Bleeding and groaning, the A staggered to the librarian’s table. The librarian looked at him over her glasses, and then pushed them up to get a better look.

“How can I help you?” she said.

“I’m from the Horror section,” the A said, indicating the pool of blood gathering at its feet. “There’s been some kind of horrible confusion. I can’t even bear to look at it. But I’m looking for my book.”

With business-like precision, the librarian helped the A look for its book, gave it a hand climbing into its title (which had read ‘Horrid T les’), and then turned to deal with the massacre around her. Books lay mangled and torn apart, with letters moaning from the ground like dying soldiers on a battlefield.

She checked the date and noted the missing book. Full moon. Werewolves. Always werewolves. Jealous idiots, going after the vampires at every opportunity.

She wasn’t worried about the vampire books. They were under lock and key, surrounded by moon-dampeners and wrongly set calendars.

She rang for the clean-up crew, tied back her hair and got out the silver paper-cutter. This time, there would be no mercy. But there would be a lot of howling.