But surely fog did not
Silence returned. Julia tried to tell herself that it was only another reader, lost in the fog and deciding to sit down until it cleared. But the trembling of her hands belied her. Very slowly, keeping her eyes on the fog-bank between herself and her invisible companion, Julia began to ease herself off her chair, hoping to slip away silently in the other direction, towards the catalogue. Her chair creaked loudly, and as it did so the wall of fog to her left rose up like a curtain.
IN THAT FIRST GLIMPSE, JULIA WAS RELIEVED, THOUGH startled, to discover that the chair beside her was occupied by a child, a little girl of no more than eight, with golden curls and pink cheeks, dressed in a starched white frock and petticoats. The reassurance lasted only an instant. There was something fixed and unnatural about the bright, smiling face turned towards Julia, and especially about the eyes, which had been slightly downcast, but suddenly opened wide with an audible click They were the shoe-button eyes of a doll; the face looked as hard and rigid as porcelain; and yet the creature was alive, for it was swinging its legs around with the evident intention of sliding off its chair and coming over to Julia.
All of Julia's hair stood on end; or such was the sensation. The 'click' of those eyes snapping open seemed to lodge in her own body with a visceral jolt of terror such as she would not have believed a human being could endure. If the smiling doll-creature touched her, she knew she would die; she could not cry out, for the fear was choking her. Its satin shoes touched the floor; Julia sprang up, knocking over her own chair, and backed away into the wall of fog. Blundering from chair to chair, with still no sign of another human being, she retreated until she collided painfully with what felt like the circular bookcase which housed the catalogue, groped her way along its edge, and lurched into what she hoped was another alleyway of desks, where she stopped and tried to hold her breath and still her pulse enough to listen for the rustle of her pursuers dress.
From the moment Julia left her seat, the fog had closed impermeably about her. If she held her hand so close that her fingers actually touched her face, she could see the outline of it, but beyond that distance she might as well have been immersed in cotton wool, through which filtered a dim, uniform, yellow-grey light. Even in normal circumstances, the Reading Room has a labyrinthine aspect; some have compared it to a spiders web; but because it is possible to see over the tops of the rows of desks and across the central bookcases, these sinister possibilities lie mostly dormant. If all light were to be extinguished, one might imagine that the regularity of its construction, with the rows of desks radiating out from the centre like the spokes of a wheel, would still render escape relatively straightforward. But in fact, merely by pausing to listen, Julia found that she had lost all sense of direction. The strange sea-creature smell confused her senses, and the blood would not stop ringing in her ears. She could not hear, yet she knew that to run blindly would be fatal; the noise of her flight would give her away. Besides-she tried to suppress the realisation, but could not-the creature had found her in spite of the fog. Julia began to tremble uncontrollably.
Noise might be fatal, but to remain waiting for a porcelain hand to insinuate itself into hers was quite unbearable. She took a slow step backwards and bumped against a chair, which scraped; set off in what she thought was the right direction and encountered a cold, vertical surface which she could not identify at all, and from there veered into empty space, losing even her sense of up and down. She felt herself falling; reached out to save herself and clutched at a narrow ledge or flange, which seemed at first solid but suddenly gave way with a rasp, shot from her hand and fell at her feet with a dreadful smash. The creature would be upon her any second; Julia stumbled back into the void, and this time managed to hand herself from chair to chair along the entire length of a row. The noise was frightful, despite the muffling effect of the fog several chairs fell behind her, but she kept on, and when nothing met her hand after the expected interval, threw herself forward with both arms outstretched until she collided with what, she prayed, was the bookcase that ran right around the circumference of the Reading Room. Instinct told her that if she were to follow the curve around to her left, she would eventually arrive at the main entrance, where help must surely be at hand.
