Living Art

The museum felt different at night after it was officially closed. The flickering fluorescent emergency lights in the hallway didn’t help to calm their nerves.

“Are you sure about this?” asked the jumpy nervous boy to the backs of his two accomplices. “What if there is an alarm? What if he changed the passwords? What if we … get caught?!”

“Be quiet would you,” said the boy in the middle.

“Why is he with us again?”

“Mom said, I had to watch him.”

“What a joke. He’s not even two years younger than us. Okay, here it is,” he said stopping in front of the office door. The sign read, “Museum Director” in white letters. He tried the handle, but it was locked.

“Let’s go,” said the younger brother.

He produced a shiny metal key from the pocket of his jeans. “Let’s not.” He turned the key in the door and it opened.

He turned on the lights and they all entered the office. He pointed to the younger brother and then at a black chair, “You sit there.” Turning to the older brother, “You can crack the computer, right?”

He held a thumb drive in his hand. “Yes. This should do it.”

“Good. It’s time to figure out what happened to Charlie, boys.” He licked his lips and rubbed his hands together.

Soon they were all huddled around the glow of the computer screen, searching folders and files for any clues.

The younger brother felt it first. They were being watched. He turned to look at the door and shrieked at the top of his lungs, squeezing up against the other boys tightly.

“What is wrong with hi…” The question faded before completed. In the doorway stood a woman of a single unhealthy, unnatural color. Her dead eyes were focused directly on them. She smiled wickedly and spoke gibberish in a gravelly, hard voice.

“Run!”

“What?”

“She doesn’t have any arms! Run, you idiots!”

They shot out the door, every boy for himself. The woman shouted something, unable to catch them, of course.

They raced back to the custodial closet and locked themselves in. They were invisible in the total darkness.

“That was close.”

“I want to go home. Call mommy, now!”

“Sssh! We can’t leave. Did you see that? The statue was … moving!”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I’m scared. Call mommy!”

“Settle down, Davey! We’ll be okay in here. Did either of you hear what she yelled at us?”

There was a pause. “Not really. It was all Greek to me.”

 

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3 thoughts on “Living Art

  1. Pingback: Life And Art | Mayur Wadhwani's Blog

  2. Pingback: I stood… Now I move (An autobiography) | Mayur Wadhwani's Blog

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