The Monster Museum

by J L Bryan

  The dead baby's eyes opened and looked right at me.

  I screamed.

  I've seen some evil, terrifying things in my life. I've seen wicked souls that refused to accept death, that avoided the grave and instead fed on the living, inflicting suffering and fear. I've seen shadowy things that barely look human anymore, dwelling in closets and crawlspaces, underneath beds and floorboards, haunting basements and attics.

  None of that really helped to curb my sense of horror when those pale eyes opened and looked out at me through the formaldehyde.

  As I screamed, I instinctively grabbed onto Ryan, the only person nearby. I pressed myself against him, my face in his shoulder. He wasn't quite as tall as Michael. His body felt tightly coiled under his jacket.

  “Hey, it's okay,” he said, patting me on my back. “Floaty doesn't bite.”

  “Floaty?” I realized he wasn't yelling or running like a normal person would after seeing a dead porcupine baby come to life in its jar. I pulled back from him. “Floaty?”

  “There's a pressure plate in the floor. That's what activates it.” He stepped closer to the jar. The baby's eyes, which had shut, flew open again. “It's to freak out the tourists, I guess. Worked on me when I was a kid. Gave me nightmares.”

  “Yeah, I kind of see how it could.” I pulled myself together, trying to look confident and not at all rattled. “So I guess you wanted to give me some, too.”

  “I thought it would be kind of funny.”

  “For who? You? The audience at home?” I snapped.

  “Sorry,” he said, looking sheepish.

  “Yeah.” My anger was rising, and getting close to boiling over. “So that's it? You just brought me in here for a dead baby joke?”

  “No, no. I did see something...” He moved aside an A-frame ladder hung with a couple of paint-spattered rags.

  The display that had been hidden included some rather archaic and sharp, nasty-looking instruments, mostly hooks and pliers.

  At the center, mounted above all of these as if surveying them, was one of the ugliest, most nightmare-promising things I'd ever seen. And bear in mind I'd just been through the sick dead-baby-in-a-jar trick.

  It looked like a human head encased in solid metal, including most of the face, even the eyes and nose. The only visible portion was the yellow teeth and red gums; the jaw hung open in a silent scream.

  The head was mounted on the wall, almost like a hunter's trophy, on an extendable metal frame. It wasn't in a display case itself, but it was placed above a glass case full of rusty surgical tools, making it a bit difficult for visitors to reach up and touch it.

  “What is that?” I asked. “Something else that jumps out at me?”

  “It won't. This is just an old model head from a dental school. You can look closer.”

  “You walk closer first.”

  “I guess I've earned your distrust.” He walked over to stand in front of the metal-encased head. “See? Totally fine.”

  I started to approach, but then his eyes widened and he held up a hand for me to stop.

  “Did you hear that?” He turned to look closely at the head. “Did the teeth just click?”

  “Very funny.”

  “No, I'm serious. Did it move?”

  “Did it move while you happened to be standing there blocking my view of it?” I asked. “I doubt it.”

  He backed slowly away from the head, watching it like he expected it to bite him.

  “Are we done here yet?” I asked, getting impatient with him. “Or is Old Death-metal-head going to start talking or what?”

  “It moved while I was working down here,” Ryan said. “I wanted to get this room over with, so I started here first. I was cleaning these over here—” He indicated some of the disturbing implements, “—and I heard a solid clack. Like teeth snapping together. When I looked back, this thing was looking toward me. Like this.”

  He approached the eyeless metal head, warily, and pushed it with just one finger, showing me how it could move on its mount. He withdrew his finger quickly,

  “How could it look at you without having eyes?” I asked.

  “You know what I mean. It turned toward me. And the teeth clicked together.”

  “But not while you were looking at it? You just heard something?”

  “Well, I was pretty sure it hadn't been turned toward me before,” Ryan said. “I was trying to tell myself I was hearing things, just like you're implying now—”

  “It's just one possibility.”

