The two teen lads strolled along, having exited the town’s popular pub. They chatted about their exploits this Halloween night.
Dressed as a clown, Simon also wore an old, faded red and yellow polka dot clown suit with a floppy white hat on his head. Scratching his face had smeared the red colours on his nose and large painted eyes.
Paul was dressed as Dracula. He loosened his black cape at the neck. “Not the most comfortable thing. How did Dracula wear this all the time?”
Simon sniggered. “He didn’t, well, not that cape anyway. Well, dunno about you guys, but I enjoyed that Halloween party.”
“Yeah.”
Susan and Emma dragged behind, chatting and pointing at the boys’ costumes with a chuckle.
Paul swung on a heel and waited for them. “Who are you two laughing at?”
Simon’s voice broke up as it mixed with chuckles. “Gotta be those long black trousers, that beer stained white ruffled shirt, and the cape, well, less said.”
“I look the part, you clown. But which clown are you again? You just look like a regular clown.”
Simon threw his hands in the air. “Really. Clowns are scary, no matter the look. Someone else dressed up as Pennywise anyway, in fact, quite a few Pennywises showed.”
“Yeah, and that was scary.”
Simon looked at Emma for support as she covered her mouth. “Clowns are scary, right?”
Emma gave him the thumbs up. “You betcha!”
“Let’s pick up the pace. Best not keep an evil witch waiting.” Paul smiled at the group. “I’ve done my reading up on this witch.”
Simon sniggered. “You did a quick Google yesterday. And read the local paper article on the witch.”
“That’s right. And let’s just say, you better have some coins. The article says there’s a coin box and patrons have to drop money or the witch gets mad.”
“That newspaper. For the love of… The skeleton only arrived a few weeks ago. Those local journalists are just after some eyes on their rag over Halloween. Yet to see it like you guys, but it’s just a coin box. A bit of fun to excite the patrons.” Simon beckoned to the girls following behind. “Don’t worry, guys, he’s on about a charity box. And a very silly legend. The museum needed to draw more interest. Nothing like a scary curse to get folks interested from miles away. There’s been a lot of visitors the past few days since that article. The PR will be good here for the museum, and my dad’s job future.”
Paul gulped on a beer can. “Ahhh. Sounded more like a curse to me.”
Susan raised her eyebrows. “Curse? Neither of you mentioned a curse when we agreed to tag along tonight. So, what’s this curse?”
Paul shrugged. “All I know is what I read about the witch’s history.”
Simon sighed. “All you know is what the article said. It’s just…silly journalism but also good for the museum. Folks love a local legend. Anyway, the supposed story is that this witch was apparently responsible for many deaths...”
Paul raised a finger. “Not apparently. History never lies.”
“Really? You may find that historians may fabricate a lot of shit. And our local paper just wants to sell more papers and get more eyes on their website.”
A snort from Paul. “This exhibit makes our boring local museum interesting. Great, that your dad is gonna let us go in for free. Still don’t really want to pay to go in.”
Emma and Susan quickened their pace to join the lads, both in vampire costumes. Their lacy, black dresses brushed the ground as they paced forward to catch the lads up. Paul wolf-whistled at them.
“Tell us more.” Susan’s eyes grew wide as she stroked the back of Paul’s neck.
“What the hell do you know about history? You never showed up in school, and not just history.” Simon then whispered in Emma’s ear. “Or maths, or science, or the whole day. He read an article online about the witch. That’s his lifetime history lesson completed.”
She giggled as Paul punched the air close to Simon with a middle finger.
“Yep, Paul. Dad will let us in. Honestly, you guys. Never been to our own town museum. You should take more of an interest.”
“Not my thing.” Susan twirled as though to dance in Paul’s embrace. ”Got my fangs ready to drink you dry.”
“Phew. Well, that’s me turned on.”
Simon smirked at Paul. “Yes, this is a new experience for me, too. This skeleton is already drawing interest to the town. Dad was a little hesitant, but he has the place to himself every night. Though, guys, we have to be quick.” Simon’s tone was a stern one. “Remember, this is a favour. We’re not supposed to be there. The museum is closed. So don’t go spreading this visit across school on Monday.”
“Off to see the wizard.” Susan’s voice, a poor attempt at a ghostly whisper and movie dialogue.
