Decorus Phasmatis

Decorus Phasmatis
By Cassie

Riley: I hide in the back of the library. No one ever comes back here; it’s all dust and old books with yellowing pages. To me this is a gold mine. As they say, some people’s trash is other people’s treasure. I love burying myself amongst the antique books. No one ever reads them, so if I find any I like the librarians normally let me keep them. I’ve made a pile of books that have taken my fancy. I take them up to the desk without bothering to dust them off.

The library is a huge brick building; over a century old. It used to be the home of a wealthy family until their father died; the eldest son inherited all the money and moved to a farm, far away from anywhere. It was a hospital for a few years during the Great Depression, before it was settled that the building was unsuitable and therefore unsafe for the patients. After being abandoned for a while it was done up and re-created as a library. The building has so much character, the floors are wooden and certain boards creak when you step on them. I almost have them memorised now, so I can sneak about without disturbing anyone. Some of the windows are stained glass; others have been replaced with normal window panes as the stained glass shattered with old age. It is my favourite place to be.

“You have got quite a collection today haven’t you, Riley, dear,” Mrs Deveraux, one of the librarians, shakes her head as she scans the books through the computer. “I suppose we should really thank you for taking them off our hands. I didn’t think there was anything worth saving back there, but you always seem to do well!” she chuckles.
“You’re mistaken; there are so many fabulous books out there that are only going to go to waste! I am just grateful that you let me rescue them!”

I put the books in the basket of my bicycle and start my journey home. A few people wave to me as I ride by; friends from school or work, and various family members. It’s a peaceful ride through the town. My house is just outside town, about a mile away. We have a small farm. The old owners had cows, but we just have a few horses. Mum and Dad don’t have the time to run the farm properly, so the horses are mainly my responsibility. Mum has her own café in town. She is always so busy because she owns it, manages it and waitresses there as well. Dad is a mechanic. He owns his own garage. It’s only a few shops down from Mum’s café. I sometimes ride my bike to the café and I see Dad there too. We will sit at the counter and Mum will serve us one of her fresh cooked pastries. I bring my friends there after school sometimes too, and Mum gives us things for free. Everyone agrees Mum has the best baked goods in town.

I finish pedalling down the long driveway and ditch my bike in the stables. I unhook my basket and set it on a bench, and then I tear up a hay bale and throw it into the three occupied stalls.
“There we go,” I say soothingly. “Eat up!” I give them all a pat as I walk past. Gunther, our ex-race horse with a dark coat and mane, Queeni, our stocky grey mare, and Cheeko, the newest addition to our family. He’s a feisty chestnut with a terrible temper.
Queeni gives a neigh of pleasure as I pat her nose. I pick up my basket of books and head up the path to the house.