"I wish this was over. Dear God let them leave soon."

The words repeat over and over in my head like a desperate mantra. If only it would actually work.

The woman walking behind me begins softly whispering to the man next to her. I have no reason or right to, but I do not like this woman. It really is not fair, this woman has been nothing but polite to me, but years of the same classically pretty girls with shiny brunet hair and perfect delicate features whispering behind my back have formed a defensive bias that is hard to shake.

The man walking next to her answers in his own low voice. I cannot make out what he is saying but something about him is oddly comforting.

It had taken me a moment to realize he was even there when the woman first interrupted me. It was late and I had already started closing up, but I must have forgotten to lock the door. So when she tapped me on the shoulder she startled me so much I nearly dropped the stack of first editions I was reshelving.

The man had been standing a little further down the aisle and looked as strikingly bizarre as the woman is pretty. Not many people come into a rare books library dressed in a bowtie, combat boots, and tweed jacket. Though, in fairness, not many come into this library at all.

And honestly that is part of the reason why I took the job. Let's just say I am not the most socially adept person out there.

So when the couple came out of nowhere asking for help I had mentally crossed my fingers they just needed to use the washroom or the phone or something. Anything that would minimize the need for awkward social interaction. But I had no such luck.

I stop in front of a wall of shelves and bend down to scan the titles for the one they are looking for. I can still hear their low voices behind me, but now that they are closer I can understand a bit of what they are saying.

"It's not that I don't believe the book exists," hissed the woman, "I just have a hard time believing you were a Viking god."

"Of course I wasn't a god. Honestly Clara you should hear how ridiculous you sound. I just saved a Viking god. Well he was more of a king really, but a very powerful one. OK not so powerful…but he was very large."

"So basically you helped out a big guy with horns on his helmet."

"Well, you know how it is. Stories get passed around and the details…shift."

"Oh and I'm sure you had nothing to do with that."

There conversation makes no sense to me. They must either be mad or playing some messed by game. Either way the quicker they leave the better.

"Here it is." I stand with the book they are looking for.

As hold it out to them, the moon outside breaks through a cloud sending its light streaming through the oversized window at the end of the aisle.

All three of us freeze, standing in the moonlight in stunned into silence.

In front of us, just a little further down the aisle, a translucent pale figure of a man appears. He looks from left to right in a confused panic and the moonlight bounces off his pale skin creating an eerie silver glow.

Without warning the figure's head snaps to look in our direction and before I have time to react it races towards us at full speed with a wild look in his dark eyes.

Just as it is about to reach us, a cloud slides back over the moon and both the moonlight and figure disappear at once.

The sound of my pounding heart fills my ears. Did that really just happen or am I having some kind of episode?

The woman, I think the man had called her Clara, is the first to break the silence.

"Is it gone?"

"Not gone." The man answers slowly, "Just out of sight."

"But it wasn't what I think it was, was it?"

I do not know what she thinks it might be but only one thing comes to my mind, and that something is impossible, ridiculous, and yet still the only thing I can think of.

Luckily I do not have to be the one say it.

"It wasn't a ghost was it?"

The man doesn't answer her but begins carefully surveying the room, taking sidelong steps this way and that, as if searching for something invisible to my eyes. From his pocket he pills a strange pen-shaped instrument with a green light on one end and points it at various things around him. There is now no doubt in my mind. This man is mental. But then, so is this whole situation.

The man is obviously distracted so Clara prompts him again for an answer.

"Doctor?"

Doctor. Well that explains some of his strange behaviour. I have all kinds of mad professors and historians come in here thinking because they earned their PhD everyone should have to call them 'doctor'. I learned long ago it is far easier to just humour them than fight their inflated ego.

"Doctor?" Clara repeats a little louder.

This time he hears her, though clearly not very well. For some reason he has climbed up onto the third shelf of the nearest bookcase and is pointing his strange pen into the air. When he looks down to answer the voice, his eyes fall not on Clara but on me.

Instantly I panic. He wants an answer. But what was the question?

At last I find my voice.

"She asked if that, that thing we saw could be the ghost."

"No, no, no." He replies distractedly. "I'm getting all sorts of strange readings up here but nothing paranormal. The gamma rays are acting up causing a red shift in the hydrogen particles which is making the photon reflectant rate go through the roof and frankly it's been a long time since you dusted up he…"

He stops mid sentence and stares at me.

"You said 'the ghost.'"

"I…what?"

"The ghost! You said 'the ghost.' Not a ghost but the ghost." He leaps down, somewhat awkwardly, and hurries towards me. "Have you seen him before?"

"No. No, I just know the stories." I stammer out quickly.

"Ah stories!" His face lights up. "I love a good ghost story. Come on then, let's hear it."

He rubs his hands together in excitement as he crosses to sit on the windowsill.

"Do we really have time for this?" Clara asks.

