The Library of Lost Knowledge

Mitchell Kancz

Welcome back to The Hollow Hill Chronicles. I'm Mitchell Kancz.

Noah Kancz

And I'm Noah Kancz, still recovering from watching a seventy-nine-year-old ghost perform Shakespeare. Somehow that felt less depressing than our last hospital haunt, but hey, here we are.

Mitchell Kancz

Today, we’re looking into a place that actually still has a roof—Hollow Hill Public Library. The head librarian’s been reporting books reshelving themselves and what she calls, uh, “aggressive shushing” coming from empty rooms. That’s a new one for us.

Noah Kancz

A library ghost. Finally, something that can’t chase us or—wait, this one isn’t gonna trap us in a collapsing building again, right?

Mitchell Kancz

Well, never say never. The main activity surrounds Edmund Price, former head librarian from ’52 to ‘73. Died on the job—protecting books.

Noah Kancz

Let me guess: tragic accident involving a first edition of Moby Dick?

Mitchell Kancz

Not quite. He died trying to save rare books during a tornado. Refused to leave them behind.

Noah Kancz

That’s... actually kind of noble. Tragically nerdy, but noble.

Mitchell Kancz

Mrs. Chen, current librarian, says everything she updates gets undone overnight. Old systems, old order—Edmund’s rules. And now it’s ramping up.

Noah Kancz

So, a perfectionist ghost who died protecting the stacks, making sure nobody messes with Dewey. This should be easy, right?

Mitchell Kancz

You said the theater would be straightforward.

Noah Kancz

Yeah, and look where that got us. Seriously though, what’s the Meridian connection? Because there’s always a Meridian connection.

Mitchell Kancz

The library goes back even further—built in ‘28. Four years before Dr. Meridian built his theater. So maybe this is where that whole mess actually started.

Noah Kancz

A multigenerational curse family—now with a library branch. Great. Let’s go meet the world’s most organized ghost.

Mitchell Kancz

This is The Hollow Hill Chronicles. Let’s head inside.

Mitchell Kancz

It’s a classic three-story library, built in 1928. Feels like you’ve stepped into another era just walking in. Mrs. Chen meets us—she’s frazzled, but she’s hanging on.

Noah Kancz

She explains the books get reorganized every night, back to the 1960s version of the Dewey Decimal System. I mean, who even remembers the 1960s Dewey Decimal System except, I guess, Edmund. Or Google. Or both.

Mitchell Kancz

She’s spent five years trying to modernize the place—computers, digital catalogs, automatic returns—but every single change, undone by morning. It’s like the world’s pettiest time loop.

Noah Kancz

The moment I step behind the circulation desk, my EMF detector just spikes. Like seriously maxed out. That’s not just residual. That’s, “don’t touch my books” in ghost language.

Mitchell Kancz

We head to the reading room, which is... perfectly preserved, like it’s frozen in time. 1973, right down to the faded chairs. And those card catalog drawers—every card is handwritten in the crispest 1960s penmanship I’ve ever seen. Even for books acquired last week.

Noah Kancz

Yeah, and when Mitchell touches Edmund Price’s nameplate on the reference desk—don’t ask me why he thought that was a good idea—every single light in the building flickers. Classic angry librarian move but, you know, supernatural.

Mitchell Kancz

That’s when we hear it: a voice, way too close even though we’re alone. “Silence in the reading room. Return all books to their proper location. Respect the system.” Super clear, super loud, no source.

Noah Kancz

So, obviously, I can’t help myself—I mutter something about shushing ghosts. Immediately, a twenty-volume encyclopedia launches itself at my face. Like, not an accident. That book wanted me dead.

Mitchell Kancz

Turns out, Edmund’s not just enforcing rules. He’s making sure we act like library patrons—his patrons. Perfect order… or else.

Noah Kancz

While I’m trying to recover from nearly getting killed by a textbook, Mrs. Chen lets us in on the real problem: the library board’s threatening to shut the place down in a month if she doesn’t finish renovations. And nothing modern works for more than a day before the system resets itself.

Mitchell Kancz

Digital catalogs delete themselves, new bookshelves get mysteriously rearranged, and she says they’ve lost three wireless routers in the last month alone—just vanished. She’s desperate, honestly. This is the only free resource left in town. If the board wins, a lot of people lose.

