Matching the Crescent Shadow in the Basement Archive

Matching the Crescent Shadow in the Basement Archive

I was at my local public library trying to return some books before closing, but the aisles went on way longer than usual. An old coworker was there, though somehow I knew he was also my grandfather as a young man. He told me the exit was moved to the basement archive, which smelled like dry moss and cold stone. When I got down there, the librarian was sitting at a low counter sorting through heavy tarot-like cards instead of checking barcodes. She laid one down in front of me with an intricate geometric pattern etched into copper and said, 'You can leave once you match the shadow on your wrist to the card.' I looked down and my watch face didn't have numbers, just a slow-moving crescent shadow. I kept waiting for it to line up with the copper etching, feeling this heavy, quiet dread that the doors upstairs were locking one by one, but no matter how I angled my arm under the desk lamp, the angle was slightly off.