Last night, I was listening to Tom Brokow’s interviews with Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward about Mark Felt when the telephone rang. Since I didn’t want to be interrupted, I thought I would let the answering machine handle it. Then, I heard a deep, sad voice that sounded like Darth Vader on steroids.

“This is Library Throat,” someone whispered. “Come to the Jackson County Library at midnight.”

I grabbed the phone and said, “Beg your pardon?”

“It is dangerous to talk like this,” said L. T. “My phone may be bugged and I could lose my sick leave.”

“I can’t hear you anyway,” I said.

“Bring your hearing aids. I’ll meet you at the drop box book slot.” Before the line went dead, I heard a sound like wind blowing through an abandoned building.

Thirty minutes later, I parked in front of the library and rushed to the drop box slot. I found a yellow “Post-It” on the box that said, “Open the slot.” When I did, an icy wind rose from the opening, along with the voice of ... Library Throat.

“Things are bad in here,” said L.T. “Almost all of the old staff has resigned ... everyone but Opal.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“Many of the patrons have stopped coming and those that do comment on the cheerless atmosphere. A senior citizen told us recently that the post office had more warmth and ambiance than the library.”

Since I am one of the former patrons who had abandoned the library, I decided to change the subject.

“Where is your esteemed leader?”

L. T. gave a heart-rending sigh. “He has moved to Buncombe County.”

My heart skipped a beat in joyful expectation. “Has he resigned?”

“No,” said D. T. “He just doesn’t want to live in Jackson County anymore. He intends to ... commute.”

After a while, Library said hopefully, “Could he lose his job?”

“I hate to dash your hopes, Library, but I think he can live anyplace he wants.”

“What about that hunting knife that he wears now?”

“I’m pretty sure that would be viewed as a minor eccentricity.”

Library began to sob audibly. “Doesn’t anybody care?

“Listen, Library, I feel your pain. I really do. But unless the former and present staff is willing to go on record with an official complaint and some specific charges, nothing is going to happen.”

“I need this job,” said Library.

I closed the drop slot and turned to go. Then, I went back and called down the slot. “Look, maybe the move to Buncombe is a good sign. Maybe he is getting ready to stretch his mighty wings and soar away to grander prospects.”

“You think so?” said Library.

“Could be! Take heart, Library, and keep me posted.”

Then, I heard the sound of sad, shuffling feet as Library Throat wandered away through the stacks.

(Gardy Carden is a storyteller and writer who lives in Sylva and can be reached at gcarden498@aol.com.)