This Isn't Going to End Well

I don't care much for guns. They can be such casual weapons. Some of the people that choose to wield them seem to do so without regard for the consequences. Honestly though, I think what I really dislike is having guns pointed at me as this one was soon to be. It's not a very entertaining way to spend an evening. Therefore, finding a way to prevent this gun from being pointed at me was a priority in my mind.

Thankfully panic didn't cause me to freeze, it gave me a plan. It might have been a crazy plan, but it was a plan. As the suited man crept forward, unsure as to my location, I worked to fold up the nearby chair into attack mode. Under the best circumstances, folding chairs aren't made to be silent as they transform and this chair proved to be no different in these somewhat unique circumstances. It squeaked and squawked a bit. While this did something to identify my location, it must also have sounded a bit odd to someone not expecting this noise in the dark as the man paused for an eternity, looking only vaguely in my direction.

I was moving, my heart pounding furiously. There are only a few sections of solid wall to the design around the Pow-Wow diorama and he was approaching the angled wall nearest me. Chair in hands, I flattened myself to the small piece of wall around the corner, waiting for him to appear and hoping I had something in my chair-swinging ability that would make El Hombre de Silla proud.

Waiting like that is horrible. Every second becomes a minute. Every minute a day. There's no sound apart from the sound of your own heartbeat. Please tell me he hadn't backed up and was going around the exhibit the other way. What was taking him so long? He'd seen me move, hadn't he? I should sneak back to the opening and look for him. No, that was stupid. Except, where was he then if he hadn't spotted me and changed course? Wait, is that the barrel of his gun?

Everything went from slow-motion to fast-forward. His next step made him visible to me. I swatted him in the face with the folding chair, knocking him down, his gun sliding away into the darkness. Chair still in hand, I ran the long way around the exhibit, hoping to confuse the other gunman a little. When I reached the area in front of the 'Jewels' exhibit, he was on the ground, clutching at his groin. I must have looked surprised as the lady commented “I'm not helpless you know.”

“Who said you were? Come on, this is the part where we run.” When she didn't immediately agree, I grabbed her by the hand and dragged her on.

As we went past the man I'd hit, he was starting to rise. I cracked him again with the chair as we ran past, returning him to the floor. Funny how casual violence becomes in situations like this.

Oh. Great.

The power was also out on the escalator. This was a relatively minor issue as an escalator without power is merely a stairwell. The limited light reflected off the shiny metal sides of the escalator, making it easy to see where my feet should go. I was concerned that the power would flick back on, as it had done with the lights, and throw my balance off. I kept my hands on the rails, just in case.

Once on the second floor, I took a moment. I knew exactly where I was and where I was going but the light levels were different from the escalator and I didn't want to stagger into a display if I could help it. Many of them in the area were at that sensitive upper thigh level. It would have been unpleasant.

The second floor was strangely quiet. I had expected a certain amount of hustling and bustling, people grumbling to depart in the limited lighting. There was nothing. With the diorama and display sounds off, any little sound would echo around the halls. Once I arrived to the Museum early in the morning. I was in the Rain Forest exhibit before the sounds were on. You couldn't help but hear the other people also in attendance. At least the lights were on then. When the sounds came on, it was suddenly, nothing and then all. I jumped in surprise and scurried from the exhibit to catch my breath.

Good times.

The path from one down escalator to the next was not complicated; a right turn, a hallway of displays, and a right turn. On my left was the Bison Hunt and Pow-Wow dioramas. Thankfully, the turntable that rotated the dancers in the Pow-Wow was off. The 'thump-thump' of the turntable as well as the motion would be rather eerie in the low light. It was off and everything was quiet.

Or rather, everything had been quiet.

Much like the sudden light had attacked my eyes earlier, this outbreak of noise assaulted my ears. I jumped in surprise, not unlike that time in the Rain Forest, and hid by the Pow-Wow diorama. Instinctively hiding felt like the right thing to do, at least until these loud voices better identified themselves.