Noah Kancz

We check out the periodicals: newspapers, magazines, all arranged by date, all the way back to day one in ‘28. Not a dust bunny in sight. I would kill for half that organization at our place.

Mitchell Kancz

I find an article from October ‘28, circled in bright red: “Meridian Family Donates Funds for New Public Library.” I snap some photos—there are more, all marked up, all tied to the Meridian family’s money in basically every institution that matters around here.

Mitchell Kancz

Suddenly, we see him—Edmund Price. Thin, gray hair, cardigan, bow tie, the whole look. Classic librarian, except he’s semi-transparent and looks like he needs a nap. Polite but… stern. “The cataloging system is perfect,” he says. “Modern arrangements are a disrespect to the art.”

Noah Kancz

Mitchell tries to reason—like, there’s gotta be a compromise, right? Bad move. Edmund gets agitated. Next thing you know, books start shaking on the shelves and a few go airborne. He can control it, but he’s definitely not happy about the idea of change.

Noah Kancz

And then—just like that—he’s gone. I spot this door marked “Archive – Authorized Personnel Only,” which isn’t on any blueprint. I double check, because of course I do.

Mitchell Kancz

We go through and there’s this spiral staircase, heading underground. Mrs. Chen is floored—she has no idea this place even existed. Every box, every folder in the archive going back to 1928, all arranged perfectly. It’s a ghost archivist’s dream. Or nightmare. Can’t decide.

Mitchell Kancz

What stands out is a file—Elias Meridian. Dr. Theodore’s grandfather, yes, the same family running through everything we investigate. Turns out, Elias funded the whole library but made it come with strings: the library needs to always keep a “special collection” and catalog it exactly the way he wanted.

Noah Kancz

Then there’s a sealed doorway: “Special Collection – Edmund Price, Curator.” So much for this being just a regular haunting. This connection is way deeper.

Mitchell Kancz

We break into the sealed room, and it is not your grandma’s reading nook. Homemade journals, grimoires, weird occult texts. All hush-hush stuff about soul binding, consciousness manipulation, even immortality through “absorbing knowledge.” It’s three generations of Meridian notes and—oh—these books aren’t listed anywhere public.

Noah Kancz

I mean, Edmund’s been playing nightwatchman for all this for fifty years. No wonder he’s so intense. He’s basically been forced to babysit evil encyclopedias.

Mitchell Kancz

Edmund shows up again, a lot less together than before—flickering like a bad projector. He finally opens up: he found the special collection in ‘72, spent a year trying to understand and destroy what was in them. But when he tried, a failsafe spell from Elias Meridian locked him in place as the building’s guardian. His job? Protect the very knowledge he tried to destroy.

Noah Kancz

So he’s trapped, stuck enforcing a system he hates—basically ghost librarian purgatory. Makes our day jobs look easy, honestly.

Mitchell Kancz

The curse gets even nastier. If you spend too much time reading the special collection, you can’t stop. You get obsessed. Before Edmund, three librarians did just that—between ‘32 and ‘65. None of them were ever seen again. Edmund’s been fighting for fifty years, pulled between wanting to destroy it and being forced to preserve it for eternity.

Noah Kancz

So basically, every time he tries to warn someone, it backfires. The curse is like this cosmic joke—protect the bad stuff or be forced to repeat the nightmare.

Noah Kancz

I dig up some personnel records. Sarah Bellows, vanished 1932. Thomas Wright, gone 1948. Diana Foster, disappeared 1965. All three checked out the special collection, then poof, gone within a couple weeks. No bodies, no leads, nothing.

Mitchell Kancz

And their names—yep, inscribed in a fancy leather-bound ledger, each one marked “Integrated – Successful.” That does not sound like “retired early.”

Mitchell Kancz

We search behind the shelves and find another hidden room—three ornate reading chairs in a perfect circle. Each has a nameplate: Sarah, Thomas, Diana. Dates marking when they “joined” the collection. The creep factor is—yeah. High.

Noah Kancz

My EMF app goes haywire: three distinct signatures. They’re not just names—there’s something, or someone, in there. Those missing librarians didn’t leave. They became the furniture. Like, literally.

Mitchell Kancz

I test the theory, and—when I touch Sarah’s chair, her voice is suddenly in my head. She’s desperate, pleading for help. All three have been stuck endlessly reading and cataloging Meridian family research. They can’t die, can’t sleep, just reading… forever.

