I don't think there's any saving this one, though.
Genre: Mystery
Setting: A Wax Museum
Object: a zipper
The Wax Museum Weeper
Herb wouldn’t admit that he was scared. He’d been the night watchman at the Grand Prairie Wax Museum for nearly four years. The wax figures were creepy, sure, but far from frightening. Within the walls of the Grand Prairie, Herb was President Obama’s top advisor. Beyonce always said yes when he asked her out for drinks, and Betty White always had a smile for him.
At the Grand Prairie, Herb was not the quiet kid that everyone ignored. He didn’t hide behind his long hair to avoid being noticed. Company policy dictated that he had to pull it back and tuck it beneath his hat, exposing the acne scars and timid eyes beneath. As a night watchman, Herb finally looked people in the eye. Granted most of them were made of wax, but he still considered it a victory. The uniform lent him a level of confidence that he lacked outside of the museum’s walls. Among the nation’s top celebrities, Herb could be anything and everything. Except brave.
Herb didn’t have to admit he was scared. The sweat on his brow and the unsteady beam of his flashlight undermined any attempt at bravado.
The museum was usually quiet at night. There were dozens of life-like figures frozen in poses that were supposed to look natural. None of them made noise. Herb’s footsteps were the only sound that ever cut through the silence, until tonight. Tonight, Herb could hear someone sobbing. Muffled whimpers floated on the stale air, following Herb through every room of the museum.
Herb knew the stories they told about this place, anyone who had lived in this town for more than five minutes knew them. The old owner had been poisoned, strychnine-laced cough syrup found at her bedside. Her assistant had died suspiciously months before, though no one could prove her death was anything other than an accident. Neither murder had been solved. Halloween was one of their busiest days. Tourists and locals alike packed into the museum hoping to catch sight of the ghosts of the two women who met such a tragic end.
Herb didn’t believe in that nonsense. At least, he tried to remind himself that he didn’t as he resumed his rounds. He’s also heard that ghosts weren’t very keen on the scripture, so he began to hum Amazing Grace, just in case.
When the cries became a little louder, a sudden rush of cold air ran down Herb’s leg and he shivered. He grabbed his flashlight tighter and swallowed the lump, that was definitely not fear, in his throat.
For the first time, Herb found himself longing for the buzz of conversation that filled the museum during business hours. A group of schoolchildren had been loading up a bus when he got to work this evening. Their playful laughter would be a welcome break from this anticipatory silence. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the flashlight so hard his hand shook. Something crackled under his foot when he took his next step. His weak beam of light slashed down to his foot. It was just a granola wrapper. One of the school kids must have dropped it as they wandered around.
The whimper amplified, growing steadily until it became a wail. The sound bounced off of the walls and echoed through the empty corridors. Goose bumps ran up Herb’s arms and down his legs. He clung to his few remaining scraps as his panic bounded through his chest like a caged rabbit.
Herb was in the hall near the restrooms and water fountain. It sounded like the noise was coming from the men’s bathroom. Herb tip-toed to the door. C’mon, Herb. You can do this. He braced himself against the doorframe, took a deep breath, and kicked the bathroom door in.
There was a young boy huddled in the far corner. He squealed, burying his head between his knees when Herb’s boot hammered the door.
“Jesus, kid. You ‘bout gave me a heart attack,” Herb said, relaxing his grip on the flashlight. He flicked the light switch and the florescent bulb sputtered to life. The boy continued to weep quietly in the corner. Herb guessed the boy had still been in the bathroom when the school group left. The chaperones must have botched their headcount as they corralled the children onto the bus.
The automatic timer for the museum lights is set to turn them off five minutes after close. There was a small window above the paper towel dispenser, but it didn’t even let in much light during the day. At night, the bathroom was pitch dark. The poor boy must have been terrified.
Herb approached slowly and softened his voice as if he was trying to soothe a skittish kitten instead of a child. “Hey, now. It’s ok. Let’s get you out of the bathroom, eh?” He reached for the boy, who let himself be pulled to his feet. His eyes were pink and swollen.
“What’s your name?” Herb asked.
“Jason,” the boy sniffled.
“Alright, Jason. I think I’ve got some hot cocoa in the office. Would you like a cup?” Herb put on his most reassuring smile.
Jason nodded, though his tears continued to run in a silent stream down his cheeks. When they stood to go meet her at the front door, Herb’s body shook with another cold chill. What was with him today? Maybe he was coming down with something.
“Hey, mister,” Jason said as he wiped at his cheeks. “Did you know your fly is down?”
Herb’s eyes darted down to the crotch of his pants. Sure enough, the zipper was completely down. Well, that explains some things. He wasn’t catching a cold after all. Herb rolled his eyes and pulled his zipper up before escorting Jason through the dim hallway.
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