Tomkins pried the lid from the wooden shipping crate. A puff of sawdust filled the air. He tugged the first book free and tore away the wrapping. There was something scrawled beside Frederiksen's name on the frontispiece.
"Tomkins - I know you'll find a way to steal my library once I'm gone, and I know your part in my passing. I wanted you to know. I have won."
There was a rustling sound and the smell of musty paper. Something massive loomed behind him, blocking the light.
The shipping crate, still nailed shut, eventually sold at auction for a pittance.
DP FICTION #5: “Not a Bird” by H.E. Roulo
13 hours ago