Owen Moore

“When you phoned me and asked to meet up with you, I wasn’t expecting to commit an entire crime!” Reese whisper-hisses, her nails digging into my forearm.

Stifling a laugh, I navigate us around the open building in the dark. Our steps are quiet, careful, but a faint echo continues to sound from each thump.

“You told me you wanted to feel alive. Is the adrenaline rush here not enough?” I question, turning around to face her.

She rolls her eyes and then narrows them. “Do I detect tone, Owen?”

Grinning like a dope, I shake my head.

“No, ma’am, you do not.” I tell her, prying one of her arms off of my arm and raising it to my mouth, placing a soft kiss to it, all while looking her in the eyes.

Her features seem to relax a bit. “Good. I didn’t think so.”

“Never,” I agree. “But, if it came down to it, meaning we get caught, you’d look real good in an orange jumpsuit.”

The corner of her lips tick upwards. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

She snorts, fully smiling now, as she loosens her death grip entirely on my arm. “You’re such a romantic.”

I shrug nonchalantly. “It happens when I’m with you.”

Without responding, she glances around, then swallows thickly.

“I hate the dark.” she admits, and I find my eyebrows raising.

“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.” I exclaim, stepping closer to her,

Her head snaps toward me, and she cocks a brow.

“I’m not, typically.” she responds.

I am about to say something when the sound of a door slamming shut startles both of us.

“What was that?” she whispers, clinging to my side again, most definitely terrified.

“A guard, most likely,” I suggest truthfully, sliding a hand around her waist and tracing aimless shapes. “We will be alright,” I reassure her. “Just don’t scream or do anything stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” she protests, and I mentally curse myself for wording it that way. “But it’s kind of hard not to panic, Owen.”

“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

She huffs out a breath of air. “No, actually, I’m with a ghost—“

“Stop being stubborn, Turner,” I warn, glaring slightly at her.

She returns the face.

“Don’t push me, Moore,” she presses.

A moment later, I shake my head.

“Wanna play a game?” she asks after another minute passes.

Peering sideways at her, I tilt my head. “I don’t play games.”

“It’s a new one,” she continues, smiling up at me while moving in front of my body. “You might like it.”

“Reese,” I say in a low voice, shivers causing my body to shake lightly when she slips a hand under my t-shirt. “What are you doing?”

“Owen,” she replies. “I really want to play this game.”

I pause momentarily, simply watching her watch me. Her blonde, bouncy curls rest at her mid-back, even though they are pulled into a rushed ponytail, loose and messy.

After sighing, I decide to give in.

Wrapping my arms around her waist na dback, I pull her flush against my chest.

“What are the rules?” I ask, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, which happens to be coconut and vanilla.

Standing on her tip-toes, she leans in close, her breath hot against my ear.

“You’ll figure them out as we go along,” she whispers, teasing me with her fingertips by brushing them along my bare skin.

And I’d be lying if I claimed that didn’t intrigue me.

"Why do you stay here?"

"Why not?"

"This isn't your grave. There's not a single real bone in this building. It's all replicas."

"Real fossils are more expensive to maintain. And they're more distant. Replicas you can build so a kid can touch, and play with, and come to understand."

"None of that has anything to do with you. Why are you here?"

"Well it's not like I know where my bones are. I'm probably oil waiting to be burned up in a car, if I haven't been spent up already. I haunted a gas station for a while, in the southwest. It wasn't very interesting."

"Do you want things to be interesting?"

"I like to learn things. There wasn't much to learn, when I was alive. It was just eat, hide, find a mate. Run with the pack. Clean your feathers. I learned that rocks and fire could fall from the sky, one day, and then there wasn't any time to learn anything else."

"So you were there, then. When the asteroid hit."

"I suppose. It's a bit of a blur. Sixty-five million years is a long time to remember details. And my mind didn't work in quite the same way, back then."

"Human ghosts think a bit differently than they did in life, too."

"So you speak with human ghosts, as well? You don't just stalk museums after hours searching for dinosaur ghosts?"

"I'm a necromancer on-call. People notice weird things, they bring me in. You knocked over one too many display cases. There wasn't even a kid in the room this time."

"It was an accident. I didn't get any smaller, when I died."

"You could be, if you focused on it. You're not that much different than a chicken, spiritually speaking. We could work on that together, if you wanted."