Paul tapped her lips. “She’s a witch, not a wizard.”
A cold Halloween evening settled in, and the wind picked up.
“You’re all about to see a witch that cursed this town,” Paul croaked as he shivered.
Emma giggled. “Paul is suddenly the resident expert on this lady after that article.”
“Yeah. He’s a true scholar, our Paul.” Simon’s voice brittle with laughter.
“Cursed, again. What else can you tell these curious minds?” Emma asked, her voice a little shaky. “Any more on this curse?”
Paul clapped as though to gain attention. “You see, Simon. I actually have read up a bit on this dead bitch. The minute you told me that it was arriving in the museum and you’d get us free entry, I did, yes, a bit of Googling on my phone. Turns out, she’s quite a well known scary tale.” Paul stopped walking to pause for effect as Susan looked at his gleeful mug nervously.
“Off the one article. And that’s also as much as I know.”
“You read it, Simon. It’s creepy. She begged for money to get cash to pay for her magic. Many folks refused. And the story goes, they all died after that. Killed by the witch. As when the witch returned to their homes, she was not coming for money, not anymore. Now she was only interested in a far more precious gift.”
“Their souls.” Simon nodded. “Yeah, but it’s just a local myth.”
“It’s Halloween night. Face your fears. Not scared, are you?” Paul’s face was a silly grin.
“Just a long dead witch’s skeleton, Paul.”
“Okay then.” Emma rubbed her hands.
“Let’s get educated. Learn something about our town.” Paul swigged more beer.
Simon snorted. “Paul, you’ve never been interested in the museum, or anything related, ever. You sure this witch’s bones excite you that much off a quick Google search?” He folded his arms and rolled his eyes.
Paul let out a belly laugh. “It’s Halloween. This witch is new to the museum. Something interesting has finally come back to our town. Your dad’s museum got interesting. Who wants to look at the other boring local history exhibits?”
“I do. And this is local history.” Simon’s face dropped a little. “And my dad’s just a security guard. Doesn’t own it. He’s not the curator.”
Paul sighed.
They approached a turn in the road ahead.
“Arrived at the museum just a few weeks ago. But Paul, it’s pretty fucking controversial shit. Bet your five minutes of Googling didn’t tell you that.”
“All ears.” Paul grinned at Simon as they strolled.
“I guarantee you don’t know this from your Google time. And certainly not that article. Only my dad spoke of this.” Simon cleared his throat. “The curator has been after her carcase for years. The plan was to spruce up the museum and make it more attractive to visitors, not just locally, but from other areas. They finally got her body exhumed. Now it’s in a glass chamber. And not without blood and sweat to make it happen. Many are against it. Many are against the digging up of a body. And that she should stay buried. Not disrespected.”
Susan, looking somewhat confused, spoke. “Phew, digging up a body just to make more money. Can’t the dead rest in peace?”
Simon pointed at Susan with a grin. “Yep. True.”
“You said it, Sue.” Emma pulled on Simon’s hand.
Paul tipped the remains of the beer can down his throat, crushed and tossed it. “Got to admit. It’s a little bit creepy.”
Simon looked on with indignation at his littering. “Okay, litter bug, we’re here.”
The museum’s imposing structure of dark stone and marble crept from the darkness of the street as they tucked into the car park entrance. Soft lighting bathed the tall pillars holding up the portico.
Emma looked somewhat more curious as she took in its surroundings. “Well, it’s my first visit. Walked past a few times. Never gone in.”
“Amazing that none of you ever came here.” Simon furrowed his forehead. “You guys. Lovely museum in our town and you’ve never been here. Our town’s history, ignored. Anyway, this way.”
He led the group along a pathway to the main entrance. They entered through the front glass doors into the marble foyer and into an opulent hall, where he beckoned Paul through. Emma stared up in wonder at the high and vaulted ceilings with ornate plasterwork and gilded detailing.
“Actually, quite a cool place.” Paul glanced around. “Good to see where our tax money goes. Not the roads. Not small business. Seems only this place.”
“The museum holds fundraising events annually. The local fetes you can’t be bothered with. I believe there is a sponsor but I think the national lottery pays for the rest. People who care about our heritage.” A big sigh. “Can’t believe your folks never brought you here.”