  “But then the jaw fell open.” Ryan picked up a narrow, dry paintbrush and jabbed at the dental model. It looked like a cross between a Terminator and a xenomorph from the Alien movies: metal head, blind, a wide-open jaw lined with teeth. “See what I mean?”

  “The jaw normally hangs open,” I said. I did indeed see what he meant.

  “So I heard the click, I turned around...and the thing wasn't moving, but its jaw was closed. I didn't really notice that, either, until it fell back open. Then I must have jumped to the roof. Probably screamed even louder than you just did. I guess it doesn't sound like much now.”

  “It does, actually. Can I see that?” I took the dry brush and used it to raise the lower jaw, bringing the teeth together. I wouldn't have wanted to touch the thing even if he hadn't just mentioned its moving on its own.

  I withdrew the paintbrush and the jaw dropped right back open.

  “So you heard it,” I said. “You turned, and it held its jaw shut for...how long?”

  “It's hard to say. Maybe five or ten seconds.”

  “And nothing could have bumped it?”

  “No. I was alone, and I was working over on this side of the room.”

  “Is there a latch or anything that can hold it closed?” I lifted the jaw again, trying to make it stay in place.

  “Not as far as I can tell.”

  “Me, either.” The thing's eyeless metal face and red-lined jaws were giving me the chills, so I backed off. The jaw dropped again as soon as I stopped supporting it with the brush. “This would definitely be a place to monitor. What other problems have you experienced?”

  “Nothing else as clear as this. I'll think I hear a footstep, or a voice, but nobody answers when I call out. And usually the sound doesn't repeat, either.”

  “Have you ever felt drained after being down here?” I asked.

  “Sure. I mean, it's draining work, but I'm used to it. I shouldn't be coming out of here as exhausted as I do—but I don't get much chance to relax, between the kids and the work. I'm pretty much wiped out all the time.”

  “Is there any other psychological effect of working down here? Do you ever feel emotions like fear, anger, or sadness for no apparent reason?”

  “I feel those things, but my life is full of apparent reasons. I'm struggling to make a living and take care of my kids, and I'm pretty sure I'm failing all around. Sometimes I lie down at night and just feel the world crashing on top of me. And when I wake up in the morning, I feel all that pressure right away, even before I open my eyes. Why are we here? Why am I living in this insane place with my kids?” He looked around at the rusty surgical tools, the awful metal head, the baby in the jar, the skeleton. “Oh, because we don't want to be homeless. Right. Am I sad and afraid for no reason? I wouldn't say it's for no reason.” He shook his head. “Sorry to unload about all of it. But, hey, you asked. Don't open the floodgates unless you're ready to get soaked.”

  “It's fine. I keep telling you, I need to hear all of it.”

  “So do you think you can help us? Or do you need to look around more? There are more exhibits, and then the caves below...” He led me out to the central lobby again.

  I looked at the propped-open crypt door to the Tomb of History. “Have you heard anything from that direction?”

  “It's hard to tell where noises are coming from down here, sometimes,” he said. “But honestly, I've been avoiding that exhibit.”

  “How deep do the caves go?”


  “I couldn't tell you. There's a few that are for tourists, a few other passages blocked off with barriers and warning signs. Those could go on for miles, as far as I know.”

  “Does your uncle happen to have any records about them? A map? A geological survey?”

  Ryan blew out air between his lips in an obvious I have no clue expression. “You're welcome to search the office. That's another big mess I need to organize. Papers everywhere, bills everywhere. Not a lot of money lying around, though. Which would help with those bills. It looks like he took out a new mortgage on the place about fifteen years ago, thinking some new exhibits and billboards would revive the tourist trade. But...it didn't.”

  “Chaotic heaps of old paperwork are a specialty of mine. My partner Stacey's going to be sorry she missed that part. I promise I'll leave it at least as orderly as I find it.”

  “Don't worry, that's a low bar.”