"Could I be small enough to fit into the junior planetarium? I've always wondered what it's like in there."

"Definitely. The constellation stories are super cute. You'll love it."

The lights flickered once, twice, and then extinguished.

Marcellus blinked his pupil-less eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the gloom.

He was atop some kind of pedestal. Dark shapes loomed over him, casting shadows twice his size. Their edges were gleaming and wicked - swords? Spikes? And there was a vinegar taint to the air, putting him in mind of something pricked and pickled.

He shook his head, dispelling the thought. Still, everything remained… disjointed. His thoughts were like a fraying rope, slipping through his fingers.

Marcellus whimpered, the only sound in the stony silence. Was he losing his mind?

No. No, he was thinking coherently… wasn’t he?

He leaned forwards, intent on climbing down from his perch, only to be repelled backwards.

With a climbing horror, he reached out to touch what was undoubtably glass, penning him in this small space.

He was going to be sick. He was going to scream. He was going to-

A light. Soft at first but steadily growing. Creeping across the room with the opening door.

Marcellus quickly composed himself, the beginnings of a plan fermenting in his mind.

He didn’t intend to be trapped for much longer.

The last living breath leaves with a sigh. Chased away by the swift hands of time. Skittering skirts of crisp flame chatter as they stalk the last remaining shoe. A final parting jangle and snap of metal; the museum holds its breath. It seems to be waiting.

Waiting for the swirling tourmaline cloak to be snapped defiantly, snuffing out all remaining whisps of weak light, save for a few brave lanterns. There will be no tangled ball of silver light suspended on invisible strings, not tonight. Just the cold desolate whistle of the tuneless wind that wraps and curls itself into the smallest spaces. Bringing a shiver here and a tremble there, a reminder that the Earth is still watching. Always watching.

A sprawling map of huts and illusion. No one knew of this place. A quiet ghost town that knew far too much. Not even after the final tolling of the church bells, when the doors were locked, and the inhabitants slipped away back into society. Forgotten and known, a paradox of belonging. After all knowledge… is power.

Catching and feasting on the secrets that spread like an intricate gossamer web across the globe. Spinning out deceptions like strands of irresistible silk, a prize the enemy craved. Back then they were the crouching obsidian spider that everyone feared, but no one knew about.

Somehow, they knew.

Knew much more than they let on.

They were a perfect blend of military and civilian. Genius and madness overlapped but ultimately rewards were reaped. And the ghosts of the past live on.

Cautiously, you emerge from the shadows, breathing in the silence before the nightshift begins. It’s long and hard work, yet it is vital that the time is filled with a busy beehive of activity. One by one your colleagues materialise. A brief pause and then life floods back into the echoey halls.

Hut 3 is your domain, the place you know best and one of the most secretive of all; joined to Hut 6 by a tunnel, passing papers of unspeakable notations between. Smartly you move down the slim corridor, turning your back to the wall to allow a co-worker to pass. A scuttling pass of two crabs on a determined trajectory, a curt nod of acknowledgment and then you slip into your office.

‘Office’ is a bit of an exaggeration, it is merely a room in which you work shared with one other person, whom you get on with perfectly fine. A mutual relationship, never quite blurring the lines between colleague and friend, though you wish they would entertain your intermittent pattering.

“I’m going to get a cuppa,” was all she said as the weary wooden legs scraped across the bare boards. Slipping on a strangely patterned cardigan she click-clacked her way out of the door.

Shaking your head, you wondered if she would ever loosen up, or even to offer to get you something from the canteen. Momentarily, you stared longingly at the chipped cup and saucer, with dregs of bitter coffee congealing in the bottom and horrid snakes of brown that slithered up the sides. Civilians seemed to forget that this wasn’t their war, this was everyone’s war.

Why else would you find yourself in a room with uniform cream walls, two stout desks and chairs, a monstrous tower of draws overweight from all the paper they had consumed and a neat set of coat hooks by the door? Sworn to secrecy and reminded as such by the leering posters that were hung almost innocently on the wall behind your desk.

“You alright, love?” A concerned voice rolled in with the fierce northern wind, shaking you from your thoughts. Turning your attention to the young man hovering in the doorframe, you could tell from his attire that he was a military man- not that mattered when there was a single common goal.