Julia stopped again to listen, but her breathing would not slow. Terror had left no room for any thought beyond the desire for escape; she set off again, as fast as she dared, with her right hand brushing along the curved bookcase and her left stretched out before her. In a surprisingly short time she came to an opening, which, she told herself, must be the entrance; she felt her way through, stumbled for some distance in another void, and collided with a wall. No, a door, for it swung away under her weight, and she went on through, quite unable to visualise the foyer in sufficient detail to tell whether she was in it or not. She took a few steps forward, but the floor did not feel right underfoot; it had a hollow, skeletal quality about it; then she brushed against a cold, vertical metal surface, which certainly did not match her recollection of anything in the foyer. Running her hand across the metal surface beside her, Julia realised that it was the end of a bookshelf. Reaching around it, she disturbed a volume which fell over with a thud, and all at once understood where she must be. This was the Iron Library, a maze of shelves crammed with books in their numberless thousands. If she could not regain the door through which she had entered, she would be utterly lost.
But perhaps help was closer at hand than she had thought, for was that not the faint sound of voices? And quite close by; perhaps it was only the muffling effect of the fog that made it sound like whispering. She took a step forward, keeping one hand on the metal surface to her left, and now the sound was even clearer, though oddly repetitive in its cadence, as if someone were whispering the same word over and over. Her hand slid off into space and across to the end of another shelf: and yes, the voice was coming from the aisle between the shelves; it seemed to be rising up from the floor as the fog once more lifted to reveal the doll-child's upturned porcelain smile, the shoe-button eyes opening wide, painted fingers reaching towards the hem of Julia's dress, and the rosebud mouth opening and closing mechanically, whispering 'Julia… Julia… Julia…'
Thus began a fearful game of hide-and-seek which drove Julia ever further into the gloomy depths of the Iron Library. The fog had thinned somewhat, so that she could see from one end of an aisle to the other, but that only worsened the terror of seeing the painted smile appearing from around a stack or worse, coming up behind her as she paused, wondering which way to flee. Though the creatures head came no higher than Julia's waist, the thought of turning upon it, or trying to kick it out of her way, only prompted a further spasm of horror; she knew she could not endure its slightest touch, and so could only retreat until she ran up against an iron staircase spiralling up into the foggy darkness overhead.
Her pursuer was not at that moment in sight, but there was no other way back. Shuddering at the image of the doll-child lurking in wait for her, Julia began to climb. But she could not keep the staircase from sounding beneath her feet; her footsteps rang out over the fog-bank which now rolled back below her, so that she could neither see nor hear whether the creature was following. She passed an exit onto a narrow metal gallery and kept climbing higher and higher, with the fog still rising so that it swirled continuously just below her hurrying feet.
Soon she could go no higher; the last turn brought her out onto another gallery, whose floor, like the others in the Iron Library, was a sort of grid, so that one could see through it to the fog drifting just beneath. On one side of her was a sheer dark wall, on the other a handrail, through which, as she paused wondering which direction to take, she could feel a faint rhythmic drumming, as of footsteps coming lightly and rapidly up from below. Julia began to retreat along the gallery as fast as she dared, glancing frequently over her shoulder. There was no sign of the doll- child yet; but she saw that she was coming to a dead end; there was nothing ahead of her but an end-rail, and no more stairs.
A cold gust of air rose about her; the wall of fog rolled back and seemed to dissolve upon the instant, and Julia found herself looking down from a great height, at row upon row of skeletal iron floors plummeting away into darkness. Vertigo seized her as it had on the brink of Frederick's balcony. Simultaneously, the doll-child emerged onto the gallery and trotted purposefully towards her, the painted smile broadening, its tread sounding heavier with every step. Caught between the terror of falling and dread at the creature's approach, Julia pressed herself against the wall. The porcelain arms reached out; the eyes clicked wide open. As a cry of repulsion rose ungovernably in Julia's throat, her fingers found a handle. Part of the wall gave way with a crash, flinging her out upon another gallery, beneath a vast, win-dowed hemisphere which took up her cry and sent it ringing and reverberating across the Reading Room, high above a sea of upturned faces.
