Milo woke to a soft click. The last light had switched off. He'd dozed off in the beanbag, and his comic had slid to the floor. The library was closed, dark, and locked tight. It smelled of dust and old glue. Then he heard it: every shelf was breathing. Books slid their spines a half-inch out, then back, in and out. A voice whispered, "Stay quiet. Don't wake them all the way."

Milo wanted to know what was really going on. He reached out and gently pulled one breathing book off the shelf. It was warm. On the cover, in gold letters, it read: HOW TO WAKE THE LIBRARY. The pages flipped open by themselves to chapter one.

Milo snapped the book shut before he read a word. The pages fought him, fluttering hard, but he held it closed and shoved it back on the shelf. The breathing around him sped up, like the books were annoyed. A whisper rose from the stacks: "Too late. You touched the wrong one."

The shelves leaned in around Milo, whispering louder and louder. He clapped his hands over his ears and shouted, "I'm sorry! Go back to sleep!" To his shock, the whispering softened. One by one the books settled, and the room went quiet enough for him to find the door.