Smiling as brightly as you could, you managed out a shaky reply, “Er, yes, thanks for asking. I got lost in thought for a moment, how daft of me when there is so much to do.”

“I bet it don’t help when your company is a dull as a bag of firewood,” he nodded at the still vacant desk, “Even a bit of talk goes a long way to keep the mice from eating your sanity.”

You felt a chuckle bubbling up, which came out stiff from the lack of practice, “You’re right there! I must get back to work, this is not going to tell me the secrets that easily. Oh, if you swing by again at any time, a cup of joe will be appreciated!” With clumsy fingers that ached from the cold, you press your nearly blunt pencil back into service.

“Got it, one cup of strong military coffee for the pretty lady in Hut 3!” He tilted his head jauntily, as he flashed you one final smile before continuing on his duty.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you return your gaze to the jumble of letters on the tape in front of you. Suddenly, everything felt as though it would be alright. The warmth from the desk lamp heated the back of your head, to the point you feared your hair might be singed. You weren’t going to complain though, any warmth in the draughty hut was appreciated.

Reaching out a hand for your battered copy of the German dictionary, you drew it into the halo of harsh interrogating light. Your mind recalled every single possible code it could be and letter by letter you coaxed out the message. Untidy scrawl littered a sheet of paper, you trusted what you knew and your intuition. Spurred on by the background clunking, hammering and tiny tings of the typewriter orchestra, you tidied your workings into legible text.

Startled when the door banged open and your co-worker swanned back in, “Took you long enough,” you muttered darkly under your breath, though you were sure that they had heard every carefully weighted syllable. There was no reply, as they flung themselves dramatically back at their desk and slamming down their mug, with a force that made you wince.

You were getting close to your limit of tolerance of their attitude and were willing to throw them to your superior. The thinly veiled annoyance soon turned to alarm when you read the translation of the unscrambled clue, you could only stay sane if you treated the whole thing like a game. In some ways the work became more enjoyable when seen as such, though the deeply engraved importance remained at the core.

Shooting up right, you hurried out of the room, shooting a silent warning across the cramped space. Checking to your right, to avoid running into anyone, you jogged down the stretching hall to your left. Sensible shoes pattering on the bare creaking board. Arriving at the end office, you rapped sharply on the plain mahogany panel. Bouncing on the balls of your feet you waited for permission to enter.

Except it never came, as you felt the first warm rays of the sun sneak through the clouded glass. This was intelligence that would have to wait a full twelve hours to be received. Once more you slipped back into the shadows, invisible to the visitor that would crowd and crow, breaking the vow of silence.

Sally and Jed went to the museum of natural history. Jed loved learning about dinosaurs and Sally loved learning about Indians. Sally kept a coin with Sacajawea on the face. Sally always wondered what it would be like to stay after hours so she stalled at closing time in the bathroom.

Jed said,”Sally it’s closing time, we need to go!”

“Come here let’s hide under this table, maybe we’ll be here after hours,” said Sally.

“You’re crazy but okay!” said Jed.

They watched feet go by as the closing guard cleared people out of the museum and locked the doors. The guard lifted the table cloth.

“Hey kids, time to go!” said the guard.

Sally and Jed came out and left the museum. “That was so close said Sally.”

“You’re crazy! It would have been fun though!” said Jed.

“Maybe another time,”said Sally. They walked to the train then Sally looked at her watch and began running to catch the train in time.

Jed said,” I had fun today tomorrow is Sunday what are you doing tomorrow?”

“I need to clean my room and finish my homework. Then I’m free for the afternoon,” said Sally. “What are your plans?”

“You wanna go back to the museum?” said Jed “remember I have season tickets.”

“Sure,” said Sally jumping up and down.” I’ll meet you at the train station at one o’clock.”

“See you tomorrow,” said Jed.

The next day, Sally waited at the train station and Jed didn’t come. Sally paced back and forth then her phone rang.

“Sally, this is Jed I fell off my skate board. I’m at the emergency room for a concussion.”

“Oh no what can I do for you? Would you like me to come over?” said Sally.

“No my uncle is with me and I need to go home and rest. Sorry about our plans,” said Jed.

“That’s okay we’ll go another day. Thanks for calling,” said Sally.

On Sally’s birthday two months later, Jed surprised Sally with a trip to the museum with a night tour included.

