The covers on the books are all strange and esoteric. Such titles as “The essence of the Rain” and “A treatise on the ergonomics of feathered fountain pens against modern ball point pens.” One is simply titled “First”, which, oddly enough, is the last book on the shelves.

You pick one at random: its title reads “Odd happenings of collective hallucinations: reported appearances of the gongachu.” It initially goes over what the gongachu is; some kind of folk lore creature, incredibly dangerous and hostile. Following the initial description, it compiles a list of reported sightings, before correlating the sightings to occasions of mass hallucinations caused by local volcanic springs. The author does not believe in the existence of the gongachu, that much is clear from the tone. Still, the number of sightings is massive. If there is a gongachu, surely one would have been killed or captured by now, no? In one case, a third party entered a town that was living in terror of the gongachu lurking its streets at night, but the traveler spent the night in the middle of town and was still there in the morning. The author concludes the report by firmly stating his disbelief in the gongachu, chalking it up to mass hysteria and cultural delusions.

A few hours have passed by the time you’ve finished reading. Dusk settles outside, the orange light of the dying sun bleeding in through the windows and casting the room in long shadows. There’s still plenty of books on the shelf, but it’s getting late, and for some reason you get the feeling something is watching you.