I had positioned myself well. I've never been all that good at picking up the direction of sounds but they had been echoing from the up escalator on the other side of the hall and the circular Pow-Wow diorama was largely see-through. Shadowy figures emerged from the escalator area and moved to their left, towards the locked entrance to the 'Jewels of the Nile' exhibit. Where I was crouching was in the remnants of an exhibitor area that had been less diligent than we had about picking up after themselves. Folding chairs and tables surrounded me. Carefully I adjusted my position to better see what was going on.

Nearer the door they were now in the beam of one of the active lights. There were two men in dark suits as well as a lady in glasses and a sharp blue dress. They didn't all seem to be friends. “Look,” one man explained to the lady, “we already said we'd keep things to a minimum if you cooperated, didn't we? So be a nice gal and open the door, huh?”

“I've had a chance to think about it further and I've realized that you can't really do anything to me,” replied the lady. “I have the code so you can't hurt me and still get what you want.”

“We ain't gotta hurt you.”

I shifted my weight slightly and accidentally brushed against a folding chair enough to make it clatter.

Both suited men whirled around. After a quiet moment where their eyes searched the darkness around them, the talkative one spoke further. “Go check that out.”

“Right boss.” His hand dipped into his suit and emerged with a gun.

I knew something wasn't quite normal about all this. Sometimes I really hate being right.

Would Rather Be Whistling in the Dark

There's being in the dark and there's being in the dark.

For a moment, everything was pitch black. At least it seemed pitch black. The lighting changed faster than my eyes could adjust. I could see nothing. Then hints of faint hallway lighting seeped around the corner from behind me, offering just enough light for me to hazily make out my surroundings. It felt more like sonar might be like than actual vision. It was as if I sensed what was around me more than I could see it.

This made me uncomfortable. I didn't like not being able to see where I was. As well as I felt I knew the Museum, wandering around it in the dark wouldn't be the same as wandering around my house in the dark. I'm home a lot. I know where everything is located. There it feels silly to have the shadows be creepy. For some reason, it felt perfectly natural for the shadows to be filled with trouble here. Why had the lights gone out? They couldn't have expected us all be gone already. And what about the tables? They still needed collecting. This just didn't feel right.

I stepped back and whirled around. There seemed to be an emergency light near the entryway to the African hall to my left. Due to its positioning, little of its light was making its way towards us. There was a faint glow off to the right, probably where the animal dioramas change, around the curve. Carefully I stepped forward, trying to discern where the 'work in progress' barrier was so that I didn't trip over it.

The lights in Morocco suddenly snapped on.

I'm not proud of my reaction to this lighting change. I squeaked in surprise. I jumped. I bumped into something and that surprise made me squeak again. 'Something' turned out to be Larry. He flipped on a flashlight, allowing me to see his calm expression. “Motion sensors.” When this didn't immediately slow my heart rate back to normal, he spoke further. “Motion sensors lit up the case.”

I laughed, at myself more than anything else. “Yes, of course.” One quiet afternoon I'd walked the Museum with a friend, approached a display case that wasn't lit and, as I commented on how that shouldn't be, tripped the sensor to reactivate it. It was an impressive piece of timing.

Returned to the hallway, it was time for decisions. What was next? Just head for the exit? Say something to a guard about Larry and Harry? See why the lighting had gone out so soon? Wait to help with the table collection? If they were really keen to have us leave the building, wouldn't they have said something over the loudspeaker system? Something just seemed odd.

My pondering ceased as the lights suddenly came back on at full intensity. It was blinding. Blinking back tears, I struggled to watch as the lights flicked on and off. The loudspeaker system crackled to life. There was some thumping as the microphone was adjusted. “At this time the Museum is closed. Please exit the Museum. Thank you.” There was some further microphone adjusting before the sound stopped again.

I've been politely encouraged to leave the Museum before. I can't tell you that I have that speech memorized or anything like that. What I can tell you is that the speech I heard didn't sound right. At the same time, it was accurate; it was time to leave.

