I was always that weird kid who liked books more than friends. So, it's no wonder I ended up working the night shift at Ash & Ink Books—a musty Portland bookstore with its own reputation.

Two months into the job, I'd settled into the rhythm of nights. The footsteps in the walls. The strange sounds. The books that seem to move when I'm not looking.

But nothing prepared me for what I saw in the window one morning.

A gaunt face, stretched long as if screaming. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest.

When I look directly at the window, it's just a book with ravens on the cover. Just a book. Just my exhausted brain playing tricks on me.

Except it won't stop watching me.