The Deadliest Institution Collection

by Holly Copella

  “You’ll be fine,” Ivy insisted then frowned. “I’m the one who should be nervous. You’re going to make me late for my audition with Burt Danson.”

  “I’m sorry. I almost forgot,” Devon announced then smiled timidly at her friend. “Good luck with the acting audition.”

  “I’m up against Jamie Smyth, goddess of Fairview Glen,” Ivy remarked dramatically then rolled her eyes. “I’ll need all the luck I can get.”

  “Call me tonight and let me know how it went,” Devon announced then got out of the jeep.

  Devon remained standing in the parking lot staring at the creepy museum even after her friend’s jeep pulled away. She gathered her courage and approached the front entrance. Devon stood before the large, double doors with stained glass windows and knocked several times, but there was no response. One of the men on the scaffolding, Karl Price, appeared to be watching her.

  “Devon? Is that you?”

  She glanced alongside the building at the construction worker. “Karl?” she announced with surprise. “I didn’t know you were working for Larry’s Construction.”

  He jumped off the scaffolding near her. “Yeah, I started a couple of months ago.”

  Karl was only a year or two older than she was and a year younger than Devon’s brother. By almost any woman’s standards, Karl was a handsome man and possibly a fine catch if good looks were all a woman needed. Having a decent paying job would only add to his stud status. His dark hair was the perfect length, reaching partway down to his collar, and he had the most captivating blue eyes. He stood a respectable six-foot with just enough muscle to gain attention. Pure eye candy. His loose morals and shoddy intellect was another story. Devon could admire his shoulders all day but become bored the moment he opened his mouth.

  “What brings you here?” He eyed her, not used to seeing her so neatly dressed, and grinned. “I don’t remember seeing you this dressed up before.”

  “I have a job interview.”

  “Oh? Your old man setting you free from the ranch, huh?”

  “Something like that,” she muttered, although it was a sore subject.

  “The boss is probably in the basement,” he informed her. “He must have a workshop down there. I hardly ever see the guy.” His mood immediately turned enthusiastic. “Hey, why don’t we go out for drinks tonight? I broke up with Jamie, so I’m available. It’ll be fun. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Devon stared at him a moment in mild disbelief. As if his being available was all a woman needed to jump into his arms. Was he asking her out or summoning her to his side? He always did have an inflated ego.

  “I’m sorry,” she replied while shifting uncomfortably. “I’m helping my father at the ranch tonight.”

  She didn’t know why she lied as if attempting to spare his feelings. A simple, ‘I’m not interested in going out with you’ would have been acceptable, considering how poorly he’d treated women over the years.

  “Yeah, I understand,” he replied with some disappointment then managed a smile. “We can go out some other time.”

  Devon managed a tiny smile and immediately regretted not setting him straight right away. Now there would be another awkward moment later on.

  “I, uh, better get to my interview before I’m late,” she announced, even though she had intentionally arrived fifteen minutes early.

  Chapter Five

  Devon entered the museum and passed through the small lobby area. She then paused and stared at the never-ending walkway of partially finished displays. Although far from complete, the background for the sets was realistic and almost creepy. She wandered through the maze of displays and winding walkways. A majority of each set was mostly contained on one side of the walkway, alternating which side, but the walkway itself was built through the display, so visitors would be entrenched in the scene on both sides. The walkway material itself changed with each set to maintain a particular feel. The walkway could be fake gravel, stone, brick, fake ground, or even just concrete depending on the time period and relevance to the display itself.

  Judging by the sheer number of empty displays, it would be some time before the museum would be opening. She wasn’t sure how long she walked the never-ending walkway in and out of displays, but she didn’t seem to be getting anywhere fast. She finally reached what looked like a dungeon entrance with an open, wrought iron door, fake torches on either side of the opening, and block stone steps leading down to the basement. The sign read ‘dungeon’. That was unsettling. Fake torches lining the stairs were the only source of light, although the stone steps were oddly illuminated to keep anyone from tripping. If the owner was going for creepy, he succeeded. She was nearly paralyzed with fear about continuing down the steps, and the museum wasn’t even complete yet.

  If someone chose to avoid the dungeon, the winding walkway curved and continued back through the museum to the front past more displays. Unfortunately, Devon’s business was down a level in the basement or as it was apparently called the ‘dungeon’. Devon felt slightly apprehensive, and she didn’t even know why. She proceeded down the broad, stone steps to the bottom. The stone dungeon atmosphere gave way to the beginning of the first of many displays, which were all obviously horror sets. A chill swept through her as she easily recognized most of the sets without their respective monsters. Being immersed within the horror displays was chilling even with the lights on. Devon was both impressed and frightened. She walked through several displays with a strange uneasiness and nervously rubbed her chilled arms while carefully studying each one.