Paul shrugged. “They are even less appreciative of museums than I am. But I feel that’s about to change.”
Simon slipped a mint in his mouth, not wanting to pour beer breath on his father.
And Dad waited, dressed in his security guard attire. “Ah, Simon. You’re here.” Simon’s father looked up from his clipboard and smirked. “Welcome to the museum, Paul. Emma. And you are?”
Susan extended a hand. “Susan.”
“Wasn’t aware that anyone was mad enough to date Paul.”
“Hah.” Paul planted a hard kiss on Susan’s lips.
Dad examined the fancy dress outfits. “What do we have here? Vampires and a clown. Planned to be the odd one out, Simon?”
“At least I look like a clown.”
Simon cringed as he realised what he’d said.
The group laughed.
Paul, hysterical for a moment, sent laughter bouncing off every wall, then calmed down. “You said it, boy.”
Dad narrowed his eyes at Paul as he crossed his arms. “Simon, told you that this is a museum, right?”
Simon released a belly laugh.
Paul scoffed. “Oh boy, your dad’s a comedian. And yeah. Must be a museum.” He turned to Simon and hushed his voice. “But why is one exhibit walking around dressed as a guard?”
Simon pursed his lips as Susan sniggered.
Did my dad hear that? Damn, Paul.
“Heh.” Dad returned a faint upturn of his mouth.
“Nice place. So, where’s the evil?” Paul raised his claw hands high, then bellowed a raspy groan.
Simon’s face drooped. “Yeah, Paul. Great impersonation of an idiot.”
Dad sighed. “Yes, go on. The exhibit you came for is down the hall and to the right, the cultural history section. Simon knows where to go. First time you get to see our new exhibit.” There was a tinge of dismay in his voice.
“You don’t sound too excited about it.” Emma quizzed him.
“Let’s just say that I’m not entirely happy they brought her here. And leave it there.”
Simon tugged on Emma’s hand and paced ahead through a turnstile as Paul kept up. “And thanks, Dad, for the free visit.”
Dad gazed at each of them, quick eye contact that moved from Paul to Emma to Susan. “You’re the only ones here, and me. And don’t go touching anything. I’ll be watching on the cams and walking around.”
Paul walked back some paces, broke into a sprint and leapt over the turnstile. He swivelled on his heels and saluted Simon’s dad, to which he got a scowl back.
The sounds of footsteps echoed from their footfall across every corner and wall. Marble columns lined the walls, and statues from the town’s ancient history stood on Roman column shaped plinths. The eyes of long dead bishops, mayors and aldermen with detailed eyes. Simon always felt those carved eyes threatened to follow him as he walked past. Still, more relaxed now, he’d passed the hardest part: getting a drunk Paul past Dad.
“This way.” Simon pointed at various walls as they walked. “The museum’s curators made every effort to preserve this old building. So, it’s kept much of its original architecture and decor.”
“Yawn,” Paul slapped Simon’s shoulders. “Please, no fucking guided tour. Where’s this witch?”
“I’m interested, babe.” Emma kissed Simon’s cheek.
And they approached the skeleton.
Encased in glass and lit up like the local town’s Christmas tree.
The museum offered a true fright for the evening. Simon’s eyes gleamed at the bones; its long dead sockets where eyes once gazed. His heart thumped in his chest. He squinted and glared at the skeleton. Hollow eyes that, despite being empty, sightless sockets, felt like they stared right back.
“Yeah, here she is.” Simon nodded toward the skeleton. They stepped close.
“So, who was she?” Paul asked. “Ancestor, mate.” His chuckles brewed.
“No, not a long dead relation. But I assume you can read, so it’s all there for you to add to your Google time. And a bit more detail than that online news article.”
Simon’s thoughts whirled. Why am I so uneasy? Fine till I looked at... this witch.
“There you go, the dried remains of Morgana Mortem.” Paul clapped.
In contrast, an oil painted portrait depiction soothed Simon. A picture of her youth on the museum label showed she had been beautiful once. A soft smile on porcelain skin, able to beguile any soul. In the picture, a bright red dress with black stripes went to her feet. Beauty shone from the picture, dismissing thoughts fixed on a lady of immense evil. Her hair was long and black, and it fell around her face like a curtain.
