Chapter 13 & 14 - The Child in the Museum

Chapter 13

As Amelia entered the Medieval section, she began to have the strong sensation that she was being watched. Every few feet that she walked, she would look over her shoulder to see who was there, but no one was to be found. The Medieval section was, in fact, eerily empty. As she entered, she heard a man speaking nearby. She walked swiftly to the doorway that overlooked the next section, the armory, where he heard the voice. But upon looking, she only saw the little boy, all by himself, sitting on a bench with a pad of paper in his lap. Something about his posture seemed quite tense, and she wondered how much the events of the previous day had affected him. Just as she had the thought that this might be the perfect time to talk to him alone, she felt air rush past her arm from the boy’s mom walking swiftly by her. Amelia darted back into the room she had intended to go to, not wanting to be seen by the boy. She needed some more time to herself, and didn’t feel at this moment that she had the capacity to face him or his mom.

Amelia approached the statue of Mary solemnly. There was something about the statue that had always given her a sense of grounding and reverence. A feeling from her past that she couldn’t quite place, but always appreciated and honored. Just as she began to feel a bit more calm, she felt tingles run back up her neck. Someone was there, they had to be. She whipped around as quickly as she could in order to catch them off guard, but saw no one. She stared into the empty space, confused. One of the museum lights, pointing to an old wooden altar, flickered. Amelia blinked. She never knew the museum lights to be faulty. In fact, she imagined it had many ways of backing up its electrical systems as she had never known the museum’s electricity to go out, even in the wildest of storms. Perhaps there was something loose with this particular light, and maybe it would be a visible error if she got a closer look. Amelia approached it slowly, and just as she did, she noticed the light next to it flicker in the same way. Surrounded by the Medieval artifacts, the flickering lights almost had the feeling of candlelight. How very strange, she pondered, drawing nearer to see if the lights were connected along the same line. As she did, she noticed a light in the next room flicker, as if on queue. Mystified, but growingly curious, she realized that this one was definitely completely separate from the others.

Amelia marched into the next room, partly because she wanted to investigate the lights, but mostly because the next room seemed to have a few people, and she didn’t want to be alone. 

Upon entering the room, another light flickered in the far corner. The guests who were looking at a glass case containing a large illuminated manuscript, looked up at the light as if by reflex. She let some air out, knowing now that she wasn’t the only person experiencing this strange phenomena. She approached the couple, but just as she had been getting used to today, they noticed the light but seemed to completely ignore her, even though she was the only other person in the room. Without giving much time for that thought, however, she followed another flickering light in the distance.

This went on for a bit, with Amelia feeling like she was walking through a strange dream. She began to quit noticing the people around her, the art in the exhibits that she walked through, but kept her eyes fixated on the lights flickering, one after another. Her feet followed each other, one after another as well, in a steady state. She was transfixed, completely absorbed by this experience. She felt like a moth circling the street lights at night, hypnotized by the light and completely forgetting her own agenda or free will. She walked up a row of steps, and realized she was entering an area she had barely ever explored, if at all.

She stepped through large french doors that overlooked the area of the cafe, but she refused to look in the direction of the spot where yesterday’s event had taken place. Instead, Amelia noticed a light flickering in a very strange pattern, a different pattern previously, than the other ones had. An older woman on the other side of the room pointed up toward it and said something to the younger woman next to her, who promptly ignored whatever it was. Amelia walked through the square room, with many more people looking at various paintings in large sculptural frames. In some areas of the museum, Amelia thought that the frames were just as impressive as the art itself, and this place was no exception. When Amelia stepped directly under the light, it stopped completely. She looked at it, her neck craning back, for a few more moments before looking around her to see if there was another light flickering in any other direction. There was nothing. She scanned the space until her eyes rested on the painting directly in front of her.

Amelia’s heart dropped. She was looking into glassy eyes, made out of the incredible mirage of oil paint glazes perfectly layered on top of each other, with an opaque speck of pure white to show the glinting aliveness of the portrait. Her own eyes. At least, that was what the illusion of the portrait seemed to portray. Curling black hair cascaded around the shoulders of the portrait of the young girl, who seemed to be about nine-years-old. She realized she had seen this before, she must have. But when? In awe, she stared back at herself in the portrait. She seemed to be wearing lavish clothing, looking to be a child of a wealthy family, well taken care of. Although she often found nice clothing in the bin, the clothing on the girl in the portrait seemed to be of a completely different caliber, and of a different time. Her eyes broke away from the captivating brush strokes of the portrait, telling her a lifetime’s worth of stories, to see a golden plaque beneath the protruding frame. The first thing her mind processed was a group of four numbers – 1826. It was a date, a year. Her vision blurred and she didn’t allow herself to read anything more on the tiny placard. How could this be? No one has known her since she must have been very young, how could someone have painted her portrait this close to her current age? And how could it possibly be dated for that year? Was this some large, strange coincidence? She turned away sharply, facing the room that now felt like it was spinning. She looked at the many faces of guests who were intently looking at each portrait, no doubt the one she had been looking at as well. Would any of them notice that she looked the same as the young girl in this painting? She felt as if the people were swirling around her, as if they were all staring at her, seeing through her to her very soul, to her innermost secrets. She looked down at herself to hide her face. To her shock and dismay, she was seeing the floor beyond herself. She held up her hand and watched the artificial light of the room stream through her hand. Her hand, her clothing, her own body had an amount of transparency that she had never noticed or seen before, that didn’t even seem possible.