  She paused within an elaborate church scene that contained a large, marble altar. There were amazingly realistic silk flower arrangements and unlit, electronic candles displayed upon the altar and around the set. A stained glass window with a false light behind it gave a mysterious glow to the display. As she continued through the ‘dungeon’, she lost track of how many displays she’d passed through. Each one was more terrifying than the last. There was the mad doctor’s lab, a vampire display, a phantom’s lair, two cemeteries, the church display, the mummy’s tomb, and several others she couldn’t even comprehend.

  The one that frightened her most was the dungeon’s very own torture chamber. If they chose to do so, visitors would pass through an open, iron door and enter the massive room containing torture devices. Since the room was sectioned off, visitors could opt out of the torture chamber part of the tour. Devon couldn’t resist poking her head inside to take a peek. Even though there weren’t any wax victims, the chilling devices were enough to send terror through her. There were shackles on the walls, a stretching rack, an iron maiden, a guillotine, and various other equipment she couldn’t even guess their painful purpose.

  Devon continued on the main walkway toward the very back of the dungeon before finally reaching a door marked ‘morgue employees only’. She somehow assumed that was the room she was looking for. Devon knocked on the door. There was no response, but she heard music coming from inside. Devon slowly opened the door and saw an elaborate workshop with several life-like wax men and women crowding the room. Some were dressed in expensive costumes, while others were unclothed, revealing doll-like bodies covered in wax.

  The cluttered workshop was filled with wax body parts, looking more like a psychopath’s paradise than a workshop. She finally encountered her first live person. A man in a white lab coat sat at the counter with his back to her while holding a paint pen in his hand. She watched while he applied the final touches on a wax head resting on the counter before him.

  “Try not to blink,” Brant announced then immediately groaned. “Damn it, you moved.”

  Brant turned on the swivel chair and reached for a rag. He saw Devon and jerked nervously in his chair, accidentally striking the wax head with his elbow. As the wax head teetered, he frantically scrambled to catch it before it fell. He steadied the wax head then stood and faced Devon with a nervous smile. Brant Sheffield was a moderately handsome man in his early thirties with short, dark h
air and possibly the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. He was built athletic yet not excessively tall and looked a little like a science teacher in his white lab coat speckled with paint. His reaction to her presence screamed introvert, and his inability to make eye contact revealed his lack of confidence.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Devon announced then pointed beyond the room. “I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he announced then grinned nervously and indicated the workshop. “I’m not used to things moving down here.”

  “I’m Devon Vincent,” she announced while attempting a cheerful tone. “I’m here for a job interview.”

  She was about to add that she was, in fact, early, but when she glanced at her watch, she realized she was now five minutes late. Wandering through the museum displays must have taken longer than she’d thought.

  Brant wiped his hands on a stained rag then approached her with some hesitation, almost as if he thought she might bite, and shook her hand.

  “Brant Sheffield. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he announced then immediately fumbled over himself while finally making eye contact.

  He seemed uncertain how long to hold her hand, which made her somewhat tense. He remained moderately nervous and finally released her hand as if embarrassed that he held it too long.

  “Tyler was supposed to be here to interview you, but he was called away early this morning,” he explained. “You’re Ross’ friend, right?”

  “Yes,” she announced then offered a devious smile, “but don’t hold that against me.”

  Brant chuckled softly and seemed to relax just enough to make her less uncomfortable. He then returned to his wax head, dipped the rag in turpentine, and wiped away the excess paint.

  “What do you think of the museum so far?” he asked without looking at her. “I know it’s far from finished, but the sets are nearly complete.”

  “The sets are amazing,” she announced. “I thought they were very--” Devon hesitated then held her breath a moment. She exhaled and chuckled almost nervously. “Honestly, your dungeon is pretty terrifying. I nearly turned around when I reached the torture chamber.”

  He cast a quick glance at her and chuckled almost evilly in his throat. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He resumed his work. “I’m terrible with interviews,” he informed her and again seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her by working on his creation. “If you’re as reliable as Ross says you are, and you don’t mind working long hours until we’re back on schedule, you can get started tonight, if you’re available.”

  Devon stared at his back with noted surprise then hid her smile. “Yes, of course.”

  Brant searched for his misplaced paint pen. “Fine. Uh, come back around six o’clock. I’ll get you started,” he informed her as he found his paint pen. “Ross will be in then.” He finally looked back at her, cast a glance at her attire, and appeared almost humored. “You may want to wear old clothes. Paint seems to get on everything around here.”

  As she eyed his white lab coat covered in paint spatters, she realized he wasn’t kidding.

  Chapter Six

  Devon left the building and walked across the large porch. She had nearly an hour to wait for her brother to pick her up. She hadn’t anticipated the interview only lasting two minutes. Calling her brother on his cell phone to pick her up early wasn’t really an option since he was running errands. Also, cell phone reception was spotty in the areas outside town. She stared at the vast fields of corn surrounding the museum. It was as if there wasn’t another soul alive in the world. She could see a glimpse of the funeral home in the distance from her elevated position on the porch.