The lights had been left off once the flicking ceased. “I'd guess you've got fifteen minutes before they'll come looking for you.”

Larry blinked at me. “You don't care if we continue?”

“Why should I? Besides, if you leave before they lock up, what have you done wrong? Nothing.” I smiled at him through the gloom. “I hope you find what you're looking for.” He smiled, we shook hands, and I headed off for the escalator.

On my way there, I passed Harry, who was returning to Morocco. While he greeted me cheerfully, he was clearly distracted by his trouser leg, the cuff of which looked wet. I must have observed it for a moment longer than I thought as Harry nervously chuckled to distract me from it. “I had some slight difficulty with my hiding place,” he explained.

“Were you in The Living Seas exhibit?” I asked, teasing.

He frowned briefly, as if questioning my sanity, before his genial smile returned. “That was it precisely sir.”

With that level of understanding reached, we continued on our separate ways.

Closing Down

The project became much less complicated once they had got going. Numbers were written down. Tonight's numbers were higher than the readings they had taken that afternoon, a fact that Harry declared was a Good Thing. They managed to find the time to stop in earlier in the day. Why could I manage it? They took a few pictures, took some readings with a device that looked like the bulky old calculators of my childhood with a small spinning disk atop it, thanked me numerous times, and left me be. Not even fifteen minutes and I was returned to my proper volunteering without really missing much.

Just before closing time, an even coordinator breezed past the table. Did we understand how to pack up? Was there anything already emptied and ready to go? Had things gone well? We have a good time? Any questions? Just as quickly, she was off to the next table.

We started celebrating a job well done. We poured ourselves a few 'samples', cleaned up, packed up, had another sample. Hands were shaken, hugs were exchanged, we thanked each other for helping get us all through the night. Good times.

As we walked to the escalator to leave, I tapped my pockets as I will do in order to check their contents. Something was missing. The rechargeable batteries I'd brought for my camera. I'd briefly lent them to Tim for his camera and then I'd set them down... I excused myself from the group, thanked and cheered them again, before returning to Morocco.

Morocco isn't far from the down escalator. The escalator is right outside the entrance to the African exhibit hall and the area that represents Morocco is, well, the first hallway curves to the right and then straightens out, but if you turn left there's Morocco. It's not far. I'm not good at judging distances, sorry.  It's close enough than Dorothy offered to wait for me and I said not to bother. I know they were tired. Besides, I wasn't completely sure where I'd left the batteries but I was sure I had left them behind.

I walked back, triple checking my pockets, and relaxed. There was no one else to be seen. For a moment, even if it would just be a moment, I had the place to myself. I liked that. It was a little creepy at the same time. There was a feeling of 'not supposed to be there' even though I could be there. After the rush of humanity I'd experienced over the past few hours, having a moment to myself was nice.

Once again in the Morocco courtyard, I pondered the situation. I didn't have the batteries. I had gotten them back and, for some daft reason, set them down rather than just returning them to my pocket. The tables had been folded up and were leaning up against the video case, waiting to be collected. No one else had mentioned picking them up for me. In theory, they should still be here somewhere. Hmm.

I scanned the cobblestone like floor but saw nothing out of the ordinary, apart from a stray wrapper we somehow missed during cleanup. I collected it. The thin ledges around the display cases held nothing. They were not in sight. Bother.

Logically, if they weren't in sight, they were somewhere out of sight. The only spot not visible was by the folded up tables. Sure enough, that's where they were, the dull gray label successfully blending with the floor in the dim lighting. Had someone set them there as we cleaned the tables and forgotten about them? Did they get knocked off the table and went unnoticed? I dunno. The important thing wasthat I had found them again. I could relax and fully enjoy myself here.

I knew it was late and that we had been encouraged to empty out the building but perhaps I had a few minutes to wander around. Maybe I could help the maintenance crew collect the tables, continue volunteering my time.

