Dear Diary,
Today began, as so many good mysteries do, with an unmarked package and a quiet librarian trying not to panic.
I had only popped into the Huckleberry Hollow Library to return a cookbook I borrowed two months ago (only slightly stained with cinnamon thumbprints), when I found Ruth Dawson standing behind the front desk, staring at a brown paper parcel as if it might explode—or worse, contain a poorly written romance novel.
The package was medium-sized. No return address. No stamp. Just tied with string and left neatly in the library’s book return bin. No note. No explanation.
Naturally, I insisted we open it immediately.
Inside: a single, very old hardcover book, its edges worn soft, the title nearly rubbed off the spine. Ruth squinted at the gold lettering until it revealed itself under the light:
“The Art of Disappearing” by someone named A. Merrow. No author bio, no publication date, no library barcode. But tucked between pages 70 and 71—delicate as breath—was a pressed forget-me-not, perfectly preserved and just fragrant enough to feel… intentional.
“This isn’t from our collection,” Ruth whispered, turning it over carefully. “I’ve never seen this before. Have you?”
“I haven’t,” I said, “but I’m going to read every single page immediately.”
At that precise moment, Tiger leapt onto the counter, knocking over the book return sign, a cup of bookmarks, and a stack of overdue notices. He landed squarely on top of the book and sat on it like it owed him money.
“I believe he has claimed it,” I told Ruth.
We spent the next hour researching. No record of the book in any system. No mention of A. Merrow in local archives. Nothing but a name, a title, and a strange feeling that someone meant for us to have it. Or perhaps for Tiger to have it—he’s since refused to let the book leave his sight. He slept on it for three hours and hissed at my letter opener when I tried to shift him.
Theories thus far:
- It’s a forgotten local author trying to be rediscovered
- It’s a message from someone who’s about to vanish (dramatic!)
- It’s part of a scavenger hunt… or a trap
- It’s a gift for Tiger, who may secretly be in charge of everything
I’ve tucked the book into a tote bag—after Tiger graciously allowed me to move it—and I plan to spend the evening combing through its pages. Chapter one begins with: “The first rule of disappearing is knowing what must be left behind.”
Chills. Actual chills. Or maybe that’s just the draft from the window that doesn’t shut right.
Either way, this story has just begun—and Tiger is already acting like he knows how it ends.
—Lydia