Noah Kancz

So, instead of books absorbing people, people become books. That’s—nope. Uh uh. All-time high on “let’s burn the place down.”

Mitchell Kancz

Edmund’s guilt is palpable. He’s breaking down, sobbing, finally admits he’s known the truth since ‘73 but couldn’t do a thing—even revealing it breaks the rules. He’s been driving people away by playing “bad ghost” for decades, hoping to keep them safe.

Noah Kancz

Great, I’m feeling bad for the haunting now. That’s how you know you’ve been doing this too long.

Mitchell Kancz

Piecing it together, I realize the library isn’t a community resource. Not really. It’s a trap, a sophisticated harvesting machine for smart, curious minds. The Meridian family built it to spot anyone interested in forbidden knowledge and then—what—kill them? No, use them. Absorb their consciousness and make them catalog occult stuff, forever.

Noah Kancz

And that’s how their techniques for the hospital, theater, all those creepy advanced things developed. Research, by literal soul labor. That’s their grand design.

Noah Kancz

Here’s where it gets fun: I start reading a grimoire—just a little curiosity, right? Suddenly, I can’t look away. Everything else fades. It’s like the book’s pulling me in, and I want it. Like—I swear, if Mitchell hadn’t yanked it from my hands, I don’t know if I’d have stopped.

Mitchell Kancz

Yeah, you looked like you were about to disappear in your chair too. These books are weaponized knowledge. Read at your own risk. Or, actually, don’t.

Mitchell Kancz

We try to leave—doors slam, exits seal, just like what happened at the theater. Except this time, the whole building feels alive. It knows we know and wants to add us to the collection too.

Noah Kancz

Edmund shows up, fighting himself, shaking, trying to help but literally bound by the ritual to stop us. Worst escape room ever.

Mitchell Kancz

Edmund manages this workaround, using the card catalog to spell out a Dewey Decimal code, even though it visibly hurts him. Card after card reveals coordinates. Eventually, I get it—he’s pointing to a book on the main floor.

Noah Kancz

Mitchell decodes it: “Destroy the founder’s seal, break the binding.” With directions. The man commits to the bit, even as a ghost.

Mitchell Kancz

So we find the book—first edition, donated by Elias Meridian in 1928. Inside: a wax seal with the Meridian crest and, grossly, a white hair embedded in it.

Noah Kancz

Sorry, is that old hair a magical security system? Because that’s not hygienic. Anyway, it’s a phylactery. That’s how he anchored the curse—his actual essence is what binds it, making this whole library one giant trap.

Mitchell Kancz

Cracking the seal, though, isn’t easy. We need help only the trapped librarians can provide—after all, they’ve had decades processing all of these texts. I get in mental touch with Thomas’s consciousness via his chair. He doesn’t mince words: there are only two ways out. Either someone volunteers to be the guardian, or the collection has to burn. Completely.

Noah Kancz

That’s just fantastic. Sacrifice yourself, or light up the archive and lose everything inside, even if some of it could help people. Why do the big decisions always suck?

Noah Kancz

We’re right back at the theater dilemma—destroy knowledge, or destroy yourself. I’m team “burn it all.” What’s a few occult cookbooks compared to decades of suffering?

Mitchell Kancz

But it’s not that simple. There’s history here, things we might need in the future. What if there’s a way to separate the dangerous from the safe? We argue about it while the walls keep closing in. Literally.

Mitchell Kancz

Edmund finally cuts us off—he’s figured out, after fifty years, a third option. If he accepts the binding and joins with the three librarians, they can overload the ritual together and destroy the collection from the inside. But…it’ll erase them. No afterlife, no peace. Oblivion.

Noah Kancz

It’s brutal, but it’s all volunteer. Sarah, Thomas, Diana—they agree. They’ve waited decades for a way out. Edmund sets up the counter-ritual, using the very knowledge he’s protected all this time.

Mitchell Kancz

We try to talk him out of it—there might be a loophole, right? Edmund won’t hear it. He’s ready. For the first time, the three trapped librarians all communicate at once, thank us, and help guide the ritual. It’s a total act of will, turning the curse against itself.

Noah Kancz

Ritual starts. The four of them—Edmund and the other guardians—channel everything into one moment, ready to give up everything for freedom.

