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Anchor and Key

“Can I help you?” the ghost whispered.

It drifted behind the dust-covered reference desk, an insubstantial wisp with a hint of long hair wrapped in an untidy bun and the barest glimpse of wire-rimmed spectacles.  I tried not to stare.  It had been decades since anyone had required corrective lenses.  And, well, she was dead.  She wasn’t supposed to exist at all.

I cleared my throat.  The sound echoed in the library’s cavernous skeleton.  “I’m, uh, looking for a book.”

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