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Authors: Caroline B. Cooney
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bones.
They finished Impressionist Paintings as quickly as any four-year-old. In the middle of the Sculpture Hall was a small silvery stand with a delicate arrow and a curly script sign that said
FILMS.
Two heavyset women were standing by the arrow, discussing last Sunday’s film and whether tonight’s program was really worth waiting for.
Lovell checked her watch. “We have twenty-six minutes,” she said clearly. “Let us broaden our minds. I suggest that we gaze upon Early American oil portraits.”
“No,” said Maris. “I want to see the mummy.”
The middle-aged women smiled, and the girls left giggling, like junior high idiots whose slumber party lasted too long, and bobbled toward the Egyptian Room. Except that by the time Maris and Lovell reached the Egyptian Room, Emlyn would no longer be with them.
In the Great Hall, while Maris and Lovell kept their eyes open, Emlyn took out her key and approached the door marked MUSEUM OFFICIALS ONLY.
Lovell gasped when she saw the door marked SECURITY and yanked on Emlyn’s sleeve to point it out to her.
“I saw,” said Emlyn. This was the moment. Either she had a master key or she didn’t. Her hair was prickling. The shudder of her scalp slithered down her arms, lifting her skin, peeling it away from her.
“It isn’t too late,” whispered Lovell, her eyes wide-open and scared. “We can still just forget it.”
The thirst of fear had dried out Emlyn’s mouth and throat. Even her thinking was dried out, as if she were in a sandstorm in the desert.
“My dad’s a lawyer,” breamed Maris, “if you need one.”
“What do you mean, if I need one?” whispered Emlyn. “If I need a lawyer, we all need a lawyer.”
“Right. I just meant—well—you have the phone number, right?”
Emlyn could not respond. They had been over this ten times. Anyway, she did not trust her voice. What if she agreed? What if she said, yes, let’s run, let’s bag it, we’re out of here?
Then her chance, her great and wonderful chance, would be over, and she would despise herself forever.
“Emlyn, what if somebody has gone into the office since you phoned?” whispered Lovell. “I mean, you phoned ten minutes ago, and just because nobody answered the secretary’s line, and nobody answered the director’s line, doesn’t mean there isn’t somebody in there now!”
Emlyn could not stand having to worry about Maris and Lovell and whether they followed through.
“Let’s not,” said Lovell in a regular voice. “I mean it. Come on, let’s leave. This is too risky. This is downright stupid. We are all total jerks. We could—”
Emlyn pulled her sweater sleeves down to cover her hands. She slid the key into the lock. It fit. She pressed it to the right. It turned. The deadbolt snicked clear.
Lovell made a tiny moan.
“Go watch the doors!” Emlyn hissed. But they stood next to her, waiting. With her other sleeve-covered hand, Emlyn turned the knob and opened the door marked MUSEUM OFFICIALS ONLY.
She withdrew the key, slid into the darkness of the old mansion, and shut the door behind her.
It was as dark as a tomb.
It had a silent, dusty, half-occupied feeling.
But it was not a frightening dark. It was soft dark, like her own bedroom in the middle of the night. Emlyn leaned against the door, listening through the crack.
Lovell and Maris were supposed to move on, see the mummy, be regular people, and then go to the film and go home.
Lovell had done some cleaning crew investigation.
The museum was open Sunday from two to five and not open at all on Monday. There was no cleaning Sunday night. Weekend cleaning occurred Monday night. Sunday was the only night of the week when the lights would actually be off and the museum silent.
Presumably, since guards existed to keep the people from hurting or taking anything, there wouldn’t be many on a Sunday after the museum closed. Lovell guessed that after the doors were shut at five, there would be sweeping and
They finished Impressionist Paintings as quickly as any four-year-old. In the middle of the Sculpture Hall was a small silvery stand with a delicate arrow and a curly script sign that said
FILMS.
Two heavyset women were standing by the arrow, discussing last Sunday’s film and whether tonight’s program was really worth waiting for.
Lovell checked her watch. “We have twenty-six minutes,” she said clearly. “Let us broaden our minds. I suggest that we gaze upon Early American oil portraits.”
“No,” said Maris. “I want to see the mummy.”
The middle-aged women smiled, and the girls left giggling, like junior high idiots whose slumber party lasted too long, and bobbled toward the Egyptian Room. Except that by the time Maris and Lovell reached the Egyptian Room, Emlyn would no longer be with them.
In the Great Hall, while Maris and Lovell kept their eyes open, Emlyn took out her key and approached the door marked MUSEUM OFFICIALS ONLY.
Lovell gasped when she saw the door marked SECURITY and yanked on Emlyn’s sleeve to point it out to her.
“I saw,” said Emlyn. This was the moment. Either she had a master key or she didn’t. Her hair was prickling. The shudder of her scalp slithered down her arms, lifting her skin, peeling it away from her.
“It isn’t too late,” whispered Lovell, her eyes wide-open and scared. “We can still just forget it.”
The thirst of fear had dried out Emlyn’s mouth and throat. Even her thinking was dried out, as if she were in a sandstorm in the desert.
“My dad’s a lawyer,” breamed Maris, “if you need one.”
“What do you mean, if I need one?” whispered Emlyn. “If I need a lawyer, we all need a lawyer.”
“Right. I just meant—well—you have the phone number, right?”
Emlyn could not respond. They had been over this ten times. Anyway, she did not trust her voice. What if she agreed? What if she said, yes, let’s run, let’s bag it, we’re out of here?
Then her chance, her great and wonderful chance, would be over, and she would despise herself forever.
“Emlyn, what if somebody has gone into the office since you phoned?” whispered Lovell. “I mean, you phoned ten minutes ago, and just because nobody answered the secretary’s line, and nobody answered the director’s line, doesn’t mean there isn’t somebody in there now!”
Emlyn could not stand having to worry about Maris and Lovell and whether they followed through.
“Let’s not,” said Lovell in a regular voice. “I mean it. Come on, let’s leave. This is too risky. This is downright stupid. We are all total jerks. We could—”
Emlyn pulled her sweater sleeves down to cover her hands. She slid the key into the lock. It fit. She pressed it to the right. It turned. The deadbolt snicked clear.
Lovell made a tiny moan.
“Go watch the doors!” Emlyn hissed. But they stood next to her, waiting. With her other sleeve-covered hand, Emlyn turned the knob and opened the door marked MUSEUM OFFICIALS ONLY.
She withdrew the key, slid into the darkness of the old mansion, and shut the door behind her.
It was as dark as a tomb.
It had a silent, dusty, half-occupied feeling.
But it was not a frightening dark. It was soft dark, like her own bedroom in the middle of the night. Emlyn leaned against the door, listening through the crack.
Lovell and Maris were supposed to move on, see the mummy, be regular people, and then go to the film and go home.
Lovell had done some cleaning crew investigation.
The museum was open Sunday from two to five and not open at all on Monday. There was no cleaning Sunday night. Weekend cleaning occurred Monday night. Sunday was the only night of the week when the lights would actually be off and the museum silent.
Presumably, since guards existed to keep the people from hurting or taking anything, there wouldn’t be many on a Sunday after the museum closed. Lovell guessed that after the doors were shut at five, there would be sweeping and
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