Every evening at exactly 10:07 PM, the old library in the heart of the town would begin to hum. It was a low, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the building, as if the walls themselves were breathing. No one knew when it started, but the townspeople had long accepted it as part of the place’s character. The library had stood for over a century, its wooden floors creaking and its shelves lined with books that no one ever read. The librarian, an elderly woman named Mabel, had worked there for thirty years. She was known for her quiet demeanor and her habit of wearing gloves, even in the summer. Some said she never took them off, not even when she cleaned the dust from the ancient tomes. Others whispered that she had once been a witch, or that she had made a deal with something in the basement. But Mabel never confirmed or denied these stories. She simply smiled and said, “Some things are better left untouched.” One autumn evening, a young man named Eli arrived at the library, seeking a rare book on forgotten folklore. He had heard about the strange hum and the peculiar reputation of the place, but he dismissed it as local legend. As he stepped inside, the air felt colder than it should have been, and the faint scent of lavender and mildew filled his nostrils. The lights flickered slightly, casting long shadows across the room. Mabel greeted him with a nod, her gloved hands clasped before her. “Looking for something specific?” she asked, her voice soft and measured. “I’m researching old myths,” Eli replied. “Do you have any books on lost legends?” She led him to a section of the library that had been abandoned for decades, where the books were stacked haphazardly and the dust lay thick on the floor. “This is where we keep the ones no one wants to remember,” she said, brushing her hand over a shelf. “They’re safe here, away from the world.” Eli found a book titled *Whispers from the Forgotten* and opened it. The pages were yellowed, the ink faded, but the words were clear. As he read, the humming grew louder, and the temperature in the room dropped suddenly. He looked up, only to find that Mabel was gone. The door to the library was still open, but no one else was around. He turned the page and discovered a passage that described a hidden chamber beneath the library, accessible only at 10:07 PM. The text warned that those who entered would hear voices, but they must not answer. The final line read: *“The echoes are not yours, but they will become your own.”* Curiosity overpowered caution. Eli checked his watch—10:06 PM. He waited, heart pounding, until the clock struck 10:07. The humming intensified, and the floorboards beneath him groaned as if something heavy was shifting below. A small panel in the floor slid open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness. Eli hesitated, then climbed down. The air was damp and smelled of earth and decay. At the bottom, he found a circular room with walls covered in symbols that pulsed faintly, as though alive. In the center stood a mirror, its surface rippling like water. When he approached, he saw not his reflection, but a version of himself standing behind him, watching. The mirror whispered his name, and the other Eli smiled. “You’ve come back,” it said. “We’ve been waiting.” Eli stumbled backward, but the door above had vanished. The room began to shift, the walls stretching and contracting, the symbols glowing brighter. He tried to speak, but his voice was swallowed by the silence. The mirror’s reflection moved closer, and the other Eli reached out, touching the glass. Suddenly, the room went dark. When the light returned, the mirror was empty, and Eli was alone. He ran up the stairs, gasping for breath, and burst back into the main library. Mabel was there, sitting behind the desk, as if she had never left. “You shouldn’t have gone down there,” she said softly. “That place doesn’t belong to the living.” Eli didn’t know what to say. He left the library that night, but the hum followed him. It wasn’t just in his ears—it was in his thoughts, echoing with every step he took. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him, not from the library, but from within. Months later, the town spoke of a new librarian who had taken Mabel’s place. Some said she was younger, some said she was older. No one could agree on her face. But the humming remained, and at 10:07 PM, the library would always echo with the whispers of those who had come before.