For want of a better word.
My theory on Libraries has yet to be fully expanded upon. While he didn't enter, he didn't seem like he'd burn upon contact with the place. I do have a fledgling hypothesis that I wish to test but have yet to think of a manner in which to do so.
Going with a paragraph from none other than Terry Pratchett to explain why I think he can't/hasn't entered the Library.
"How many words do you think are in here? A hundred-thousand? A million? And what about this whole building? Near a billion, maybe? Books must be treated with respect, we feel that in our bones, because words have power. Bring enough words together they can bend space and time."
"Word have power...Bend space and time."
He may already have the power to bend space and time, but what with the vagaries of public human perception of him, it may just be that he uses different planes to us. HOWEVER, the very fact that (and I'm going with the whole "Thoughtform" theory of his existence) words created him and Zero's theory that enough independently decided-upon words together could weaken/kill him. What if he can't/won't enter the Library because of the sheer amount of words in there? The amount of words that span every human emotion possible? I read another theory (I forget on which blog) that he loves the fear and the negative emotions that come from his prey and that misery attracts and breeds more misery. Our Library has a vast Romance section, a massive General Fiction one and extensive Humour area. It's just a theory for the moment, but what if combining the power of that amount of words and distinctly un-negative emotions is keeping him from entering?
Of course, it could be any number of other things. The frosted glass maybe? The mirrored pillars? The fact that he just wants to lurk out of reach while making me stare at him wide-eyed and scared until that one moment where he breaks me and goes in for the kill?
You see. I'm almost flippant about this, and there are reasons that are heavily personal and reasons that aren't. I realise I'll probably have to tell you at some point as to why I'm quite so throwaway in my writing, but for the moment, allow me my secrecy.
He was on my walk home, my heart was in my throat, I'll admit, but you know something odder than odd?
He doesn't scare me as much as Open Doors.
So I'll view him as a bluebottle. But instead of waving my hands about my head and spraying stuff at him to make him go away, I'll sit down and listen to him buzz at my windows with the curtains closed while thinking of a way to tackle this logically.