At this point, Amelia was running. She ran her heart out, through the french doors, pounding down the row of steps, but noticed that her own legs and feet didn’t seem to be taking the impact of her weight hitting the ground. The sound of the chatter, the clinking of dishes, and the beeping of the museum café’s cash register seemed to be coming from behind a heavy curtain, even though she was in the same echoey space as everyone else.

She ran in the direction of the only place she could think to go – the little boy sitting on the bench with his mom, his paper, the suits of armor, and his own worries.

Chapter 14

There was something about sleeping on the events of the previous day that allowed them to actually sink in and become more of a reality in Arthur’s mind. Yesterday, he must have been in shock. It must not have felt real, because today the reality of having seen and talked with a ghost was shaking him to his very core. How Arthur had even gotten any sleep the night before was unknown to him.

He walked along the busy street with his mom, just the same as every other day. She was holding his hand and leading him toward the coffee shop that they always went to in the morning. Arthur was turning words over in his mind, trying to figure out how to express to his mom what he wanted to say.

“Hey, Mom?”

“One sec sweetie, let’s go inside so it’s quieter.”

As they dipped into the coffee shop, the noise wasn’t much quieter. Every seat was full and everyone seemed to be chatting loudly as the espresso machines were whirring, the lattes were frothing, and the door was continuously opening to the noisy street outside.

They got in line.

“What were you going to say?” she said, ruffling his hair.

“Um. Could we go to a different museum today? There are other ones on the same street, right?”

She looked surprised, and then her face softened. “Are you worried about what they think of the recent events?”

Arthur honestly hadn’t thought of that, but it was the perfect excuse.

“Yes…” he said, “I’m embarrassed. I’d just rather go somewhere else.” 

The truth was that he couldn’t stomach the idea of running into a ghost. And since Sir Philip had said there were more than one — they could be anywhere in the museum! Simply knowing that fact sent shivers up Arthur’s spine. Were all museums haunted? How could he go through life not knowing whether or not a ghost was watching him? Everything about this situation gave him the creeps. Not to mention, Sir Philip had given Arthur a very difficult task and, after really giving it some thought, it seemed easiest to just avoid it completely.

The line inched forward toward the coffee counter.

“I know you feel that way, but I promise it isn’t as bad as you think. Everyone there was once a child, and as children we have had to learn all sorts of lessons. In fact, it’s very common to steal as a child and have to give stolen items back and face the consequences. I remember very clearly doing that myself in elementary school!”

Although Arthur hadn’t been so worried about the stealing, and seeing the ghost really took up all of the space in his mind, he did find some comfort in his mom’s words.

“This is the time when you learn right from wrong, and no one expects you to know all of the answers right away. The important thing is what you do with what you’ve learned from your experiences! The museum staff have a lot of people and a lot of responsibilities to think about, and they probably won’t give your misstep another thought.”

The line inched forward once again and Arthur looked at his shoes, which were becoming more and more dirty from the city sidewalks.

This was the time to learn right from wrong. He realized that abandoning Amelia could mean that she would never learn the truth – that she would never be free. He realized that if he wasn’t brave now, he might go the rest of his life wondering whatever happened to the poor orphan girl in the museum, stuck at age nine with hardly anyone to talk to. He felt a tear begin to wet the bottom right eyelid, and a tickle run up his nose. He tried to sniff the sensation away. As always, his mom noticed.

“Hey,” she said warmly, kneeling down at his level and wiping away his single tear, “You are a good kid and are learning so much. Please don’t worry about this. If you steal again, I would be worried, but I’m certainly not right now.”

She stood up and stepped up to the next spot in line. “Plus, I have good news!” she said brightly, “I talked to Pat and she convinced me that you should be allowed to explore the museum on your own again today. Pat will be able to keep an eye on you, and I trust her.”

Arthur began to feel a sense of resolve. He was going to have to face his problems, one way or another. It almost felt as if he was trapped in the museum, just like Amelia, until everything was set right again.

Fifteen minutes later, they entered the museum. Arthur was so lost in thought that he barely noticed going to the counter and putting on his sticker. Perhaps today he would stick by his mom’s side as much as possible.

“I’m planning to draw in the European sculpture section,” she said, guiding him through the large exhibit halls that led in the direction of the café. “That puts me more so towards the middle, which will give you more of a range to explore, doesn’t that sound nice?”

Arthur didn’t answer. His eyes were darting around, catching every shadow of any podium or sculpture. Not only did he now know that they were in a very haunted space, but he was probably going to be specifically targeted by the beings. He remembered the story of Scrooge that his mom liked to read to him every Christmas and how Scrooge knew he would be visited by spirits all night long. He had a feeling he might be climbing into his parents’ bed tonight. 