At closing time the guard that caught them hiding last time locked up the museum. He told Sally and Jed to wait in his office.

After thirty minutes, Sally said, “Let’s go explore!”

“Shhh we’re going to get caught, we’re supposed to wait on the guard,” said Jed.

“Not if we sneak and be quiet,” said Sally as they tiptoed around corners until they were sure the guard wouldn’t catch them. They got near the dinosaur room and a pterodactyl flew overhead.

“Wow! Did you see that?” said Sally.

“That was cool! Let’s keep exploring,” said Jed.

The guard caught up to them. “Hey, why didn’t you wait in the office like I asked? I want to show you around and keep you safe.”

“We didn’t know how fun the tour would be since we got in trouble for trying to sneak after hours the other time,” said Sally.

“You have tickets to stay after hours this time. Stick with me.” said the guard.

“Sally let’s listen he seems cool,” said Jed.

“Sure, I’ll behave,” said Sally.

“So….I have a question,” said Jed with his hand raised. “Does everything come to life at night?”

“Yes, it’s so cool. I’d like to talk the curator into staying after hours, but she’s old school,” said the guard.

“We’ll keep your secret,” said Sally and Jed at the same time.

They continued to explore and went to the dinosaur exhibit. The T-Rex walked around the perimeter with the stegosaurus following behind.

Jed said, “Can I feed them some lettuce?”

“Sure I’ll go to the kitchen to get some out of the fridge,” said the guard.

Meanwhile, Sally walked next door to the bird exhibit. She also loved birds. The birds flew around that exhibit since the screen doors that they put up at night were closed.

Then Sally watched Jed feed the dinosaurs. Next they went to Sally’s favorite, the Indians. The statue of Sacajawea stood talking to her friends around a campfire.

Sally approached Sacajawea to learn about her life. They talked for thirty minutes and at the end Sally gave her the coin with Sacajawea’s face on it. Sacajawea said, “Thank you, I’ll put it in my pocket, so I don’t lose it.”

“Your welcome,” said Sally.

They stayed at the museum until nine o’clock leaving time to catch the last train home. “Thank you.That was the best gift ever!” said Sally.

They fell in fire. Touched down softly in the desert sand. They were ready to conquer. But then they realized this world, almost everyone of its inhabitants, gianted over them all. They held their breath, they shook on their three trembling knees, there was no way to restart the engines.They were only seen as a tiny spark by a lonely jack rabbit whose long ears barely heard the snap of their home on the air.

Oh yes, and there was one other. The most important of all, Professor Walter Lee Huff, the world’s foremost best and most unknown Cosmos Geologist. He spent night upon night shivering without a campfire in that desert that burned during the day and turned to ice at night. His neck also bent up from so many of those nights. He had two vertebrae which had fused, so it always looked as if he held his nose in the air, his eyes strained to look down. He was thought arrogant, but that was the farthest thing from his gentle soul. He had never swatted a mosquito or even a fly—-he was just what people call: a very nice guy.

Well, it so happened, that those eyes of his that slept during the day so that they could be open wide at night, had stretched their pupils and the tiny muscles had strengthened. He could beat with fine precision an owl in a dark night dart competition, that is if owls had thumbs on their talons. So, he saw that tiny spark, he saw where it led. With his rusty and sand blasted pickup he drove faster than a roadrunner on fire.

And then he found it, just as that meteorite (or what its inhabitants called a planet) was losing its last glow in a cooling ember. He lifted them up and a hurricane wind blew over their world as he tried to cool that sparkling ore-filled fist sized meteorite. He could tell this was a good find, one worth some money to sell to the Grand County Museum so far away in the sprawling city of lights. But then, as he lifted his magnifying glass, he saw what he thought were miniature ants with their legs waving at him. They had tiny white flags—-yes, in all the universe waving tiny white flags means: we are peaceful and we surrender. Professor Walter Lee Huff thought those two cupfuls of whisky were fooling his sight, tickling his mind. He peered closer——no they were really there!

He could have made millions and millions of dollars. But as I told you, he was a man who would not even hurt a fly. So, he sold that piece of space rock for a decent, not absurd, sum. There was one condition, that he could visit the museum at night—-he had told them that his eyesight had changed so much for so many nights and years looking at the sky in the desert. He emphasized, daylight left him blind. The Museum Director agreed, he was used to dealing with eccentrics who studied some of the strangest things, yet it brought in so much profit.