In the corner of my vision, something moved where there should have been nothing to move. That is the sort of thing that will get your attention in a heartbeat. Had I been facing the display with the fez fella, I may well have momentarily put some stick in the ghost theory. Since I was looking out of Morocco, at the remnants of a hallway display area that was in transition, the ghost idea didn't seem as likely, especially as I didn't think a ghost would be hiding in the shadows behind one of those collectible penny machines.

I walked over to the area, crossing past a temporary 'we are working here' barricade, and getting the buzz of actually being somewhere I shouldn't. This was business so I reasoned it was acceptable. My eyes had not deceived me; there was someone hiding there. “Hello Larry.”

He remained in his hiding position but turned to look up at me. “Hello Patrick.”

“Whatcha doing there?” I asked.

He frowned. “I'm hiding.” There was a certain 'what do you mean, what am I doing?' in his expression.

I guess it was a dumb question. I refined my query. “Why are you hiding?”

He gave me another frown, one that also seemed to question my intelligence. “I'm not telling.”

“Why not?”

“You'll have us kicked out,” he answered.

“To be fair, that's a possibility whether I say something or not,” I observed. “It's not like I'll be the last one through here tonight.”

He considered this for a moment. “Harry and I want to get a reading after everything closes up. The ghost is supposed to show up as things get quieter and the lights go down.”

I sighed. “There are so many reasons I can think of how that won't work. The place is alarmed for one. If they can't get the alarm to go on successfully, they'll come hunting for the reason it won't activate properly.” Honestly I'm not that sure that it works like that but it seemed a more powerful statement than just repeating the idea 'if I spotted you, someone else will too'.

“We don't want to be here all night,” he noted. “Just for awhile once the lights go out.”

I had never really thought about how nights worked at the Museum. Was it just locked up with an alarm? Did security walk around at scheduled times? Was there a cleaning crew working through the night? I didn't know. It wasn't my job to kick him out. I had no authority to do so. Encourage him to leave, sure, but I couldn't really kick him out myself.

“Well, it'll be awhile before the lights go out so you'll be waiting for some time,” I informed.

Famous last words. Everything suddenly went dark. “You were saying?” Larry asked.

Readings

My hopes that they wouldn't return vanished once they approached the table promptly at 9:30. Smiling, the large man walked directly up to me. “Pardon me sir. I do hope you remember my friend and I from earlier this evening?” I admitted that I did. “Good! Would it now be possible for us to gain the access we discussed at that time?”

I was torn. On the one hand, if they were ghost hunters, I was against their profession on principle. On the other hand, they were being very polite about this. There wasn't a crowd lined up like there had been before so it shouldn't be quite the pain to move the table to the side for a moment. “You're not going to try and get in the exhibit or anything like that?” I checked.

“Not at all!” he enthused. “Why, that's the furthest things from our minds. We just want to take a few readings with our equipment and make some observations.”

Cautiously I continued. “I just don't want to get into trouble for letting you in and then you break something.”

The large man dismissed this concern with a wave. “We shall be as cautious as cats. The last thing we wish to do is cause you any trouble. Isn't that right Larry?”

Apparently Larry was the thinner member of the two as he replied “Exactly right Harry.”

I'm a chump and I know it. I let them in. Sandy helped me shift the table enough so that Harry could squeeze his bulk through. Larry loped in without incident.

It's not so much that I didn't trust them but I accompanied them to the display case. Okay, I did accompany them because I didn't completely trust them. That's not a bad thing. Being concerned is often a wise choice.

Most of the display cases in this little section are set up to reflect a dwelling place in Morocco. The one side holds kitchen ware, another clothes. We headed for the 'living room' area with the long couches and tables that fold out to reveal backgammon boards. Ornate lamps flicker as they illuminate the sole occupant of the display, a fez wearing mannequin. “Him?” I checked.

“Yes sir,” Harry replied.

“Interesting,” I stated. “I have heard some stories about activity here but didn't realize they surrounded him.”