“Are you alright, sweetie?” His mom asked as the café came into view. Arthur could see Pat laughing with Frederick over by the kitchen door.

“Yes, I’m okay.”

“Oh right, this spot might make you think about the incident. Did our conversation earlier help?”

Arthur nodded. He hung around next to his mom as she set up her drawing space. She focused on a sculpture of a little girl holding a rabbit and looking up toward the ceiling. The little girl reminded him of Amelia.

As his mom sat down, she looked over at Arthur with a concerned expression. He was still standing nearby and had barely moved.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Do you know what you want to go look at today?”

“Maybe I can watch you for a bit?”

She smiled, still looking a bit concerned, but patted with her hand the remainder of the bench beside her. Arthur settled himself in, with his shoulder almost touching his mom’s. He watched her crumble a bit of the charcoal onto her drawing paper and pull it around with her fingers, smearing and rubbing until it created a light gray wash across the whole page. She took her eraser and began to make small marks where the light hit the sculpture, and the little girl began to emerge out of the charcoal. Arthur felt time begin to expand as he relaxed into watching his mom’s process of drawing. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the frame of a small girl, wearing a familiar dress, appear in the doorway beyond the other statues. He allowed his eyes to flick over to her and determined that it was Amelia. He didn’t acknowledge her but looked back at the pad of paper his mom was diligently working on, his heart racing. This wasn’t the first time, either. Yesterday, after the visit of the knight, he had spotted Amelia watching him in the armor section. At that time, he had told his mom that he didn’t feel well, and they had left the museum early. Amelia hadn’t approached them, although he could imagine that she wouldn’t want to in front of his mom. He wondered if that was actually part of the reason he was sticking so close to his mom’s side right now.

“I’m not sure I feel so well today, either.” Arthur said, realizing how he could use the extra time to think. He needed to figure out the best way to break the truth to Amelia.

His mom set down her charcoal stick and looked at him, exasperatedly. 

“Really, Arthur. I must insist. How about you go talk to Pat and see if you feel better? You can check in with me in fifteen minutes. Does that sound like a deal?”

With his mom’s encouragement, Arthur found his way over to Pat and stood next to her. He decided to be across from her in the doorway she was watching, letting guests pass in between him. In a way, he felt as if he was helping her keep watch.

“What’s on your mind, little guy?” Pat said in her usual friendly tone.

“I’m wondering. Have you ever seen anything...spooky, in the museum? Or heard anything?”

Pat thought for a while. “Hmmmm. I can’t think of anything off of the top of my head. I certainly wouldn’t want to be one of the last people in here at night, but beyond that I haven’t given it much thought. I’ve heard some ghost stories before in the break room, but what museum doesn’t have those?”

Arthur nodded, looking thoughtful. “Do you remember any of the ghost stories?”

Pat thought for a moment, smiling. “The only one I can remember right now had something to do with hearing a weeping woman near the French section by one of the night guards. What are you on about? Maybe we should invent some!”

Arthur smiled back at her, but he was still preoccupied. His eyes reflexively kept darting around, looking for Amelia.

He decided he could be somewhat open with Pat. “I keep seeing a little girl around the museum. I’m worried about her. I never see her with her parents.”

“Is she any relation to the girl, your friend, that needs help finding food?”

Arthur hesitated.
“We have a policy in the museum.” Pat stood up straighter, “We pay close attention to how many children are around, who they are with. We make sure that children don’t leave with a different person than they came with, things like that.”

“So you would notice if there was a girl all by herself, especially a few days in a row?”
“Exactly. We’re trained in that sort of thing.”

Arthur was dumbfounded. Pat looked curious, “How do these things connect, young man? What’s up with you?”

“Ummm. I guess I have one more question.”

“I absolutely have zero guesses at what this could be.” Pat was shaking her head, still smiling.

Arthur proceeded carefully “How would you tell someone something that you know they didn’t want to hear? But something important, something they need to know.”

Pat was still in a joking mood, “Oh my gosh, what are you about to tell me?”

Arthur didn’t laugh, he was looking down at his feet again. Pat dropped down to a more serious register in her voice.

“It’s hard to have conversations you don’t want to have. I’m assuming this is about the stealing thing, and I’m sure your mom will be understanding, no matter what it is you have to tell her. And it’s always better to be honest.”

Pat didn’t quite understand, but that was okay. This was going to be an adventure that Arthur was on all by himself. And, he supposed, he was wanting adventure all along.

Arthur thought of Sir Philip – putting his quest above all else. Sir Philip had clearly braved even the scariest thing of all, death, in order to complete whatever his mission was. He put honor and duty above all. He had been dedicated to it for what must have been hundreds and hundreds of years. Arthur allowed himself to imagine many things that he had been scared of when he was very young, but now felt more courageous about. Hopefully, this would be one of them, too. He hoped that in the coming days he would be able to have a conversation with Sir Philip and for it to feel just as normal as how he was having a conversation with Pat today.