A face of beauty, yet able to haunt dreams.
And on the coin box at her feet, the words Pay Me, etched into the aged cedar wood.
Simon glanced at the CCTV camera and the darkened corridor where Dad walked every night, patrolling. He huffed. “Really. One for the tourists. Pay me. Please. Bet this skeleton becomes the one reason folks come here.”
Emma studied the bones. “Dark histories make a town interesting.”
Paul grinned and paced about. He snorted. “Look at this dead bitch. Her remains must scare the hell out of some folks. What’s that saying there?”
He read out the label.
“Here rests Morgana Mortem. Rests. She was resting till someone dug her up. The infamous deceitful witch who had killed local townsfolk in 1586 if they refused to give her money when she begged at their doors.”
“Except she’s not been allowed to rest. The museum dug her out of her grave, like you said.” Simon remarked. “Here lies an ugly side to the appreciation of local folklore.”
“Yeah, she’s a part of the town’s history. Probably should have let go of this idea.” Emma studied the skeleton.
“Well, she gives me the creeps, a teeny bit.” Paul muttered.
Simon found himself unable to look away from the empty eyes.
Paul raised an eyebrow and down-turned his mouth. “Infamous, get out of here. Don’t recall it mentioned in school.”
“You had to be there to hear about her, Paul.” Simon snorted. “Anyhow, I don’t think she ever actually was mentioned. Come to think of it. I only knew about her when Dad told me about the exhibit.”
“Just a bunch of bones in a museum. What else does it say? She feigned poverty to cover the costs of many deadly charms and spells. Many refused to buy her gems, and all died at the hands of her dark powers.” His mouth opened. “Well, that’s...”
Simon threw his head back and bellowed. “Creepy. Don’t worry. Probably horse shit fodder for the tourists. Obviously, she existed. We had a witch in town, but these murders, magic killed them, please.”
His voice echoed off down the museum’s dimly lit corridors. Simon shunned the idea of superstition and witchcraft, but couldn’t deny a strange feeling in the air. He felt cold every time he gazed at Morgana. His skin prickled on every stare at the skull as if an unseen force gripped him by the shoulders and attempted to squeeze every drop of warmth from his body. He shivered involuntarily as his blinking eyes looked away from the skeleton.
“It just got cold around this spot.” Paul exhaled, and cold vapor spread in a swirling funnel.
Simon’s jaw wanted to drop as he rubbed his hands. “Yeah. It has got cold.”
Emma flinched. “Gives me the shivers, anyway. True or not. This lady was unearthed, dug up. A bit sick if you ask me.”
“Actually, it’s quite legal. I agree but it can be done. Well, as far as Dad knows. But definitely very creepy.” Simon tried to stare at the skull as it grew colder. Every exhale fogged. He could feel his own face beginning to pale, and he coughed into his hand. “Christ, the heating must be off.”
Paul’s eyes searched the area as though curious, but with a silly smile. “Maybe...she’s here.”
“Shut up,” Simon continued to read out the labels, trying to sound unconcerned about the temperature drops.
Susan sank an elbow into Paul’s side. “Shut it, Paul. I bet this lady was as beautiful as that picture shows.”
Simon glared at Emma as she seemed lost in a trance. Her face, one of deep thought, then she spoke, her eyes wide, and a smile grew. “Yeah. She was beautiful. A witch, but also a very misunderstood woman. Harmless. Kind. But no-one liked her. She was poor and only wanted enough money to buy food by selling charms. Harmless gemstones. But most of the townsfolk refused to buy her wares. That made her angry. She offered money, health and luck gemstones. The people should have shown gratitude for such gifts. Though she knew of dark spells. Saved those only for the wicked, the townsfolk who sought to leave her starve. For those leaving her to rot, there would be a price to pay.”
Paul, Susan and Simon, with dropped jaws, glared at Emma.
She blinked her eyes a few times before snapping out of whatever came over her. “Wow. What did I just say?”
Simon smiled. “Not entirely sure, but it was...quite something, actually. Wasn’t aware you knew anything about her.”
Emma giggled. “That’s it. I don’t. No idea what I was saying. Drunk talk, talking shit.”
Simon read out more of the label.
