A forgotten fountain

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Jared moaned. The wifi signal in the woods had been spotty closer to the family campsite and so he had wandered to find a more solid connection. Wifi was now lost. As he looked around tried to retrace his steps, he realized so was he.

Up ahead, he thought he saw a light and hoped he had gotten turned around, hoped it was fire light and that as he drew closer he would hear his uncle telling jokes he had heard before but now welcomed.

Whatever light drew him in, faded. He stood now at a moss-covered set of double doors on a steepled building that resembled a church. It required all his strength to open the doors, pulling against years, decades of disuse. When the doors budged just slightly, creaking and groaning much like he had done earlier, he wormed his skinny frame inside.

The smell inside was damp, musty, and mixed with the dusty cologne of Father Time. The sun shining through large windows overhead and smaller ones on every side was muted, but provided enough light to reveal the treasures of the room. He had only seen a handful of books in class during his school studies. Here, now, hundreds of dusty tomes were stacked four times his own teenage height. He marveled at the sheer volume and was struck dumb by the thought that he was certainly the first to see this library in ages. He carefully scraped away a bit off moss on the spine, then pulled out a book.

"ACK! Ugh!" He choked on the cloud of dust, dropping his phone to cover his mouth. Startled by the echo it made against the wooden floor, he gasped and unfortunately sucked in another burst of acrid air.

"Eww." He spit and spit until he felt better. Then he turned his attention to the book still in his grasp. He laughed at the clear handprint pressed into the spine. Turning the pages to a random spot, he read: