I stood in the fiction section and I waited. I waited for the staff to leave and the lights to dim. The staff didn't notice me there - that's happening to me more and more, I think. People just don't seem to notice me. Perhaps I'm turning invisible. Probably a good thing. I couldn't stay here if I wasn't.

The lights went out and now it was dark and I was surrounded by books, by stories, by page after page of words. I was waiting for a monster with another book.

The man in the gray suit told me that he wanders libraries. I've been in this library since it opened at 8 am and now it is passed 6 pm and I will not move until I see him. I know he will come here. "They will be drawn to where you are," the man in the gray suit told me. "Even if they do not know you are there, they will be drawn to their own demise."

So I waited. And then I heard a skittering, like spider legs, and, even through the dark, I could see him. He was a monster, but he looked like an old man in a crumpled suit and dark glasses.

He was sitting at a table with a large heavy book open before him. I walked forward and the sound of skittering increased. I felt something brush past me, something with long hairy legs. I took the gun out from its holster and the sound of skittering went away.

I sat down across from the old man monster. He did not look at me. He looked only at his book. Then he spoke, his voice sounding like the turning of pages: "What if I were to write your name? Would you kill me even if you were missing your memories, even if you had no past? If you could not even remember your own name or what I was, would you still kill me?"

"Yes," I said and shot him.

The bullet was made of paper and written on it was my life story, from birth to now. Everything I ever remembered was on there, every single piece of my past, my history.

The old man monster bled ink onto his book. He took one last look at it before slamming it shut and said, "I thought so." The book sunk into the table and the old man monster smiled with ink-stained teeth and said, "It is easier to die then to live. You should know that. Death comes quickly, neatly, but life is messy and hard. The man in gray is showing you how to make death, how to make an ending. But it is the life before the end where the mystery lies. Death is not a mystery, it is the end of one. Goodbye."

I left his body in the library and went outside into the cold night. I do not know what he meant, but I suppose one day I shall find out.