“The town had believed sorcery killed the villagers as they all died in their sleep within hours of each other. First time I read this. It goes on to say that families found lifeless loved ones in cold beds. Wow, evil witch. And their faces scorched with terror.” Simon nodded. “She made them pay with their lives as they’d refused to buy her gemstones. Whatever. Every town has its fairy tales.”
He extended two index fingers upward and touched his thumbs together to form a W.
“Whatever.”
“I don’t think it’s wise to disrespect her, Simon.” Emma softly spoke with that oddly curious face during her earlier trance and reading from the plaque. “This part is creepy. For the crime of heresy, she was hung and left dangling from a tree as a warning to anyone attempting sorcery on the Queen’s holy land. A bit dramatic. The town bishop and Witchfinder General was ruthless and carried out her execution without a trial. Wow. Left her body hanging there. Dark times.”
“Not her, I’m disrespecting. It’s the bullshit the museum wants us to believe.”
“Emma’s on fire. She scares you, Simon.” Paul’s arrogant grin riled Simon.
Simon pushed out the palm of his hand towards Paul. “Again, whatever.”
Paul sniggered as he read the rest of the label. “She would knock on doors, three hard knocks, then wait for the residents to answer so she could beg for money, and killed anyone with her powerful black magic who refused to pay her. Morgana found herself tried for witchcraft after the town soon believed she practiced evil spells, and...”
Simon cut in.
“And hung till dead in 1586. I can read the words there.”
Paul’s face, now a picture of marvel and wonder. “You’re standing in a museum, in one seriously cursed town. And all because of a witch.”
“What curse? What are you on about?” Simon’s voice boomed, his voice bounced off the walls in a drifting echo along deserted floors.
He clutched Simon’s shoulder. “People died in their sleep.” He peered down at the coin box. “I wonder what happened to those who didn’t drop a coin in that box.” His voice was croaky, a feeble attempt at a scary voice.
“Stop it. Nothing. Anyway, it talks about the 16th century. Anyone who refused to give her money back then.”
“Yeah, but, it says,” Paul opened his mouth wide and pointed at the Pay Me words on the coin box. “Pay me.”
Susan clapped her hands. “I’m all ready to go.”
Paul gripped her arm. “Not without paying her, Susan. Guys. Guys. You really want to test her after what you just read?”
“Someone’s idea of holding our interest here. Not buying it all,” Simon almost failed to hold his gaze on the skull, the broken jaw and neck, the terrifying glare of scrutiny from its long dead eye sockets, “You don’t believe that happens. Hah. It’s a bit of museum entertainment. Look, if I refuse to drop a coin…”
“She will come for you.” An invested Paul enjoyed the moment. “You just stared her in the eyes, so you have to drop a coin. If you approach her, pay her. But if you don’t believe what that says, fine, just refuse.”
Emma pulled out a fifty pence coin and dropped it in the box. Clink.
“There you go. Emma’s safe now.” Paul’s voice croaky.
“Yep, Susan, let’s go. Paul, shut up, please.” Simon shook his head. “It’s bullshit. This is nuts. The money goes to the museum if I drop money.” Simon studied the coin box. “Ha. My Dad said nothing about a curse. It’s merely history. She was a murderer, thief and witch, and got hanged for her heinous crimes. I’m not dropping a coin, just bull...”
Creak.
“Did you hear that?” Simon spun.
“Still a little cold here. Anyway, we’re out of here.” Emma rubbed her arms frantically.
In the stillness of a museum at night, any noises got the group’s attention.
Paul crossed his arms. “Okay, so tell her. Say to her dead bones, I refuse to pay you.”
“Don’t see you dropping a coin, Paul.” Simon snapped. “Only Emma.”
Paul nudged him.
“Enough.” Simon just batted his fingers away.
“You said you would dare refuse her,” Paul flapped his elbows and muttered, ”Cluck, cluck, chicken. Come on. Let’s hear you say the words, I refuse to pay you.”
Simon’s heart thumped in his chest, a squinted gaze on the skeleton. The witch’s ominous presence had grown fast to throw enough scares for Simon. He rubbed his eyes and tried not to dwell on the bones.
Just go with it, refuse to drop a coin and leave the museum. And never return. Never. No stupid curse except Paul’s friendship.
