At the museum

Something is wrong.

Lexy knows it before she even opens her eyes. It’s not just the quietness, the hum of the ventilation system missing. Something is wrong with the world. She opens her eyes and sits up, trying to orient herself. She’s on the floor, which is rather surprising. The room is at least familiar, marble statues dance around her in the dim light of the skylight, but it’s just a trick from the last rays of sunlight coming through.

Scrambling to her feet, she looks through the rows of statues. She’s in the Greece room, the ancient times. It’s a rather lazy display, just rows and rows of various statues, with little plates with vague descriptions, which nobody ever reads. She has made several suggestions on how to make it more interesting, but the director shot down any idea with the statement that the kids like to run around between the statues and what kind of monster would deny the children such fun?

Even thinking about these conversations has Lexy roll her eyes. As if they couldn’t run around statues in more interesting arrangements and maybe interactive displays that people would actually like to use.

All the lights are out and the lack of noise from the ventilation system makes everything else sound louder. The fabric of her clothes sliding against each other, the soles of her sneakers squeaking on the marble floor, her hair brushing over the shell of her ear.

It’s too quiet.

Even if the museum is closed, there should still be people, walking, talking, breathing. At least a security guard should be around, whistling a current pop song as he makes his rounds.

And something else is wrong too. It’s not just the lights being out and the ventilation being off — there is also a scent. A bright scent, sharp, but pleasant. Nothing she has ever smelled before.

Marble has a scent, it smells specifically of cold mineral. Usually, she could recognize the statue room by its scent alone, but today, the marble scent has moved back and is entirely overpowered by the new scent. She holds her nose up, sniffing the air like a cat, trying to make out the direction it comes from.

Somewhere to the left of her. She looks through the rows, towards the other side of the room, where the dim light from the skylight doesn’t reach anymore. If she waits much longer, it will be truly dark. The soles of her shoes squeak again as she turns, slowly walking along the statues, like she walks through her own honor guard. Maybe that makes her brave, imagining the statues watching over her as she walks. Her guards.

The scent gets stronger the deeper she walks into the shadow. It wraps around her, pulling her along. Still sharp, nearly biting inside her nose, but with an undercurrent of sweetness. It’s so different, so alien, as if it shouldn’t exist here.

It is getting darker around her, the statues dimly gleaming from stray light reaching this far. The squeaking of her shoes the only sound around her and the scent, the scent, is everywhere. She stops, sniffing the air again. The scent is so strong, it should give her a headache, but it feels light in her head. Closing her eyes, she rolls her head back, taking another deep breath, letting the scent fill her, filling every crevice, every cell of her with brightness.

Light falls on her face, her vision red through her eyelids, and she gasps as she opens her eyes. There is a light above her, like a bright hole in the darkness. Around her, the darkness is complete, night has fallen outside and the skylight is dark now. But right above her, a column of light spills down, drawing a bright circle around her feet. The statues look down on her, their faces illuminated by the light. It looks like they’re smiling.

She should call out to someone. Hank, the guard should be around somewhere. She should call someone and turn on the lights and get a camera and film this and maybe scan for radiation.

Stepping back, she leaves the circle of light, looking at the bright column from the side. The light doesn’t move with her, she kind of expected it to. But the column of light remains still, as tall as the statues on their pedestals. Above it, only darkness.

With careful steps, she walks around the four statues, bracketing the column of light. It’s just light, but it shouldn’t be here. She breathes in again, tasting the scent. It’s weaker here, a step behind the statues, but still inviting, calling her, wanting her. She steps closer, the tip of her shoe touching the sharp border of light. The scent is stronger, an invitation, a call, just for her.

Just for her.

She steps fully into the light, looking up, breathing in the scent, letting it fill her. Her body, every single cell, feeling clean and energized by the scent. “I’m here,” she says, her voice low. She doesn’t want the guard to hear.

Nothing happens.

“I’m here,” she says a little bit louder. The light and the scent call to her. Just for her. “What do you want me to do?”

It may just be her imagination, but the light gets brighter, the scent stronger, calling her, inviting her. The statues watch her as she turns around. Her shoes squeak, again. “What do you want me to do?” she asks, more to herself than to the light.

The statue next to her stands on a pyramidical pedestal, levels rising like steps. She climbs up, setting her feet between marble feet, so much larger than her own. Holding on to the decorative belt of the proud warrior, she sets her foot on his massive calf, pulling herself up until she can reach his shoulder. “Sorry,” she mumbles as she curls her fingers around a strain of marble hair, pressing her stomach against the warrior’s face as she throws one leg over his shoulder.

The scent is even stronger up here. It’s nearly tangible, as if she could touch it. She leans back, holding on to the warrior’s hair, looking into the bright hole in the air. It’s blinding bright, she can’t see anything inside, but the scent moves around her, a cloud of sharpness flowing around her, touching her head, her arms, her hands.

“I don’t know what to do.” She leans her weight forward, putting her feet on the marble warrior’s shoulder and stands up, holding on to his spear. She looks directly at the disc of light now, a sharp line between darkness and light. Holding on with all her strength, her fingers curled around the spear, she leans as far forward into the light as she can, stretching her hand out.

The scent gets sharper, more precise, wrapping around her, a definitive pressure on her skin. It touches her, holding her. Looking up into the disc of light, she smiles — and jumps.

Hank stops on his round. The room with the statues is pitch dark. Something must have tripped a circuit, he’ll have to remind Bethany to check that in the morning. Following the bright circle of his flashlight, he strolls through the statues towards the other door as he searches for a tissue in his pocket. Just as he finds it, he trips, barely catching himself on a pedestal, and points the flashlight down to see what tripped him.

A singular white sneaker lies on the ground. “Who loses just one shoe?” he wonders as he picks it up, to put it into the Lost and Found box on his way back. He blows his nose. This cold is getting annoying, he still can’t smell anything.