It was a luxurious life for those tiny aliens who had thought to conquer, but then changed their much more intelligent than human minds—-that is except for Professor Walter Lee Huff, he was very bright too. In his pocket he brought them each night their favorite delicacies of crushed pebbles and soft, white beach sand. They ate up just like if we were to have grilled steaks and silky vanilla ice cream. He lifted the glass from the case where they were displayed, it kept them safe from too close of peering eyes during the day. The metal plaque below only said: iron meteorite. Little did the visitors know it was so much more than that.

But the world wasn’t ready to know. So, the Professor and those million or so on that planet had long conversations through the stethoscope that he wore around his neck. They told him of their art, history, literature and sometimes they even played their music on their stone and metal instruments. He in turn carried them carefully in his palm—-all of those in the Southern Hemisphere would move north to avoid being crushed—-so that he could wander though that museum and tell them in soft whispers (so as not to hurt their little ears) of our world. Our science. Our art. Our music. Our life.

There was no need to conquer, just listen. Just listen!

“Professor Calixte! I’m Mr.Menett, curator of the Museum. It’s a pleasure to meet an archeologist such as your self!”

“Thank you, Mr.Menett. Please, call me Liana.” She walked up the steps hurriedly, forcing the shorter man to jog to keep up with her stride.

“Liana... I’m quite a fan of your work. I’m sure you know, we have several of your pieces on display here actually.”

She smiled graciously at the portly man, understanding a need to at least try to be friendly. “Please, Mr.Menett. I just dig them up.”

“Well your research is fascinating! The explorations you’ve made and your dedication... it’s commendable! I was rather surprised when you E-Mailed me.”

“Yes and speaking of which–“

He interrupted her, “It was a rather odd request but to a distinguished scholar such as your self, one I am happy to fulfill! What exactly is your interest in this artifact?” It would seem Menett was an extremely talkative man and the empty foyer of the museum echoed his nasally voice back to her. She found her ears aching and while moments ago she had decided to be polite, her excitement was making her impatient.

“Just some old research. Where is the artifact?”

He bobbed his head several times, reminding her strongly of a rooster, as he walked away, talking again. “We have it set aside in a private study and–“

“And it is the original?”

“Oh yes! Only the best for one such as yourself! Your book about the advancement of Norse blacksmiths most illuminating...” And then he went on and on, revisiting each of her books and discoveries. She knew she was rather successful in her field. Very few archeologists and historians were better! But this man seemed to take the term ‘buttkisser’ as a title! He led her down the hallways used only by staff and finally opened unlocked a door. “And your mother was highly respected in her field as well! I met her myself once and–“

“May I have a moment alone, to conduct my research?” He looked rather startled at this request and visibly reeled. “Please, Mr.Menett?” She dialed her charm up as much as she could. “It is obvious no one has a higher respect for such history than you and I promise I will be as careful as possible with your artifact and conduct all the proper handling protocols.”

He only hesitated a second more before giving her a nod and backing out the door way.

Finally.

The artifact in question was a heptagon of gleaming bronze. Holes sat in each side, each one shaped differently than the last. It was Greek, but other than that nothing was known about it. Some speculated it was a lock. They weren’t wrong, she mused, as she inserted the seven oddly shaped keys.

The tiny machine whirred delicately as the seven sides folded back, like the petals of a burnished flower. A clear crystal appeared in the center and she snapped out of her awed gaze the turn the lights off as a projection filled the room. Oceans spanned the walls, leviathans twisting and curling around cities of mermaids with emerald hair. Mountain ranges hovered in the air in front of her with thrones seated at their peaks. It was technology beyond anything they had today and it was made centuries ago. And it would tell her where to find Atlantis.

As she locked the door and browsed the glowing map, tears came to her eyes. They all said her mother was obsessed... a dreamer... searching for a fairy tale... if only she were here now...

“Help us.” “Someone has to be there, please help us.” The whispers appeared to come from the walls of the blacking room. Bangs sounded out from beneath the wooden floor, and worst of all inside of the colourful display cases that were supposed to contain the mummies. “Please, please help.” “Why does no one ever help us.”