Paul nudged him again. “Call it a Halloween dare. Like when I goaded you into that abandoned house that every kid thinks is haunted.”
Simon laid eyes on the bones. Absorbed by the skeletal frame, where the temperature dropped a little further when stepping closer.
“Okay. Okay. I only need to refuse to drop a coin. And leave.”
Paul lightly slapped Simon’s back; a ridiculous grin, not wearing off, irritated Simon.
“Paul, for the love of... it’s all bullshit.” Simon sighed. “Someone invented that curse, stuck a box there to scare people coming here, just bull for tourists. I brought you here as dad told me that the museum had dug up a witch and she had an interesting story to tell. That’s why we’re here. This curse, on the other hand, these murders, all takes a bit of swallowing.”
Emma wagged a finger at Paul. “Yeah. And stupid teenagers.” She threw a harsh squint at Paul.
“Thought you were leaving with Susan.” Paul returned a dismissive wave with a hand.
Susan scowled at Paul.
“We are.” Emma’s stern voice drew a feigned face of misery from Paul.
“If I don’t drop a coin, so what? Just a little less cash for the museum, and not - her.”
Paul nodded emphatically. “You are actually too scared to tell her.”
Simon gave Paul the middle finger. “Whatever.”
Emma gazed at the long dead skull. “I’m amazed. Our town has buried such a dark past.”
“And now it’s unearthed.” Paul tried to swallow a mouthful of laughter.
“Oh, be quiet, Paul.” Susan elbowed him again. “I’m scared. Hope you’re happy. See you all outside.”
Susan strode off one long stride at a time, back to the entrance.
“Babe.” Paul called after her. “Errmm. You need to pay the witch bitch. Susie. Babe.”
“Nice going. Can’t quit, can you?” Simon grimaced at Paul.
“Well, guess it’s time to leave, thanks to the easily offended.”
Emma’s face grimaced as she stuck her tongue out. “Always the joker, Paul. I’ll wait at the exit, Simon.”
As Emma walked off, Paul smiled and wiggled his eyebrows. “Yep, I know, but so much for a little fun.”
Simon raised a palm to Paul’s face. “Stop, yeah. Let’s catch them up. Gotta admit. It’s been creepy here. The temperature drops, Emma in a trance and…and…I really don’t think the museum should have dug her up. I agree with Dad, he clearly disapproves.”
Paul giggled. “Come on. You said it yourself. Bullshit. Calling it too.” He leant into Simon. “Bet still stands, though. Tell her you won’t pay.”
Simon found himself fixated on the skull again. “And why their souls?”
Paul, an incredulous stare. “Because souls give witches great powers, dummy. Even I know that. Anyway, just drop a coin and you’re safe. That will keep her from visiting you.”
Simon sniggered. “Haven’t we both agreed? It’s bullshit.”
“Okay, fine. Show your resolve on that. You’re going to refuse to drop a coin, right? Tell her. I need to hear it. Dare’s a dare.”
“You’ll never grow up, will you? Give me a break.”
“No coin for Morgana then.”
“So what?” He sniggered at the old wooden coin box at the foot of the skeleton, a reasonable way to feign his calm against the storm of dread brewing inside.
Hate to refuse a dare. Not letting him win. But I feel dread. Real dread. This curse...
The box had seen better days: its old weathered wood with slits for coins on the front and top.
Simon raised a mocking smirk. “Okay, as I’m smart enough to know it’s crap.”
“Living up to your dare. Good stuff.” Paul reached out a hand to touch the glass, then withdrew it quickly. “Wow, that’s ice cold. Consider it. Doesn’t that scare you? A witch knocking three times on doors, killing anyone who refused to pay her with dark magic. What if the curse is true?”
“Would you quit being a child?” Simon said disdainfully.
Then he stared at the empty eye sockets.
“I’m not paying you, Morgana.”
A faint sound like a whisper crept up from the museum corners.
Then nothing again.
The silence was so thick that it seemed to quiver and stretch out endlessly. A whisper again, the stillness broken and back to silence again.
Paul threw a tight fist in the air. “Fuck weird noises. Damn, He takes another dare and delivers.” He sprung up a middle finger at the skeleton. “See, I’m not scared. No money for you, wench.”
