The Book Room isn't a very interesting place to go, or to see. But it's the perfect place to be.

The building actually has several rooms, each a different shape and size and color. The only thing the rooms have in common are the books.

From wall to wall and ceiling to floor, the rooms are filled with books. And yet, the rooms are empty. The books cannot be seen or read.

The books fill the rooms, not with bindings and pages, but with sound. The sound of stories.

Every book has a story, and those stories speak from within the very walls. Characters argue from opposite sides, and horses clip-clop past. Dragons roar overhead, and voices whisper from every corner.

Each room has a perfect spot to listen, where the voices come together and the world is painted in sound. The story surrounds you with its chatter and music, and just for a while, you are a part of that world.

There is nowhere to go in the Book Room, and nothing to see. But if you find that magical spot in a room, it's the perfect place to be.

Written by an unknown American author in the nineteenth century, this short story is narrated by journalist Kinsey Ward and plays in the lobby of the Book Room in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.