on) were burned, so as to protect their secret. History was in a sense deleted and rewritten so that it suited their needs, which is why you know nothing of this. I know it sounds absurd and impossible, but believe me it is the truth. I would not waste my energy and oxygen if it weren’t. Don’t bother turning back, the door is on a set of springs, it will close on its own. Welcome to the hole, dear friend.”


I looked at him in disbelief. It couldn’t be true. That was the most absurd thing I had ever heard, but yet it made sense. The population was low because half of them are down here. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of bodies. I’ve never heard of or seen a book in my entire life.


“Spencer, this…” words failed to come to mind.


“The door. The door!” he said grabbing my arm.


We took off down the passage, running as fast as we could. Nothing passed through my mind, but the thought of the door. There was nothing but darkness ahead, that square of light was nowhere to be seen. We kept running. Suddenly, a hard surface made contact with my entire body. I seized up with pain and fell to the ground. My head hit the stone floor with a loud thud. A blazing pain surged through my head, pounded against my brain. I couldn’t see anything, but I felt the hot tears spill from my eyes and trace their way down my temples.


“Are you okay?” Spencer asked between gasps for air.


I could hear his voice near my head. I nodded, but then remembered he couldn’t see me.


“Yeah,” I said. “Spencer…the doors closed.”


I heard him sit down next to me. I tried to sit up, but immediately fell back down. The blackness began to spin and my head felt as if it were being cleaved in two. Spencer put his arm around my waist and helped me up. I rested my head on his shoulder and let the tears fall thick and fast. There was no use yelling for help, no one was coming; we were out of sight, out of mind.