Mitchell Kancz

Suddenly, books start burning—not normal flames, but cold, blue fire that only touches the cursed pages. Edmund and the librarians merge, forms weaving together until you literally see a new entity emerge, brimming with purpose. The whole library shakes; it’s like ninety-seven years of secrets screaming all at once.

Noah Kancz

I’m just trying to hold back the urge to bolt. If it spreads, the entire building could go, and anyone inside could be next.

Mitchell Kancz

We act fast. Using Edmund’s own catalog system, I start marking firebreaks between sections—if the supernatural flame jumps, it could destroy the upper floors. Noah, meanwhile, literally pulls the fire alarm and starts evacuating everyone still inside.

Noah Kancz

Patrons scatter. I keep the doors open just in case anything wants to chase us, but Mitchell coordinates with Edmund, controlling which books burn and which stay untouched. It’s like the world’s most stressful book club.

Mitchell Kancz

As the last book turns to ash, something changes—Edmund and the three souls achieve true unity. There’s this weird telepathic surge—suddenly, we can see the whole Meridian plan: five more sites, all networks of consciousness traps, piecing together one monstrous occult machine.

Noah Kancz

I’ve never felt more overwhelmed by someone else’s memories. But it’s all there—what the Meridians were building toward, what’s still at risk for Hollow Hill.

Mitchell Kancz

And then it ends. The ritual binding shatters—four souls finally free, but instead of passing on, Edmund and the others just… fade, like a candle blowing out. There’s no goodbye, just a flicker, a moment of gratitude, and then nothing. Edmund’s last words were, “Thank you for letting me finally break the rules.” And then silence.

Noah Kancz

That’s a hard one. He didn’t move on. He didn’t become a peaceful haunt. He just… stopped existing. Didn’t even get a hauntingly poetic send-off.

Mitchell Kancz

The library’s structure is sound—thankfully. Basement archive’s a write-off, but the rest is okay. Special collection? Erased. Mrs. Chen stumbles on the file for the missing librarians and works with us on a memorial to honor all four guardians. It’s the least anyone could do.

Noah Kancz

And the stuff Edmund shared at the last second—that map in my head? Five more Meridian trap sites. All interconnected, all building toward something bad. Catastrophic, maybe.

Mitchell Kancz

Back at our HQ, we map it all out: hospital, theater, library—three down. Five to go: old elementary school, town hall, cemetery, church, Meridian family estate. Each targets a different kind of consciousness.

Noah Kancz

I’m exhausted, Mitchell. I mean, honest—I know we have to keep going, but it feels like a never-ending horror story. Five more? Why couldn’t this family just stop at haunted clocks or something?

Mitchell Kancz

We can’t quit, Noah. Edmund made the ultimate sacrifice to break the cycle—we owe it to them to finish this, even if it’s scary as hell.

Noah Kancz

You’re right. And, uh, right on cue—we just got a call. Elementary school principal says the kids are hearing voices from the old wing. Of course they are.

Mitchell Kancz

We can’t say no when kids are in danger, no matter how much we want to. This isn’t about just ghosts anymore—it’s about stopping a machine that’s been feeding on this town for generations.

Noah Kancz

So Edmund is just... gone. Not a ghost, not at peace, just erased from existence.

Mitchell Kancz

He made that choice. He and the three librarians chose oblivion to destroy the knowledge that had caused so much suffering.

Noah Kancz

I know, but it doesn't make it easier. We've freed souls before, but this is different. Edmund didn't move on—he just stopped existing.

Mitchell Kancz

It was the bravest thing I've ever witnessed. He spent fifty years trapped, and when he finally had a chance to be free, he chose to sacrifice even that to protect others.

Noah Kancz

The information he gave us though—five more locations, Mitchell. Five more places where the Meridian family trapped people.

Mitchell Kancz

The old schoolhouse, town hall, cemetery, church, and the Meridian estate itself. Each one designed to trap different types of consciousness for different purposes.

Noah Kancz

And they're all connected. Edmund showed us that—it's not separate hauntings, it's a network. A machine built across generations to achieve some kind of immortality.

Mitchell Kancz

Which means every soul we free weakens the overall structure. The hospital, the theater, and now the library—three nodes destroyed.

Noah Kancz

But five more to go. And if the pattern holds, each one is going to be more dangerous than the last.

Mitchell Kancz

Mrs. Chen asked me what we think the endpoint is. What the Meridian family was actually building toward.

