⏱ ~4 min reading
Grandpa Yurko had a real library—a whole room with shelves from floor to ceiling. Hryts loved to sit there because it smelled of leather, cinnamon, and something very, very old that you can't put into words.
That rainy day, Grandpa was dozing in an armchair, and Grits was launching a paper boat on the windowsill. Suddenly, something rustled faintly behind him. It was as if someone had turned a page.
Hryts looked around. On a high shelf, among other books, one slowly leaned forward - a thick one, in a dark green frame, with worn gold letters. It seemed to take a step forward of its own accord, slid off the shelf, gently lowered onto the table and - Hryts could not believe his eyes - turned right in the middle.
The boy froze with the boat in his hand. The library was very quiet, only the rain was tapping on the window and the grandfather was snoring. On the opened pages lay a faint golden glow, as if a ray of sunlight had fallen there. Only there was no sun - gray clouds hung outside the window.
‘'Maybe it's a draft,' thought Hryts and quietly crept up to the window. He closed it tighter. But when he returned, the golden glow became even warmer, and the pages of the book rustled softly, as if someone had sighed in their sleep.
Grits took a step back. Then another. His throat tickled a little, as it does when you're about to sneeze or cry. He was about to touch his grandfather's sleeve when he suddenly noticed that the tip of something furry had poked out from between the pages. At first he thought it was a bookmark. But the bookmark moved. And he sneezed.
"Apchhi!" a voice said above the book. "Oh, I'm sorry. So much dust.".
A small transparent creature appeared above the pages—like a grandfather in a dressing gown, but woven from paper and light. He had glasses made of two letters 'O', a beard made of thin stripes, and smiled so gently that Hrytsev immediately felt less scared.
“Who… who are you?” whispered Grits.
"I am the Book Spirit," the little man bowed. "I have been living in this book for a hundred and twenty years. Your grandfather was still a little boy when he last read me aloud. And then, you know, he grew up, became serious - and put me on the shelf. And I fell asleep.".
“Why did you wake up?” Grits dared.
"Because I heard you playing with a paper boat," smiled the Book Spirit. "Paper calls paper." I thought: well, here's a little guest at last. Maybe he'll want to listen to my favorite fairy tale?"
Grits looked at his grandfather. He was peacefully swaying in his chair. Then the boy sat down on the rug near the table, propped his cheek with his hand, and said:
— I want to.
The Book Spirit clapped his paper hands together joyfully, and the room seemed to become brighter. He began to read—about the sea on which a paper boat sailed, about the island where pencil trees grew, about the girl who taught the wind to pronounce her name. The words flew off the pages like little golden butterflies and circled around Grits.
When the tale ended, Grits yawned so widely that he almost swallowed a butterfly.
"Thank you," he said. "This is the best fairy tale in the world.".
"That's because you listened with your heart," the Book Spirit replied softly. "Books come alive only for those who really want to listen.".
He sneezed again, adjusted his paper beard, and began to slowly melt away, like steam over a cup. The pages quietly closed by themselves. The book lay on the table—an ordinary one, only a little warmer than all the others.
Grandpa suddenly shifted in his chair, opened one eye, and asked:
"Well, kid, are you bored?"
"Not at all, Grandpa," Hryts answered seriously. "I met your old friend.".
Grandpa looked at the table, saw the green book, and smiled, the way people only smile when they remember something very good.
"Oh," he said, "so he's awake? Then we must read to him every night now. Bookish spirits don't like to be forgotten.".
From then on, Hryts read at least one page aloud every night. And every time, before falling asleep, he heard a little one in the library sigh with satisfaction.
✨ Books love to be read — and old books know the warmest stories ✨