By Johnathan Reid
FIRST PLACE in the June Competition
After signing the ledger with a false name, Mara followed the librarian down the basement staircase.
With a jangle of keys, he unlocked the imposing door to Archive Room No. 1 and beckoned her in. “It’s rare for someone to ask about Flood records,” he said. “Most visitors research dead relatives.”
“I’m more interested in what survived,” she replied, the smell of mildew and burnt paper filling her nostrils.
The librarian halted by a narrow gap between the stacks. “Yes, here we are.” A smaller key unlocked cabinet H7. A shelf of oven-dried journals greeted her, relics recovered from the Flood thirty years ago; the night Mara’s mother vanished.
The librarian indicated a small desk. “Fifteen minutes. Await my return.” Their measured steps faded away.
Mara worked quickly, grabbing the first journal and photographing each page, feeding the images into her tablet. Fragments flashed before her eyes:
The sirens sounded before the water rose.
The sluice gates were ordered to be opened.
No evidence of an accident.
Her heart beat faster. The inquiry had blamed an unprecedented tide. Her mother, a city engineer, had publicly disagreed days before disappearing.
Another entry scrolled by: Elena Lessing refused to sign.
Mara’s hand froze. Her mother’s name.
Different footsteps approached, but she ignored them, scanning faster: cross-referencing dates with maps she’d stolen from municipal offices, every document another jigsaw piece. The Flood had risen street by street, yet spared wealthier neighbourhoods in a wave of deliberate, controlled destruction.
Suddenly, the lights were extinguished and a voice hissed in the darkness: “You should’ve left history buried.”
Mara backed against the cabinet, clutching her tablet. It glowed with more text: If anything happens, look beneath the Observatory.
Her mother had guessed her fate.
Hope rose within Mara despite fear tightening her throat. Finally, the evidence she sought of her mother’s untimely fate.
But the proof beneath the abandoned Observatory remained dangerous enough to kill again.
The footsteps drew closer.
Judges’ Comments: I loved this piece – the pacing was done very well, it had
believable dialogue, and a thrilling atmosphere, all very hard to achieve in
just 300 words. Above all, I wanted to read on! And the sinister librarian
character clinched it for me.
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