Taking the large flashlight in his right hand, Casey ran the beam of light around the darkening room. The room was a vast space containing some of the larger and main pieces of the museum. The room was understandably the most popular. With this night been the first one of a trial shift he was great-full to the man teaching him. A loud bang sounded from the right far corner of the room that made Casey stop in his tracks. Ian the man that was, for tonight at least his teacher had waited at the main desk near the entrance. He thought that he would be able to handle this sweep of the premises alone. He walked further into the room and stoped dead again when he head, what could only be described as nails scratching on walls made him spin around to his left. He listened for a moment. Nothing but the silence of the space greeted him now. Then it started, whispering from all corners of the the room. Many voices all whispered at him. He dropped the light to the floor and fled from the room before the bang it made stoped echoing.

Casey ran from the main exhibit room. “What the hell was all that?” He shouted breathless towards the main entrance of the building. His breathing was coming out hard and fast and he could tell he was already sweating, but not from the running. As soon as the sun started to set it was like the museum had come alive. “Just a quick sweep of the place.” That’s what the older man that was training him had said. It had seemed such a straight forward task at the time that the man had mentioned it, but now that he was running towards the main desk of the building he wasn’t so sure. Casey had no clue what he had just heard, but whatever it had been had drained the colour from his face and left his limbs shaking. “What was that in the room?” He asked as soon as he reached the front desk. Ian turned in the small desk chair and looked at Casey who had ran towards him in a state of panic. “What’s what?” Ian asked appearing not to be alarmed by the state of the new employee. “The bangs in the room, the whispering. The room, it was silent and then….” Casey couldn’t get the words out of what he had just experienced. “I understand that whatever you think you heard has alarmed you, but look it’s nothing.” Ian said keen on dismissing the younger man and his worry’s about that room in particular.

Ian had to get the man to take the job. It was Casey’s trial shift but it was more to see if the man would want to work in that place and not the other way around. Ian had had enough, he couldn’t stay there anymore and he had felt that way for along time. The problem was he couldn’t find anyone that would take his place and let him leave the job that he had been in for way too long. Casey was the only one left that could set him free.

When he took the job many years ago, he had come running from that main room just like this man had now done. Ian could remember it as if it was yesterday. Running out of there, his legs feeling as if they were going to fail him with every fast paced step that he made just to get away from the sounds that had just flooded his head. The man that had showed him around that very first night had said the words that he had just muttered himself, the very words that he swore to himself that he would never say, he swore that he would never force anyone to take this job, he would never trap anyone in the way that he was trapped. But now here he was, and not for the first time trying to make someone take his place so that he would finally be free.

Ian had picked Casey for the trial because he knew that he was desperate for the job. The others had been more qualified for the position of night time security but that wouldn’t of worked, those people could get jobs anywhere and the likelihood of them wanting to work in the museum after the first night would have been zero. No he knew that he needed someone who was desperate for money and he had gotten lucky with Casey. A family man down on his luck and soon to be on the streets if he didn’t find a paying job fast. Ian did feel bad for tricking what seemed like a perfectly nice and decent human being, but that’s one of the things that a night shift in this place could turn the nicest of people into wanting to survive.

There was a darkness in the museum, something that ever object that was on display seemed to have. The darkness dominated every corner of the place and each artefact contained its own sprit. A spirit that was trapped inside of it that screamed and begged for help from whoever was nearby. These voices seemed to disappear during the day, perhaps because of the many visitors that the place attracted drowned them out with the noise that many people being crowded into a room brings. But at night when the doors closed and the darkness came, these sprits came awake, whispering and begging for someone to help them escape whatever torment they were going through at being trapped inside the items. These spirts weren’t just the prisoners though, they were the keepers too, they kept the person who’s job it was to watch over the objects. As soon as someone new take on the job, their souls become trapped in the place, joining those that have been dead for hundreds of years. Ian had tried to leave many times but they kept him there, the only way out was to find a replacement, someone else’s sole they have instead of his. Casey was the only option.

