Page 50 - The Midnight Library

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e ree Horseshoes

Nora was standing outside in crisp, clean air. But unlike in Bedford, it wasn’t

raining here.
‘Where am I?’ she whispered to herself.
ere was a small row of quaint stone terraced houses on the other side of
the gently cur ving road. Quiet, old houses, with all their lights off, nestled at
the edge of a village before fading into the stillness of the countr yside. A

clear sky, an expanse of dotted stars, a waning crescent moon. e smell of
fields. e two-way twit-twoo of tawny owls. And then quiet again. A quiet
that had a presence, that was a force in the air.

Weird.
She had been in Bedford. en in that strange librar y. And now she was
here, on a pretty village road. Without hardly even moving.
On this side of the road, golden light filtered out of a downstairs window.
She looked up and saw an elegantly painted pub sign creaking soly in the

wind. Overlapping horseshoes underneath carefully italicised words: e
ree Horseshoes.
In front of her, there was a chalkboard standing on the pavement. She

recognised her own handwriting, at its neatest.

THE THREE HORSESHOES
Tuesday Night – Quiz Night

8.30 p.m.
‘ True knowledge exists in knowing that you know nothing.’
– Socrates (aer losing our quiz!!!!)