(Author’s Note – Three Words of the Day in use in this story: Unbeknownst, nebulous and chockablock.)
The library had long since closed for the evening, the readers and staff having departed for home not long after each other. Piles of books sat nestled in the return shelves, ready to be restocked. They always were come morning, though the reason for that remained unbeknownst to the staff. One always assumed another had done it, it was the easy answer.
In the darkened corridors, a nebulous form drifted along. In a neat single line behind it a parade of books followed, zipping off into their spaces when the spirit floated past. It made its lap, delivering via Dewey before returning to the piles.
An ethereal hand lingered fondly over one such pile, a finger running down the spines of the books before making a curious little gesture. The books rose up and into formation behind the spirit, and it made another sweep of the library. Hour after hour passed, diminishing the formerly chockablock returns section.
As the first ray of sun peered into the library, the ghost vanished with a satisfied smile on its face, ready to rest before another night of sorting and tidying.