“Follow me back to the room, I promise you there is nothing there.” Standing from the chair he moved slowly around the desk, all the while saying a silent prey that the soles in that room would be peaceful just for a little bit, just long enough to convince Casey that it had been a thing of his own imagination. Walking through the double oak doors Ian flicked on the light. Bright white lights lit up above them and small bulbs illuminated each of the glass cabinets. “You see it’s just an old room, sometimes they creek because of age or just because, but there is nothing to be afraid of in here.” Ian spoke as if his life depended on it, and in some way it did. “It wasn’t just bangs that I heard, it was voices.” Casey’s voice shook still from what he had been through. Ian felt for him but he knew that this was the only way. “Sometimes anything can seem like a voice. These floorboards will have you thinking up all sorts, trust me. I have been doing this a long time.” Ian relaxed a little inside, a calm of sorts had set over the young mans face. “You sure it was just creeks, no voices?” Ian forced a laugh. “I promise you mate, these old buildings do have a habit of playing tricks on the mind.” He had done it, he knew that he had said enough to convince Casey that he had made it up. “Look you need this job and it’s yours if you want it. I am leaving, this is my last shift. So what do you say. Will you take it?”

Casey thought that all his prays had been answered in that moment. Everything that he thought he had experienced a few moments ago became a distant memory in his mind. He needed this job after all, he needed it for his family. “Yes ok I’ll take it. Thank you.”

The words hit Ian’s ears as though the finest of music was drifting through the air. “I’ll be back soon.” That was the last thing he needed to say to the man that had just let his long dead body rest in peace.

The museum, and the soles that lay within take any man who says that they will over see the safe keeping of their objects. They take out the sole of that person, killing the body of that what lives on earth and trapping them with them. Ian walked back towards the front desk, somewhere that for years he had been unable to walk beyond, but this time instead of stopping he carried on knowing that as soon as he pushed the main doors open he would be no more. He would cease to exists, but also so would Casey. Placing his cold hand out to touch the metal, he paused. Could he really do this to another human being? Could he be responsible for that mans death? This was his only chance to rest without the whisperings of the artefacts. Pushing the door open a centimetre he froze and stepped backwards. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be that person to take another man from his family. No he would have to stay and rest amongst them. Casey would be the one to remain free.

“Do you think this creature is real and lives here in the museum, Jeff?” Trevor asked, munching on his sandwich. It was nearly midnight and their shift far from over.

Jeff didn’t raise his eyes from the newspaper, looking terribly upset. He could be home watching his favourite series but there he was with a coworker he didn’t particularly like, all because some people believed in folklore and silly supernatural stories. Who on Earth was stupid enough to believe that the stuffed body of a dead animal exposed at the Zoology Museum was motionless during the day, but suddenly come back to life at night to haunt and kill the town’s inhabitants?

“To be honest I think Phil placed me here on purpose.” was his dry answer, his eyes still stuck to the newspaper which he wasn’t even properly reading. He just didn’t want to chat much with Jeff. Phil was the new police station boss and both he and Jeff immediately disliked each other. When two people are equally good at something, jealousy is inevitable. But Phil was the boss and Jeff, much to his annoyance, had no choice but to comply with his orders.

“Do you think he wants to embarrass you?” Trevor was aware of the hostility between the station boss and the team boss. He never asked questions but now that they were alone, why not try to find out more?

“I just think we are wasting our time. We should be interrogating the witnesses and trying to get more from them. The murderer is definitely outside among them, not stuffed here. What a load of rubbish.”

Jeff finally put the newspaper down and took a sip of his now cold coffee.

“Well, those bodies were really gutted... if I may say so, it really didn’t look like they were killed by a human. More like a wild animal or...”

“Oh, for goodness sake, man!” Jeff bursted, suddenly getting up from his chair. Trevor jerked back and went mute. He shouldn’t irritate his boss and add to the animosity between him and Phil. “I’m gonna get another cup of coffee. Do you want one too or are you just going to stay here babbling about supernatural creatures and all that bullshit?”

“Ahem... yes, sure, Jeff. Two spoons of sugar if you don’t mind, please. Thank you. Are you ok with going alone to the kitchen?”

Jeff just rolled his eyes with a sigh and walked out. The kitchen was still a 500 metres corridor away from the small watch room where they were, on the opposite side. A few stuffed animals were displayed along the way. Jeff didn’t notice that one was missing.

He turned on the coffee machine. Damn it, it wasn’t working. Crap. As he prepared to go back, all lights flickered and went off. He immediately took his gun from his holster and a small torch from his pocket. He pointed the feeble light at the door but saw nothing.