Larry rummaged around in the messenger bag he carried with him. Calmly he extracted a device that to my eyes resembled an electrical outlet box with a fork sticking out of the top. Harry quickly grew frustrated. Slapping it away, he declared “Not that one! The Ectoplasmic Frequency Indicator.” Larry stared at him dully, prompting Harry to continue with “The EPFI!” This did nothing to help Larry. “The one in slot five!” This did the trick and Larry returned to the bag.

With the return of his warm, face compressing smile, Harry returned his attention to me. “Yes sir, this is the gentleman right here.” An elaborate finger gesture directed my attention back to the mannequin and the fez. “As I understand it, the model for it was a former director of this establishment that met an untimely end. Most tragic indeed sir. It is this end coupled with the likeness that tethers the ghost here.” Larry now handed over a device that reminded me of the old electronic handheld football game I used to play with a small antenna on the top. This pleased Harry. After politely excusing himself, Harry activated the device. Carefully, methodically, he passed it around the window, monitoring the display constantly.

Harry's smile grew more intense. He chuckled. Energetically he tapped Larry on the shoulder, getting his attention while knocking him about. “The notepad! Get the notepad!” Harry directed.

Calmly Larry returned his attention to the messenger bag, sorting through the items within to locate the notepad in question. He attempted to hand it to Harry. “No, no, no. I'll read off the numbers and you write them down.” Larry opened the pad while Harry excitedly recited the findings from his screen.

Once the flow from Harry had ceased, he turned to observe Larry. His energetic happiness twisted to frustration at seeing Larry standing there. Harry's voice remained calm as he asked “Did you write any of that down?”

Larry had little to say. “No.”

“And why not?” Harry demanded.

“Cause I haven't got a pencil,” was the logical reply.

Harry's patience began to crack. At an increased volume, he wondered “Well, where is it?”

“I think it's in the bag somewhere.”

This was too much for Harry. “Why didn't you get it when you got the notepad?”

“You didn't say to get the pencil, you only said to get the notepad.” Larry's voice grew higher and higher pitched until it turned into a non-communicative squeak. Harry grumbled and huffed while Larry continued to nervously squeak.

I love pockets. I love having handy items in those pockets. An interior jacket pocket of mine held a mechanical pencil. I quickly removed it and primed the lead for use. “Pencil?” I asked as I offered it.

Once again, Harry's mood changed when dealing with me. “That's very kind of you sir.” Delicately he plucked it from my grasp and handed it to Larry. “See? He's prepared. He has a pencil.”

“Has he got a pad?” Larry wondered.

While trying not to rub it in, my hand dipped back into my interior jacket pocket. “Actually, I do.”

This made Harry strangely calm. It was clear to me that he was upset with Larry but chose to express it as disappointment rather than hoping up and down or yelling. “You see that? He knows that a pencil and a pad go together. Everybody knows that. It's common sense. If you have a pad to write on, you must have something that will write on it. Why couldn't you see that?”

For a long moment, Larry was quiet. “I could have had a pen.”

Harry slapped his forehead before giving Larry a Look. “Just write down the numbers.”

This time he did.

There is some thought to put into this

This concerned me.

I've read about a number of things. I've seen all sorts of weird things in my life. I have friends that have experienced the strangest of things. At no point have I ever encountered an actual ghost story or ghost. I'm not talking about ectoplasmic phenomenon; I'm talking about ghosts. There is a difference.

Ectoplasmic phenomenon are generally echoes of people or their emotions. They may reflect reality but they have no actual reality to them. It doesn't mean that they aren't dangerous or anything like that, it just means that they have no connection to the people they resemble. They are reflections, like those in a mirror, and nothing more. Ghosts are supposedly the spirits of the deceased returned to our plane of existence via some method or another. There's supposed to be a reality there. To date, I've seen no proof of that.

Now some have argued with me that, just because this hasn't been proved yet, doesn't mean that it's not true. They point to other realities that have come to light in recent years, things that in the past were considered impossible but are now truth. I can't argue with that. It's possible that someone clever will sort this out and we'll have to change our thinking on the subject. One never knows.