  “So here's what we can do,” I said. “I'll familiarize myself with the museum and set up some basic observation gear, like thermal cameras and microphones. And I'll start digging into the history of the museum. After Christmas, a couple of other team members will come up and join me.”

  “That makes it sound like you're going to start before Christmas,” he said.

  “I'll start today,” I said. “It'll take me a while to carry in the gear, so I might not get it all up and running tonight. I can come back for that tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Christmas Eve?”

  “I thought you were in a hurry to get started,” I said. “I just drove a long way from home, and I'm eventually going to bill you for my hotel room, so I'd advise you to let me get going rather than wait—”

  “No, that's great,” he said. “I didn't mean you shouldn't. I'm surprised you're doing it. I appreciate you sacrificing your holidays to help us.”

  “It wasn't much of a sacrifice,” I said. That sounded a little depressing, so I added: “I just didn't happen to have any plans this year.”

  “No family nearby?”

  “The nearest family is in Virginia, and they do send a card,” I said. “But I don't have to be home for that.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Well, you're welcome to have Christmas dinner with us. I'm cooking, so that part won't be great, but it's pretty hard to mess up frozen lasagna.”

  “Oh,” I said, caught off-guard. “Yeah. That's really nice, but actually I have people here in town.”

  “Really? I thought you said—”

  “Friends,” I interrupted. “Not family.”

  “And you already have plans,” he said. “Got it.”

  We didn't have specific plans for the holiday, actually, but I thought we should probably hurry up and make some. Foxboro was clearly a winter tourism destination, but we still might have limited options on Christmas Day itself. I struggled for a moment to imagine having a normal holiday, or at least trying to imitate one with Michael and Melissa. There'd be a meal. And presents. And I was not prepared for either one.

  “I'd better start moving in my stuff,” I said. “I'd like to get out of here before nightfall.”

  “Don't want to get stuck in here with Mr. Chomps?” He indicated the dental mannequin with its smooth steel-plate face and realistic jaw open in a silent scream.

  “I'm more afraid of the road out there,” I said. “Driving in snow on a steep mountain road might be some people's idea of a vacation, but not mine.”

  “It's probably only a quarter-inch or so.” He grinned a little, as if amused by my concern.

  “Well, down in Savannah, that's about twenty years' worth of snow,” I said. “And I left my snowmobile in my other van, so I'm planning to hurry back as soon as I can tonight. Plus we had a long drive in.”

  “We?”

  “My friends and I.”

  “Oh. I misunderstood. I thought you had friends living in town.” He seemed to be fishing for more information about my traveling companions, and for some reason I wanted to hold back. Best to keep a solid wall between my personal and professional life, I told myself.

  “Nope,” I said. “Let your kids know I'll be bringing in a bunch of equipment. It's very important that they not touch it. It's expensive.”

  “Sure. Let me give you a hand.”

  Outside, he raised the loading-dock door to a storage and maintenance area near the back of the museum. Ryan was a big help, insisting on carrying the biggest and heaviest of the black plastic cases.

  We arranged cameras and microphones to monitor the spots where he'd seen the most activity, around the settler mannequins and the Medical Maladies room. I put a couple more in the museum's main lobby area.

  “You say you feel uneasy about heading down to the caves?” I asked, pointing to the crypt-door entrance to Tomb of History.

  “They're a little creepy,” he said. “I mean, they're definitely pretty interesting, you can see why someone thought to make a minor tourist trap out of them, at least back in the day. They're not quite Rock City, but they're okay.”

  “But creepy.”

  “Yeah, like I said, I don't know how far they go. For all I know, people could come creeping up through those tunnels, up into the museum, into the apartment. I keep the door to the caves locked.”

  “Okay.” I pointed one of my cameras toward the Tomb of History entrance. I gave Ryan the new-client patter, explaining how we use sensitive technology to try and detect the presence of ghosts through sound, light, movement, and temperature. It was all new to him, and so familiar to me that I was barely aware of explaining it as I set up the gear.