“Trevor, if this is you being funny, we’ll have a lot to talk about when our shift is over.” he threatened as he prepared to go back, his eyes slowly getting used to the darkness.

A piercing, spine-chilling scream echoed all over the museum accompanied by growls. Jeff started running.

“Jeff...” from the watch room, Trevor’s voice came out frail, almost disembodied.

Jeff kept running and stumbling.

“Trevor, if this is a joke, it’s not funny at all.”

He halted at the room’s entrance and nearly dropped dead on the floor with the shock. Trevor’s throat was torn, blood spilled down his shirt and chest, his eyes wide with horror. Next to him, a huge grey-haired beast, a dreadful mixture of bear and wolf or so Jeff thought, stared back at the cop, blood dripping from his mouth from the recent kill.

Jeff pointed his gun and shot, but nothing happened. He shot again. Nothing. The beast just kept staring back, getting visibly more enraged.

“What the...?”

Jeff couldn’t finish the sentence as he heard a creepy, yet somehow familiar voice behind him.

“I hope you believe in the supernatural now, Jeff.” Phil said, his eyes shinning bright, a wicked smile on his blood-red lips.

Jeff dropped the gun with the shock, unable to mutter a word. Phil just smiled.

“Kill him!”

The beast pounced on Jeff, immediately biting his throat. Jeff moved his arms like a puppet, his movements uncoordinated. As the blood gushed out, his strength left him too. When the beast let go, Jeff fell lifeless on the ground. Phil smiled, triumph in his bright eyes.

“Good boy ! One less rival to compete against me. Soon we’ll take over this town.”

The job at the Museum of Art came at the perfect time for Consuela. She had taken her finals, had her 21st birthday the day after graduation, and had been told by her parents that she needed to find a job and move out. It was a tradition, they told her, and they had given her the tools to forge her own way. She was the last child, they had made sure she had a degree as they had done for all five of her siblings. Now they were retiring and moving back to Puerto Rico.

Consuela understood. Her parents had built up a profitable business over the years by cleaning businesses and all of their children had, at one time or another, worked with them. They all had learned how to be meticulous about details and were consistently told that cleanliness was next to godliness. The reputation of Diaz Cleaning Service had remained impeccable but now her parents were ready to move on.

One of the jobs Consuela had done all through high school and college was maintenance and cleaning at the small art museum on the west side of the city. She had been so intrigued by the private collection she cleaned every night for 8 years, that she had majored in Art History. Most nights, after her work was done and the museum sparkled, Consuela would find a bench in front of one of the works of art and study it intimately for an hour or so before she left to go home to do her homework or college studies.

It had been on a Tuesday night, just a few weeks before her graduation, that she had plopped down in front of her favorite portrait of Matilda Hendley, an early ancestor of the present day Hendleys who owned the collection and had set up the museum. She was deeply engrossed in taking notes on the portrait and never heard the footsteps behind her.

“Ahem.”

Consuela jumped off the bench and whirled around, her heart pounding in her chest, scattering her notebook and pens all over the floor. When she saw who was in front of her, she giggled nervously.

“Mister Hendley! Oh my! You gave me such a start! I am leaving right now. I am so sorry if I disturbed you.”

“You didn’t disturb me, Consuela. I was in my office and saw the light and thought maybe you had forgotten to turn it off. May I see what you’re doing?”

Consuela plucked her notebook off the floor and reddened as she handed it to him. “I like to do some analyses of the artist’s methods and sketches of small areas of the paintings. I was intrigued by the way he executed the lace embellishments on the gown. It is so intricate.”

Morton Hendley read the notes and studied the sketch and then turned to several other pages, nodding his head once in a while. “These are really good. Excellent, in fact. What are your plans when you graduate?”

“I am putting out resumes hoping somebody wants to hire an Art History major.” She laughed. “I know all the dumb jokes about this major but I just am really, really passionate about all this.” She waved her hand around the gallery.

Hendley looked intently at her.”Are you crazy to move to New York like all the young folks seem to be?”

“ Not necessarily. I really just want to do what I love.”

He handed her notebook back to her and smiled. “Come see me tomorrow at 9:30. I’d like to talk with you. I’m impressed, Consuela. Turn out the lights when you leave.”

And that was how it all came about. One just never could predict that dumping trash cans in a museum after hours could turn into a dream job.