"Of course! It's not every day a library full of books full of stories gets a story of its very own. So come," he leans forward and a smile spreads across her face as he pulls her by the arm to sit next to him on the sill, "let's hear the ghost story of the library."

They look at me expectantly. My palms start to sweat and a lump begins in my throat. First ghosts and now public speaking. This is quite literally my worst nightmare.

"Well," I begin, "umm, well I guess it starts when the building was still a umm, a private home."

The doctor leans forward in interest and once again there is something comforting about him that makes me feel a little more confident.

"The man that lived here, I think he was an earl of somewhere, he spent his time playing with scientific experiments. The story says that he mixed up his chemicals and created a poisonous gas or something that ripped his soul from his body. At night his soul is supposed to be seen roaming the halls searching for a way home. The earl went insane and died not long after the incident so some people see that as proof, but he probably just poisoned himself. Anyway. That's it."

There is only the briefest of awkward silences before the doctor leaps to his feet in a burst of energy.

"So that was our old friend the earl, eh? A little to curious for his own good if you ask me, but then that is so wonderfully human of him. And that was wonderful storytelling by the way, what did you say your name was?"

"Oh, I'm Lillian."

"Hello Lillian!" He grabs my hand and shakes it rather vigorously. "Lillian the Librarian. Got to love some good ol' alliteration, eh? Well fear not Lillian, we'll have this sorted out in no time."

Clara jumps up to join them. "So you know what to do then?"

"Not a clue! But like most creepy things it seems we can only see him in the moonlight so," he points the pen-like device towards the window. "I think if I can just modify the wavelengths, extrapolate the photons, and bring up the contrast I should be able to…ah, there we are."

As if someone flicked a switch, the figure appears at the far end of the aisle once more, only this time he isn't alone. Surrounding us are dozens of similar ghostly figures, taking no notice of each other as they wander around and through the shelves.

It is then that I notice something odd…well, more odd than things already are at least.

"Doctor," I start, not quite knowing how to say this. "Over there, that figure looks just like you."

"And there I am over there." Says Clara pointing out her own silvery doppelganger.

I look up at the doctor for an answer and see that, for the first time tonight, he too is afraid.

"This is not good." He says finally. "This is very not good. These people, all these people, and us, are stuck between time."

"Between time and what?" Clara asks.

He turns swiftly around to face her.

"Between time and time. They're stuck between one timeline and another. Trapped in the minute yet essential space that stops two timelines from intersecting. It seems our friend Earl What's-his-name was a little too curious after all. He must have created a tear in time when his experiment went wrong and now he and all these other people have fallen into it."

"But then how can you be over here talking to me and over there as a ghost-thing?" I ask, unable to help myself.

"Because what we're looking at is a snapshot of all of time at once. Where these people are there is no time; they are outside of it. We're not just seeing everyone who has fallen into the tear already, but everyone who ever will. So as long as we can see ourselves over there," All three of us turn to look at the pale figures of the doctor and Clara, "it means we will fall in over here."

"But you always say…Can't time be rewritten." It is the first time I've heard Clara's voice sound so small.

This seems to snap him back into action.

"Yes. Absolutely. Let's go with that. Far less menacing a future to think about. Now the tear will be small and hard to see, but it shouldn't be far from here. So think!"

He spins around to face me planting both hands of my shoulders and staring intensely at me face to face.

"Have you ever seen a rift in time anywhere in the library?"

"No," I stammer out, completely intimidated. "I mean I have no idea what a tear in time looks like, but if there was a rift or tear or something around here I'd have fallen in too, wouldn't I?"

I look to Clara to help me out of this.

"She's right Doctor, she would have seen it."

He drops his hands to his side in disappointment and with hunched shoulders, paces across the aisle.

"So what are we missing?"

I look at the figures still wandering around us, when I realize something.

"They're all men."

I am not even aware I have said it out loud until Clara responds.

"You're right. That's it." She turns to face me with a twinkle of caviler excitement in her eyes. "Lillian, what's the one place in this library that you have never been? The once place you will never go?"

It takes me a second to catch up. But of course she's right. There really is only one place I would not even think of going.

Clara calls out to the doctor, "It's the toilets!"

"Really Clara, this is hardly the time for a trip to the loo."

"Not me." She replies in exasperation. "The tear. It's in the men's toilets."

He face lights up in understanding and he calls out to me,

"Lillian, which way to the toilet?"

It looks like I will need to give directions to the washrooms after all.

"Back down the hall, on the left hand side, just before you reach the staircase." I recite.

Without another word they both race off in the direction of my pointing hand and, without really thinking, I follow.

The doctor is the first to reach the washroom. He flings open the door brandishing his pen around the room, investigating everything. The sinks, the mirrors, even the urinals. Finally his eyes fall on the single toilet stall in the room.

