.....Lila and Jemma had not wandered far into the museum when a cough had startled the younger of the two. "What was that?!" hissed Jemma, clutching her sister's arm as if for dear life. "It was probably just you, I heard it very close, and this old dust bin is closed, so who else could it be?" chimed Lila, skipping farther into the building until she reached a new an entrance to the new exhibit. "This way!" Reluctantly Jemma followed. Lila caught a glance of Jemma's melancholy face, and tried to cheer her up by tuning into a series of old time jokes. The two girls giggled, completely unaware of what was hiding in the shadows only inches behind them.....
Melanie stopped and lifted her fingers slightly above the keys. She wrinkled her nose and looked to the ceiling as though some stray ideas from yesterday may still be lingering there. Sighing, she started again.
......Lila and Jemma had not wandered far into the museum when a cough had startled the younger of the two. "What was that?" hissed Jemma, holding tightly to her sister's arm, practically cutting off her circulation.....
She stopped sooner this time, rolling her eyes and tearing out the sheet of clean white paper in the type writer. Standing, she took a deep breath and let it out in one gust, a technique her father had taught her to regain thoughts.
The night before this story had been playing out before her eyes. The girls would scream at the thing creeping up behind them, only to find that it was the silly, old night watchman doing his nightly rounds. They'd be told off and start leaving when the night watchmen screamed and disappeared. They'd find that the museum doors were locked an that they couldn't escape. Not without the keys that they watchmen had.
It was all perfectly played out. One event after another would lead these two young girls deeper and deeper into the mystical conspiracy surrounding the museum.
So why wasn’t she able to put it onto paper now? Had the night before washed her ideas and need for a story away? Had she been too focused on other things during the morning that she suddenly forgot? Or had it been something else? Maybe she drank too much…
A noise from the typewriter caught her attention and she turned from her ponderings to see the nature of the sound. Adolf sat casually on the keys of the typewriter, licking his tabby paw. Melanie swiftly grabbed up the feline and held him at arms length as he batted at her brown hair.
“No!” she scolded. He stopped batting her hair and looked at her with his incredibly green eyes. “You’re lucky,” she said to him, cradling him in her arms as she walked into the kitchen. He cocked his head as though in questioning. “Well, for one: you’re just a cat. No need to worry about making ends meet or paying the bills or any of that.” She held him in one hand and opened the refrigerator, reaching in to grab the milk. Adolf eyed the glass container longingly. “For two,” Melanie continued. “You’re cute. You can get practically anything you want.” She poured some milk into a bowl and set it on the ground. She then placed Adolf on the ground and sat in a chair, watching him lick away at the contents of the bowl. “For three: there was no paper in the typewriter,” she said, reaching down to pet him as he sipped up the white liquid. “Had there been, I surely would’ve killed you on the spot.” Standing, she stretched and went back into the study, eyeing the typewriter.
Glancing down at it, she noticed that a few of the keys had stuck down from when Adolf sat on it.
“Damned cat,” she mumbled to herself as she sat at the desk. The keys that were stuck down were A, D, R, G, N, and O. Melanie was about to liberate them from their stuck position when a lock opened in her mind. Her brain took the letters and spun them around, reversing and rearranging them.
When she looked at the depressed keys again, she saw a word plainly written on the keys.
Smiling, she unstuck the keys as quickly as she could, placed a new sheet of paper in the typewriter, and set to work once more, her mind free and open to the story once more.
The two girls giggled, completely unaware of what was hiding in the shadows only inches behind them, continued through the museum, looking around at all of the amazing artifacts in glass cases. They didn’t hear the soft footsteps behind them, feel the gaze upon their backs, or even see the hand reaching out to grab their shoulders. By the time they did notice the being standing just behind them, it was too late; they were already in his grasp.
“What the hell are you kids doing here?” asked the nightwatchmen.
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