Two men walked into the library carrying iron pipes and crowbars. Lots of them. Big guys with armloads of iron. And blood.
They dropped the materials on the library carpet. A scream came from way back in the library. I startled one of the men, who farted.
"Can we help you?" asked the circulation librarian.
"Our tools are bleeding," the first man said.
"All the blood," the other man said.
The circulation library picked up the phone. She said, "We need a tool anatomy book at the circ desk."
Her voice came over the P.A. system. Upstairs, feet began to shuffle. In a moment the reference librarian appeared out of breath.
The reference librarian said, "I have McCaffs Grey's Small Engine holy shit that's lots of blood coming out of those crowbars."
The first guy, his name was Carl because he mother wanted it that way, he said, "Iron pipes, too. I'm Carl. Help us out."
The second guy, also named Carl but people called him Loser Carl, he said, "Yeah, man, it's super gross."
The reference librarian flipped through the books, saying, "Man, there's a lot about batteries but nothing about blood. Say… Are you guys into Satan?"
"We don't go to church," Carl said. Loser Carl agreed.
"Damn. Nobody wants to go with me," the reference librarian said.
Carl put an arm around her shoulder and said, "Hey, cheer up. And, you know, this really isn't about you and your religious angst right now. Get your shit together, you Satanist librarian."
The reference librarian agreed and, angered, took out her phone and started googling. Turns out, the bleeding tools were possessed by the spirit of ancient blood demons. One incantation later and the tools were fine.
Except one crowbar. The reference librarian used that one to break Loser Carl's kneecap, saying to Carl, "Next time you think of putting hands on a librarian, you look at your friend's inability to skip to my lou."