Books are dangerous.
At times, this danger comes from the books themselves. This is evidenced by many of the volumes on my own shelves.
On other occasions, it is due to who owns the books.
Dr. Dawson Harmsworth, a librarian at Miskatonic University, learned this the hard way, which seems to be about the only way anyone at the Cross branch learns anything.
I’m still trying to piece out how he managed to get into my house. Or how he even learned of the book’s existence. Eventually, when all is said and done, I’ll know.
As it stands, he made his way into the house, into the first-floor library, and stole a copy of the Malleus Maleficarum. It is not the haunted edition that resides in my hidden library, but still, the book is rare in and of itself.
And he stole it.
I discovered the theft after dinner when I went into the library to sit and read. The book’s absence was noticeable. The books had been rearranged around it as if to hide the book’s removal. But I’ve been looking at my books for three hundred years, give or take, and I know where every damned one is supposed to be.
It took a hell of a lot of work to track the man back to the university but track him, I did.
I found him in the lower level of the school’s library, my book in his damned thieving hands.
He attempted to scold me and force me out of the room, an act which would have been humorous had I been in a better mood.
I was not.
Instead of leaving, I locked the door to the lower level before I took my book from his hands.
The book is on a table now, and we’re still in the school’s library. Dr. Harmsworth’s hands are on the table as well, as are both ears and one of his eyes.
He still hasn’t told me what I want to know.
He will, though.
Still, I’ve paused long enough. I’ll finish these notes when I’m home.
I promised I’d castrate him if he didn’t tell me after I took out his eye, and I’m a man who keeps his promises.