Noah Kancz

What did you tell her?

Mitchell Kancz

I didn't know what to say. But after seeing Edmund's memories, I have a theory I don't like.

Noah Kancz

Which is?

Mitchell Kancz

I think they were trying to trap the entire town. All of Hollow Hill. Turn every building, every institution into a consciousness harvester, and then trigger them all at once.

Noah Kancz

That's insane. Why would anyone want to trap an entire town?

Mitchell Kancz

Think about it. The hospital harvested pain and medical consciousness. The theater harvested emotional performance. The library harvested intellectual pursuit. Each location targets a different aspect of human experience.

Noah Kancz

Oh god. You think they were trying to capture every type of consciousness to create some kind of... what? Composite immortal being?

Mitchell Kancz

Edmund's final vision suggested exactly that. The Meridians believed that true immortality required experiencing everything—every emotion, every thought, every sensation. They needed thousands of trapped souls to create a complete consciousness.

Noah Kancz

That's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard. And I've heard a lot of horrifying things lately.

Mitchell Kancz

The elementary school called. Children are hearing voices from the sealed wing.

Noah Kancz

Of course they are. Because this town can't just have one or two evil supernatural locations. It has to have eight.

Mitchell Kancz

We have to help them, Noah. Those are kids.

Noah Kancz

I know. I'm not saying we don't go. I'm just saying I'm tired, scared, and increasingly convinced we're in over our heads.

Mitchell Kancz

We probably are. But Edmund gave us something important—knowledge. We know what we're fighting now. We know the pattern.

Noah Kancz

Does that make it easier or harder?

Mitchell Kancz

Honestly? Both.

Noah Kancz

Before we go, I need to say something about what almost happened to me with that grimoire.

Mitchell Kancz

When you started reading and couldn't stop?

Noah Kancz

Yeah. Mitchell, for those few seconds, I didn't want to stop. The information was so compelling, so complete. I understood why those three librarians sat down in those chairs and never got up.

Mitchell Kancz

But you did stop. Because I was there.

Noah Kancz

Because you pulled me away. If I'd been alone, I don't know if I could have resisted.

Mitchell Kancz

That's why we work together. I get too focused on solving the puzzle, and you remind me about the human cost. You get overwhelmed by fear, and I push us forward. Neither of us could do this alone.

Noah Kancz

That's surprisingly sentimental for you.

Mitchell Kancz

Don't get used to it.

Noah Kancz

Too late. So, elementary school next. What do we know?

Mitchell Kancz

The old wing was sealed in 1982 after several students disappeared. Official story is they ran away, but we know better now.

Noah Kancz

Let me guess—there's a Meridian connection.

Mitchell Kancz

The school was built on land donated by the Meridian family in 1915.

Noah Kancz

Of course it was. This family really committed to the whole "trap an entire town" plan, didn't they?

Mitchell Kancz

Generational dedication to an insane goal. In a way, it's almost impressive.

Noah Kancz

Please don't admire the evil ghost-trapping dynasty, Mitchell.

Mitchell Kancz

I'm not admiring them. I'm understanding them. Which is how we're going to stop them.

Noah Kancz

Fine. But I'm going on record as saying I really miss the days when we investigated normal hauntings. You know, dead person has unfinished business, we help them move on, everyone's happy.

Mitchell Kancz

Were there ever days like that?

Noah Kancz

No, but I like to imagine there were.

Mitchell Kancz

To everyone listening, thank you for following our investigation. Edmund Price gave his existence to protect people from dangerous knowledge. We're going to honor that sacrifice by freeing every soul the Meridian family trapped.

Noah Kancz

And if you're in Hollow Hill and you notice your local institution is suspiciously well-preserved from several decades ago, maybe don't investigate alone. Call us. Or better yet, just move.

Mitchell Kancz

We'll see you at the elementary school. Stay safe out there.

Noah Kancz

And remember: not all knowledge is worth having, not all history is worth preserving, and definitely stay away from chairs in old libraries.

Mitchell Kancz

This is The Hollow Hill Chronicles. Goodnight.

Noah Kancz

An elementary school, Mitchell. We're investigating a haunted elementary school with missing children.

Mitchell Kancz

I know.

Noah Kancz

This is going to be the worst one yet, isn't it?

Mitchell Kancz

Probably.

Noah Kancz

Just checking. Okay. Let's go save some kids.