  “You really do this for a living, huh?” he asked, watching me.

  “Is that smugness I'm detecting?” I straightened up.

  “It just seems like a crazy thing to do with your life.”

  “Well, we don't all inherit fancy oddities museums from eccentric distant relatives,” I said. “Some of us have to find our own way.”

  “Ouch. Hey, I worked, you know. Things just got slow in the market the last couple of years. Overbuilt. At least out in Jackson.”

  “That's where you were living?”

  “All my life until September.”

  I tried to picture a map of Tennessee in my head; I'd just spent some time studying one to plan our trip. Nothing stood out. “Where's Jackson?”

  “About five or six hours from here,” he said. “Depending on how many cows wander out in front of you along the way.”

  “So...near Memphis?”

  “Towards Memphis, I guess. Westward.”

  “It must have been a big change for your kids.”

  “They're not happy about it. I'm not happy about it.” He looked around at the oddball exhibits. “Except...”

  “What?” I asked, after a minute.

  He gave me a crooked smile. “At least I got out of Jackson. Finally. For a minute, anyway. It's not Nashville, and it's definitely not New York, but...” He shook his head slowly. “When I was a teenager, all I wanted to do was get out of town, at least for a while, go see the world. Now I'm almost thirty, and hey, I finally got out. Right?”

  I nodded, hearing the sadness behind his words but not sure how I could help with that. Or whether I should even try.

  It's just work, I reminded myself. He's a client. Just focus on collecting and studying data. You don't need a second boyfriend here.

  “Tell me more about what you saw upstairs,” I said. “The greenish one in the hall.”

  He started talking, and I finished rigging up the camera.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Is that really a ghost camera?” Penelope asked, while her sister Pollyanna hung just behind her like a shadow, staring at me with her big blue eyes.

  “It's a camera that can see in almost complete darkness,” I said. “We're just taking images of whether anything unusual happens in this hall at night.”

  “Like a ghost,” she said. “I know that's why you're really here. To get rid of the ghosts. All of them.” She cut a smirking loo
k at Polly, who cringed and shook her head. “Polly's scared you're going to get rid of Amil. You are, aren't you?” She looked back at me.

  “No,” Polly whispered, still staring at me.

  “Ladies, I do my best to keep a scientific approach,” I said. “Right now I'm just collecting information. Sometimes these things can be traced to a logical cause. A loose floorboard, or too much water pressure in the pipes.”

  “That's not what we have, though,” Penny said, looking at me coolly, while her twin appeared to be on the verge of a silent panic. “That wouldn't explain it at all.”

  “You're right about that. But sometimes, when you're in a strange place, and you've been through a lot of problems, your mind can play tricks on you. I have to separate the psychological from the physical.”

  Her milk-pale forehead creased as she appeared to think this over. I probably wasn't handling this well, as far as keeping it on a kid level. I wished again that Stacey was here to field this aspect of the investigation.

  “So you think we're lying about it all?” Penny said.

  “No, no. I think something very unusual could be happening here. I'm going to help figure out what it is.”

  “You can't make him go away,” Polly whispered.

  “She's got a crush,” Penny snorted.

  “You mentioned that before,” I said.

  “Don't tell her everything!” Polly snapped.

  Penny looked back at her, and Polly cringed a little and went quiet. Polly walked past me and into the living room to sit on the couch by her brother, who was again absorbed in his video game.

  “It's getting dark.” Ryan emerged from the laundry room down the hall with a basket full of towels and girls' socks. A dad's work was never-ending, apparently. “If you wanted to drive back to town. Fair warning.”

  “I appreciate it,” I said. “Okay, the equipment down in the museum is recording tonight. The gear up here in the apartment isn't. I'm just too exhausted. I'll get here around sunrise tomorrow and finish setting things up.”

  “I'll walk you out,” Ryan said. “Say bye to Ellie, everyone.”

  “Bye,” Penny said. Polly waved, very slightly, looking at me like an unwanted intruder in her home.