Museum Holloween Scare

 

Carter trudged along behind his class. He didn’t want to be here. It was Halloween day and he would much rather be putting on his costume than be dragged around on this boring field trip. Dull painting after dull painting lined the walls. The teacher was droning on about some history of something. A little boy in a spiffy blue jacket peered out from one of the paintings. It looked as if it was going to reach out a grab him. Carter dismissed the thought and tried to smooth down the stubborn brown cow lick that stuck up from his head. No matter how many times he slicked it down it still sprang right back up. The little blue boy seemed as if he was smiling. Then something strange happened. The boy blinked. At that moment every light went out in the museum. Carter heard school girls shrieking and teachers trying to settle their classes. He heard a clang and a bang and the painting next to him fell to the floor.

 

Suddenly it was quiet. Deadly quiet. He looked around. Not a soul was to be seen except the eerie faces of age old paintings. He walked quickly to the museum door. He pulled on it, it was locked. He tugged and pushed and jumped up and down. He banged his foot against the wall. Bad mistake. Now his foot was sore and he was trapped in an eery museum. No number of fire drills and earthquake practices could prepare him for this. Finally his brain registered that the door was locked. He dug in his backpack until he found a flashlight. He flipped the switch on and shone it around the museum. He looked out a window and saw that along with the lights, outside it seemed to have turned dark. All of a sudden Carter heard a scratching sound. He swung his flashlight around, searching for the noise. He finally gave up and sat down in the corner. Then a thumping. Thump, thump. He spun around. Nothing was there. Next, everywhere in the room came a faint howling, like the wind through a key hole. It created an eerie melody, vibrating throughout the room. Goosebumps crept up his back and down his arms. And then, as if the sound was calling something. A moaning filled the room. The inside of every painting seemed to stretch inward like a 3D tunnel. Then from every painting in the museum things began to emerge. From the blue boy painting, the blue boy stretched as if he was glad to be out, and all around him the paintings began to stretch and yawn and scratch as if they were awaking from a long sleep. A plump lady climbed out of a painting titled “Duchess.” She flashed Carter a jolly smile and then took a double take. “Creator!” she shreiked, falling to her knees.

 

“Uh, I’m not your creator.” he stammered, alarmed at the woman kissing his feet.

 

“Oh,”she said, ” thought…”

 

Carter was wondering. He had made a small comic in social studies. He fished around in his backpack and brought up a crumpled piece of notebook paper. Sure enough, a few small stick figures trekked between the wrinkles. This was weird, but maybe they were friendly…

 

Suddenly his flashlight went out. Then a terrible sound took place. It was a moaning, a loud moaning. Then a shrill sound broke the consistent moaning. “Be quiet The Scream!” someone yelled, and then resumed their moaning. Carter felt a chill about this. It seemed almost musical. Like a melody lost in time. Then his flashlight turned back on, and as he shone it around the room, every painting had its hand on another paintings neck. They were ringing each other as you would ring a wet towel. Even the painted ducklings were at each others necks. Carter ran into the midst of it all. He tried to break up the fight. But as he ran into it he felt cold fingers creeping up his neck. He felt himself growing flatter and flatter. His skin lumpy with brush marks. Then he was gone.

 

The next day police officers came to investigate the ruckus, but every painting was back in its place, nothing had changed. Except the little blue boy now had a stubborn brown cowlick.

 

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