On the other hand, the fact that no one has proved that ghosts exist by now is an impressively strong reason to not believe in them. Considering how the science and technology has lept forward and considering the number of people on the planet that are smarter than ten Einsteins, you'd think that if it was there to figure out, they would have figured it out by now. To this point, all they've proved is that all these television shows with 'ghost hunters' or 'spirit callers' are all a scam, a rip-off. While some may honestly feel they are calling up ghosts, the majority are crooks and are only out for money.

As a result of hearing 'ghost hunters', I was less inclined to be of assistance. The large man shot his friend a 'will you keep quiet?!?' look before returning to me with a warm smile that nearly obscured his vision. “My friend likes to keep things simple for those not in the trade. We've read stories of a manifestation in this area and simply wish to investigate for ourselves.”

I sighed. Quickly I saw a possible out. “We're really busy now and shifting the tables to allow you access would just be a mess at the moment. Things should slow down. Come back in an hour or so and we'll see what we can do then. That should still give you a half-hour or so before the end of the event.”

The large man nodded. “Nothing could be fairer than that.”

“Excellent.” With a bit of luck, they'll relax over the next hour and forget all about their investigation. “While you're here now, what can I get you?”

“The brown ale if you would be so kind.”

An Evening at the Museum

I had no idea that some breweries send samples of their work but do not, or cannot, send a representative with them. I got to be a server! The big benefit of this was that I and my fellow volunteer servers had to sample the wares of the Chainsaw Juggling Mimes Brewery in order to be able to talk about them effectively. Outstanding!

No dinosaurs though, nor the just as good location of the Streets of Old Milwaukee. I was located up on the third floor in the African Hall, in the nook that is Morocco. This wasn't a bad spot at all. The mummy is right next door and to the other side are elephants and rhinos and lions and such. Plus, since the Morocco area is a large square and the tables filled the entryway, we had a lot of room to work in, not like the corners that some breweries are tucked into. The floor is level, the atmosphere is cozy, the lighting is good, all winners. It would have been a little more cool if we were serving beer from Morocco. My limited experience with beer from Morocco has shown me that it's quite good.

Once the event began, the bulk of the night flew by. As patrons arrived we filled their sample glasses with the brew they requested. Some asked for assistance in making a choice. Others were keen to discuss the available brews and we did our best to be informative.

As we got swamped and started realizing what we were in for, our team of four decided we were going to need the occasional break just to catch our breath. In between serving and discussing with patrons, we agreed that we'd keep at it until we needed a moment, one of us would swing out for a breather, and we'd take it in turns so that we'd keep the line moving at the same time. Some of this logic was based on the fact that I was the youngest member of our little group. While not being a very good judge of other people's ages, Tim and Dorothy were probably old enough to be my parents and Sandy seemed to be a decade ahead of me. No one seemed particularly weak or feeble but it was very busy work.

We were about halfway through the night when I was finally made to rest. The others had all rested for a minute, Dorothy twice, and I was informed I was getting a bit shaky. I hadn't noticed until Sandy said so and then I could notice nothing else. I stepped to the side and leaned against a decorative display that holds a touch screen that activates a television which used to be down on the second floor until they closed down the Temples, Tells, and Tombs exhibit.

I inhaled deeply. I blinked slowly. I was quickly interrupted.

A large man collected my attention by clearing his throat politely. “Pardon me sir, might we gain access to the area behind the tables?”

It was not a question I expected. “What for?” I asked.

“Four?” a thin gentleman next to the original speaker asked. “No, there's only the two of us.”

I blinked. Tired as I was, his confusion confused me for a moment. “No, I mean to what end? For what purpose?”

“We have an interest in the contents of that case, over there.” With an elaborate gesture, the man of girth indicated the display case on the other side of the square.

This did little to help me understand. “You can see that any time the Museum is open. If you come back tomorrow, you can spend all day observing that case.”

“Oh no sir,” the large man politely protested. “The time of day is quite important to us.”

His thinner friend nodded. “Yes, we're ghost hunters.”