With one swift, yet awkward motion he kicks open the door and leaps forward. At the same moment Clara realizes what he dose not and launches forward in fear, grabbing on to his sleeve trying to pull him back.

All at once a blinding white-hot light fills the room and the sound of their screaming voices echo off the tiled walls.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it is over.

They are gone.

I do not move, stunned by all I have seen. Until now I had somehow been able to remain relatively calm despite the fact that my understanding of reality was being bent and broken by the chaos that had blown in with these two strangers. But this, seeing two people vanish right in front of me, pushed me over the edge.

I probably would have stayed standing right here, starring at the empty toilet stall, if the ancient radiator on the wall next to me did not choose that moment to abruptly clang into action. It scares me half to death but does the job and jolts me back to my senses.

Careful to avoid getting too close to the stall, I slide out of the washroom door and into the hallway. What am I supposed to do now? Part of me wants to close my eyes and pretend none of this ever happened, but I cannot just abandon the doctor and Clara. Besides, the place is still teaming with these creepy translucent people and the night custodian would be coming in soon. No, I have to get the other two back…somehow.

I start walking to my desk, hoping some kind of brilliant plan will come to me on the way. As I walk past aisle after aisle of the tall wooden shelves, the sheer magnitude of what I am facing begins to settle over me. I have absolutely no idea what I am doing and have absolutely no way of figuring it out. I stop at the top of an aisle completely discouraged, when something catches my eye.

At the end of the aisle stands the most spectacular thing I've seen yet. It is a blue box just a little bigger than a phone booth. Along the top on all sides it reads 'Police Box'. I have seen pictures of these before in the old photographs from the library's archives. They were once all over the city, but what is it doing here? And how on earth did it fit through the door?

As I walk towards it, even in my awestruck state, I have to admit it is beautiful. It is centered perfectly at the end of the aisle as if whoever put it there knew exactly how spectacular it would look. Yet as out of place as it might be, the strangest thing is how it feels as though it belongs exactly where it is. As if it fits right in within the shelves upon shelves of ancient stories that this library is home to.

When I reach the odd booth the doors swing open wide without the slightest help from me. And what I see inside is breathtaking.

Within the four walls of this small wooden box is a vast round room that looks like the control room from a science fiction movie. I really should be more shocked, or at least surprised by what I see, but after everything that has happened in the last hour nothing can surprise me anymore.

Tentatively, I step inside, looking around to see if anyone is here. The wall opposite is lined with numerous doorways that seem to lead even further in every direction. Suddenly, a light snaps on in the doorway directly in front of me making me stop in my tracks, afraid that someone is here.

"Hello?" I call out. "Is anyone there?" But no one answers.

I walk to the doorway and look down the hallway. Everything is pitch black and I can barely see three meters before me. The only light hangs directly above my head. Just as I begin to think I should probably get out of here and head back to my desk, another light just a little further down the hall snaps on. I take a few steps towards it and call out, but still there is no reply. When I reach the second light another one, even further down the hall, springs to life.

It is strange, but in here I feel the same sense of comfort that I felt from the doctor earlier. I know it is impossible, but I feel as though this box is somehow alive and trying to help me. I have always been a very pragmatic person, the kind who trusts facts before feelings, but for the first time in my life I throw logic aside and trust my instincts.

The lights continue to lead me through the twisting and forking hallways on a seemingly endless journey, until they finally stop in front of a door. It looks just like any of the other countless doors I have passed on the way here, but if this is where the lights want me to go then it is worth a shot. So with a deep breath, I push it open.

This time I really am shocked by what I see, for before me is an absolutely massive library. It has at least three floors housing some of the tallest bookshelves I have ever seen. A library inside a police box inside a library. Sure. Why not? Seems just about right for a day like today.

Then it dawns on me. A library this large must have some book or article that can help me get the others back. I have always looked to books for answers in times of trouble and this is no time for them to fail me now. But where to start?

These shelves do not seems to be sorted in any system I am familiar with, so I decide to pick one at random and begin skimming the titles. Most appear to be in English, except for a few that are just filled with strange circular designs.

My concentration is broken by a loud thunk from the next aisle over. I freeze mid step, frightened that someone or something else is in here with me. I carefully peek around the corner and see nothing down this aisle but a single book lying on the floor. It must have fallen from the shelf. I pick it up to put it back in place, more out of habit than anything else, when the title catches my eye. The silver lettering embossed on the cover reads, "The Space Between Time: Six Essays on the Time Between". My heart starts beating a little bit faster. This could be what I have been looking for.

I hurriedly riffle through its pages, skimming heading and sections as I go. It seems the earl was not the first to be experimenting in this field. The book mentions that the only light that can permeate the space between timelines is indirect sunlight. So that must be why we can only see the figures when the moon shines on them. Moonlight is just reflected sunlight after all. The book goes on to explain that if shone directly into a rift, the light will act as a beacon guiding explorers back home and sealing the rift forever.

