Quentin Tarantino Has A Bizarre Adventure

He raced down the stairs of the empty library. It was Monday; The time was 11:22 pm and the library was dark. It had been closed since nine. An hour after closing time, Quentin had sneaked into the library through one of the windows on the left wing of the library. He had noticed two weeks before that the window had no lock and the library had no funds for repairs of any kind. Quentin was observant and his observation had proved useful, albeit dangerous.
A week after noticing the missing lock, he had returned to the library to check out a book on mysticism. Most of those books, Quentin had noticed, were shelved at the back of the library for some reason.
Quentin could be alone back there, reading since most people didn't walk that far. The library was huge, so it felt very secluded and nice. Still, Quentin thought it was stupid. It was as if the librarians working there were purposefully trying to make those books seem weirder than they were.
"This isn't a fucking Lovecraft story," he thought to himself as he walked to the back of the library. "They're just books."
Making his way to the back, Quentin had seen a piece of paper on the floor and had casually picked it up. He had a voyeuristic side that hoped it was a private note, and as he walked he unfolded the piece of paper and read it.

11:00 pm: Monday 17

Quentin stopped walking. He wondered what the piece of paper meant, then he stuffed it in his pocket.
Once he had reached the back shelves, Quentin began to feel very tired. His eyes closed and he began to feel as if he would fall. Grabbing hold of one of the shelves, he lowered himself to the ground and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the library was dark. Still on the ground, he sensed someone approaching and sat up quickly. A man dressed in black was walking towards him. Quentin stood up and began to back away when he saw the man grow wings and fly up towards the ceiling. Quentin had covered his eyes, and when he looked again, the man was gone. Quentin ran towards the front exit, the only exit. He pushed on the doors but they were locked. The alarm had gone off and Quentin had no means of escape.
He bolted upright and saw that he was in his hotel room. The time was nine o clock, the blinds were opened, and light flooded Quentin's eyes. He was supposed to be doing an interview. Cursing, he quickly got dressed and made his way to the elevator.
"Lobby, please."
A young woman pushed the lobby button.
Quentin looked at her and did not remember her.
"I didn't know this place had elevator girls," he said, half to himself.
"I'm not going to fuck you, if that's what you mean."
Quentin stared at her.
"No, I'm just saying I didn't know -"
"You know," said the girl, "You're right. This place doesn't have elevator girls, does it?"
Her sincere tone took Quentin by surprise and he began to comment that he didn't remember any elevator girls in his previous stays at the hotel when she continued.
"No," the girl said, as if in thought, "There aren't any elevator girls here. To you, and every other man that comes in here, there are only little whores that you can take to your room and fuck, then forget about the next morning, isn't that right? I'm just another place to stick that useless hardon of yours. I might as well be a hole in the wall, isn't that right?"
"No, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Quentin said.
"I'll tell you what the fuck is wrong with me. All day I get hassled by dirty old men just like you - all morning, all afternoon, all evening. But I'm not going to let you fuck me so just save your bullshit pick up lines for some other girl who wants to make a quick fifty bucks and doesn't mind you blowing your load all over her face, okay?"
Quentin suddenly lost his temper.
"All I was saying -"
"Lobby," the girl said in her sweetest voice.
The doors opened and Quentin walked out quickly. He tried to swallow his anger but he couldn't. He hailed down a taxi and got in.
"Where joo wanna go?"
Quentin thought about it and realized he had no idea where his interview was supposed to be. He couldn't remember at all.
"Shit," he hissed. "Aw, fuck, this day is going to blow."
"Where joo wanna go?"
"Fuck it."
Quentin got out of the cab and walked back into his hotel. He noticed the Gary Larson calendar on the front desk. He noticed the date. He noticed it was Monday, not Tuesday.
"Excuse me," he said to the man at the front desk. "Your calendar is, uh, wrong."
"Oh, no sir. We change it everyday. Soon as midnight rolls around."
Quentin was puzzled. Responding to Quentin's look, the man said, "I changed it myself this morning."
Quentin asked, "Isn't it Tuesday the eleventh?"
The man stared at Quentin and said, "Sir, it's Monday the seventeenth."
Pausing, the man asked, "Is everything okay, sir?"
"Everything's fine."
Quentin went to his room, taking the stairs. On his way up, he reached into his pocket and found the piece of paper he had picked up at the library.
"Monday the seventeenth," murmured Quentin. "11:00 pm."

Later that night, Quentin found himself at the entrance to the library again. It didn't make any sense. Quentin had had to stay in Los Angeles for a month, and he had checked himself into the hotel with the bitchy elevator girl. He had been in Los Angeles long enough to know that the library that he was looking at was not real.
He was sure it had been a dream. But then he had found the piece of paper in his pocket. And after walking around, he had found the library again. The inscription at the entrance read, "Chtulu." Quentin knew what that meant, but what did it all really mean? This was beyond his comprehension. He had no idea why all of these strange things had been happening to him.
He made his way to the front door, knowing it was locked. He felt the building pulling him in, and he knew he had to find a way inside. He remembered the window with the missing lock. Making his way to the side of the enormous library, he looked around to make sure he was not being watched and then pushed the window open and crawled inside.
Once inside, he saw that the entire library was bathed in candle light. The books were all gone. There were statues everywhere of men and women stabbing themselves and masturbating. Quentin was in awe.
Soon he realized that he had made his way to the second floor of the library and he seemed to suddenly wake up. He looked around him and saw that there was a pond to his left and trees and birds all around him. There was a small waterfall up ahead. Before he knew it, Quentin found himself on the third floor.
A fear came over him. The entire floor was empty, except for a box in a corner. Cautiously, Quentin made his way to the box. It was about the size of a shoe box. He kneeled down and was ready to open it when he heard a noise behind him. Turning around, Quentin saw a giant scorpion rushing towards him. He jumped out of the way and, powered by fear, he quickly picked himself up and began to run toward the stairs.
"If I can just make it to the second floor, I'll be all right," he thought.
He raced down the stairs of the empty library. The time was 11:22 pm.
Quentin shouted out for help. He didn't know who he was calling, but he felt that surely someone would hear him.
He shouted out loud, "Please, help me!"
The scorpion was right behind Quentin when suddenly, the man with wings that Quentin had seen before flew down from the ceiling and attacked the giant scorpion with a long sword. Quentin began to fall down the stairs, but as he was almost to the bottom, he landed uninjured. Looking back, he saw the Man with Wings stab the scorpion in the eyes.
The scorpion shrieked loudly and began to swing from side to side. The Man with Wings stabbed it one more time and the scorpion fell to the ground dead.
The Man with Wings looked down at Quentin and, when he saw that he was not hurt, flew back up into the ceiling.
Quentin sat there for a long time, pondering over everything that had happened. Eventually, he decided that he couldn't make sense of any of it and it was better left unexplained. He got up and walked down the stairs to the unlocked window. As he opened it, he felt a soft breeze blowing, but the trees were not stirring.
Opening his eyes, he saw that he was masturbating in his hotel room. He looked down at the elevator girl who was was kneeling before him. The bitchy elevator girl from before. He saw his cum shoot straight into her eye and he heard her give a pathetic little scream. He felt her suck his dick clean. He saw her lick the cum off her face and eat it.
"After this," Quentin informed her, "You're doing anal."
She looked up at him, as if begging for mercy, then looked down at the floor and sobbed quietly.
He grinned.
It was good to be Quentin Tarantino.