  Rather than wait an hour in the museum parking lot and risk another conversation with Karl, she decided to walk to the funeral home and see what her friend, Tony O’Brien, was doing. Or in the mortician’s case, whom he was doing. Devon walked along the back road and took the leisurely walk to the funeral home nearly half a mile away. It was actually further than it looked. She reached the elegant funeral home, which was also Tony’s residence, and approached the massive building.

  The funeral home was old and lavish with stained glass windows on the first and second floor. A brand new, black hearse was parked in the carport attached to the home. The funeral home consisted of three stories. The entire first floor was devoted to the funeral home business while the second and third floors were Tony’s living quarters. Tony bought the business after the old funeral director retired. Despite his young age, Tony had already been operating the funeral home for two years. She tried the front door since it was unlocked most times. Devon entered the foyer, which was filled with flowers.

  The funeral home was inviting yet creepy at the same time. To either side of the foyer were sliding, wooden doors leading to a right and left front parlor. If there would be a viewing, they would happen in the two front rooms. Both doors stood open. Devon peered into each room, but neither had been set up for a viewing. She was relieved for that. She hated visiting the funeral home when Tony had company.

  “Hello?” she called out in the deathly silent home.

  There was no response, which immediately set her on edge. Of course, who was she expecting to respond? If Tony were in the back prepping a body, he probably wouldn’t hear her. She walked along the quiet corridor and passed several other rooms with the doors open. There was the casket display room with nearly a dozen caskets on display. Most were open, lending a creepy sort of appeal. On the other side was Tony’s neat and tidy office, where he greeted loved ones and discussed business. Devon approached the kitchen and was about to push open the door when it suddenly opened, startling her. Tony cried out when he saw her, and she jumped back and did the same.

  Tony clutched his chest and stared at her while attempting to catch his breath. Tony wasn’t what most women would consider handsome, but he was possibly the sweetest man Devon had ever met. He was tall and lanky, standing well over six-foot-two with dark hair, green eyes, and straight, white teeth.

  “Damn it, Devon,” he cried out. “Couldn’t you have at least announced yourself? Things aren’t supposed to move around here.”

  “I did call out,” she protested, although she probably could have called a second time. “And you nearly had me for a client as well.”

  “Well, now that we’ve jump started each other’s hearts,” he announced. “What brings you here? It’s not even lunchtime.”

  “I had a job interview at the museum next door,” she informed him. “It took a whole two minutes. I didn’t feel like waiting for Martin there, so I thought I’d drop by and give you a fright.”

  “Ross said he’d got you an interview at the museum,” Tony remarked and grinned. “I didn’t realize that was today. I was just taking a break while Mr. Malone is on the machine.”

  Devon knew what that meant. It meant Tony was replacing his client’s blood with embalming fluid. She’d seen the process before out of curiosity and didn’t care to watch again.

  “Did you want some tea or coffee while you wait for Martin?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she teased. “Could I use your phone to call Martin and tell him I’m here? Cell phone service sucks out here.”

  “You can use the kitchen phone,” he replied. “You’re not the first person to complain about cell service. I thought when they built the resort, it would mean better service out here.”

  “No, they put the towers on the other side of the resort closer to the highway,” Devon replied. “You know, along with restaurants, gas stations, and shops. They had to make sure that building that monstrosity of a resort just ruined the view but didn’t give our town any added revenue.”

  “Ironic,” Tony teased. “The old folks in town didn’t want the resort because they feared it would ruin their quiet, little town. Now they’re pissed because no one comes to their quiet, little town.”

  “What’s wrong with wanting it both ways?” Devon teased th
en offered a playful smile.

  Tony led her to the kitchen while laughing.

  §

  A black blazer pulled into the funeral home parking lot and approached Devon near the front door. She hurried off the patio, climbed into the passenger side, and smiled at her brother. Her brother, Martin, was a handsome man in his late twenties. He kept his dark hair neatly trimmed and his commanding blue eyes were enough to lure in the ladies. He stood over six-feet-tall and had just enough muscle mass to be very popular with women. His high paying gig at the nearby resort gave him financial freedom as well.

  Where women were concerned, her brother was still testing the waters, so Devon knew it’d be a long time before he brought anyone home to meet the family. Devon admired her brother for getting out there and storming the dating scene. One of them had to be out there working on producing grandchildren for their parents. Devon wasn’t in much of a hurry.

  Martin eyed her and grinned. “Judging by that smile, I’d say the interview went well.”

  “I got the job,” she announced proudly.

  “That’s great,” he remarked cheerfully then smiled slyly. “Dad’s going to be pissed.” He added a throaty chuckle. “What’s your boss like?”

  “He’s a little strange,” she casually replied. “Nervous type.”

  “The Norman Bates, psycho killer, nervous type?” Martin suddenly asked while raising demanding brows. “I hope you’re not going to be working alone with some pervert.”

  “Please, Martin,” she announced with a groan. “Give the overly protective brother business a break.”

  “I’m allowed to worry. Men are pigs,” he boldly informed her then hesitated and considered the comment. “I should know; I’m one of them.”