Now that I have my answer I leap up holding the book to my chest and run down the hall, following the lights back to the strange control room. I am about to step out the blue wooden doors when something stops me. I turn around for one last look at this strange and wonderful place and, thought I am not sure why, I whisper "Thank you", then take off back into my library.

I set off to the men's toilets once more, this time with a plan.

I manage to push open the old window across the hall from the men's toilets, letting in as much moonlight as possible. As I head inside the washroom I see the silvery figures around me start to glow just a little brighter.

This is it. I have to admit I feel rather silly standing alone in the men's toilets at night propping the hall door open with my foot. But with a deep breath I prepare myself for whatever is about to happen next.

Keeping a safe distance, I kick the stall door open letting the light pour in. A wind suddenly comes from nowhere and begins swirling around the room. A white light bursts from the stall once more but this time the figures in the hall stop and take notice. All at once they walk through the walls, their pale faces and dark eyes fixed on the light. One by one they step into it and disappear.

Finally I see the translucent figures of Clara and the Doctor slide through the wall and they too disappear into the stall. The light begins to shrink smaller and smaller until it becomes nothing but a speck, and then goes out completely.

Quiet fills the room once more.

But I'm still alone. The ghosts might be gone but so are the Doctor and Clara. Is it possible I just made things worse?

I look out the door into the hallway hoping to see them, but it too is empty.

Suddenly, behind me I hear a faint yell and turn around just in time to see first Clara, then the Doctor shoot out of the stall and across the floor.

"Gross!" Clara cries as she and the Doctor lay in a heap on the washroom floor. "Why is it wet here?"

"Best not to think about it." Replied the doctor giving her a tentative pat on the back, then quickly wiping his hand on his trousers while she is not looking.

"I'm so taking a shower when we're back on the TARDIS."

"Lillian!"

The doctor seemed to have just realized I was standing there. He saunters over to me with outstretched arms.

"Our saviour. The mighty hero. Knew you could figure it out."

He throws his arms around me giving me a bear hug. Now it was my turn to feel the need for a shower.

"How did you figure it out?" asked Clara inquisitively. "I mean even this guy hadn't a clue what to do."

"Hey, I knew precisely what I was doing. It was all part of the larger plan."

"Really? Is that why you got us both sucked into a toilet?"

"Well…we're out now aren't we?" His response is a little sheepish and he quickly changes the subject. "So how did you figure it out?"

As we walk back through the library I tell them what had happened after they disappeared. If I had been talking to anyone else I would not have told the whole story. I would have left out the part about finding a big blue box down an aisle and I definitely would not have said anything about how it seemed to be miles bigger on the inside than out. But I had a feeling that this strange couple would know exactly what I was talking about. Even when I mention the maddest part of all, how I felt as though the box was somehow helping me along, they followed right along.

"Yes! She does that sometimes." The doctor replied with a smile. "Always looking out for us."

Clearly they are even madder than I had thought, but I am surprised to find how perfectly OK I am with that.

We reach the police box and it looks just as spectacular as before, only this time it look a little more friendly, like it is welcoming these two home.

"Doctor we should be heading back. I've got to pick up Artie and Angie from school and I promised I wouldn't be late!" Clara says as she heads its entrance.

"It's a time machine Clara, you can't be late." But she had already disappeared through the blue doors.

The doctor gave a sigh and before turning to follow her, he turns to face me.

"Lillian the Librarian." He is smiling and once more it seems like he is looking at something special that only he can see. "Thank you. Every story needs a good hero, I'm glad you were ours."

Clara's head pops out of the blue door behind him. "Yeah, thanks a ton! You were great. Oh and I love your sweater by the way."

OK. Maybe she is not like those other pretty brunette girls whispering behind my back after all.

She turns to the doctor and says with a grin, "You coming or what?"

He gives me one last smile and steps inside the box.

The door closes behind him and for a moment nothing happens. Then the light on the top starts to flash on and off and a strange noise like deep mechanical breathing fills the air.

I instinctively take a step back, I have had had enough of wormholes and disappearing people for one day.

As I do my foot knocks into something. I looked down to see what it is and realize it is the book I had borrowed from library in the police box. I bend down to grab it and look up ready to call them back.

"Wait! You forgot…"

But the police box had disappeared.

I bring the book in close, holding it tight to my chest. Today had been unusual to say the least but looking around the room you would never guess the strange and wonderful things that have happened here. The only evidence of this bizarre adventure is this book in my arms. And I know exactly what to do with it.

Down a rarely visited aisle at the very back of the library, Lillian climbs a ladder to the top shelf. Between a first edition of a novel no one's ever heard of and an atlas of places no one's ever been to, she slides the best book she's ever read. And what better place could there be for it?

This is a rare books library after all, and this is its rarest book yet.