Simon held a confused gaze. “I don’t get it. If she killed these people. How did she do that?”
Paul shrugged.
“Hmmm.” Paul stared at the skull. “Maybe she sneaked in.”
“The victims were found dead in their beds. Either she used a hex of some kind. Or, yeah, like you say, she sneaked into their homes, couldn’t have knocked if any of this is even true.” Simon bobbed his head as he thought further. “I mean, these people weren’t going to just let her in.”
“Who knows? Witch power, man. She had magic, and all that.” Paul slapped Simon’s back. “Time to upset a long dead witch.”
“What?”
Paul picked up the coin box and shook it. The heavy jangle of coins indicated a lot of folks had dropped coins. “Shall we take it?”
“Put that back,” Simon growled. “There’s a camera looking in here.”
“Your dad is walking around. Heard his footsteps coming from somewhere.” Paul’s face was one big inappropriate grin.
Simon huffed. “Yes, but he’ll be here. Put it back.”
“Oh.” Paul held the coin box up in a tight grip. He lifted the lid. It opened. “Seems someone forgot to lock it. That’s quite funny. How trusting.”
Simon lunged for the coin box as Paul held it high in the air.
“Ah, ah. Finders keepers.”
“Put it back, moron.” Simon’s voice had raised. He glanced at the room entrance to check on a wandering dad.
Paul grabbed a fistful of coins and plunged them into a trousers pocket. Then another plunge for the coins, and into his other pocket.
“What the hell are you doing?” Simon quizzed under a hushed breath.
“What does it look like? This’ll cover another round or two.”
“Damn you.”
“Hush your voice.” Paul lopped his head to one side and smirked at Simon.
“Last time I bring you here. You’ve really pissed me off.” Simon gasped as Paul placed the coin box back in its seated position at the witch’s skeletal feet.
Simon clasped Paul’s hand. “Stop, no.”
Paul returned a sheepish face. “Look, do you really think a few coins make that much difference? Folks have already paid their entry fees. Not gonna miss a few coins. But to us, it’s a few rounds tomorrow. Just this once, try not to care. I’m not leaving until I either take the box or what’s inside.”
Simon sprung away and paced about. “Fuck. This is low, mate. You just stole from the museum.”
“And the museum should not have dug her up. It was wrong, yeah.” Paul sent Simon a smile. “Split, want half?”
Simon’s face filled with shock. “What, half, fuck, no, no, Paul.”
“Calm down. He’d be stomping his way here if he’d seen me.”
For a moment, a chill, one able to cut through bone rather like earlier when he stared at her bones, but colder. Simon shivered; breath like puffs of fog again left his mouth in wisps for just a few moments.
Simon’s eyes darted back and forth. “Am I the only one thinking that was weird? Again, cold in here, freezing.”
Paul shook his head. “Sure you don’t want some. Can get my cigs with this. Must be about twenty quid or so.”
Simon waved his hands. “Nope, all yours.”
“What’s wrong,” a sigh, then a quieter voice, “Do...you...think...Morgana will come for you?” Paul’s eyes bulged, mouth wide open, then broke into a chuckle, “C’mon, have some. People are stupid enough to drop coins here. I’ll get us a few rounds tomorrow.”
“He better not have seen you on the cams.” A wagging finger accompanied Simon’s throaty words. “They should never have dug her up.” Simon’s face, one of disdain.
“Jesus.” Paul flinched and sprung up to his feet from the coin box, trying to look innocent.
Simon yelped.
Simon’s father, arms crossed, stood behind them with a disapproving stare at the skeleton.
“Dad, you are some kind of ninja.”
He smiled. “That’s how I creep up and catch anyone disrespecting the museum.” A sigh. “Though for this piece, it should not be even here.”
Paul shrugged. “Why is a dead lady’s skeleton here? The dead should stay buried.” He rubbed his hands.
“Cos it brings the tourists. We were a packed museum earlier.” Dad paced about and then laughed at the coin box. “That coin box is filling up.”
Paul frowned at Simon who sent back a scowl.
“People believe it enough to be scared enough to drop a coin. Silly tourist trap but it works. Wasn’t my idea. I’m merely the security guard here. But she should have stayed buried, like her story.”
Paul peered at the gaping jaw of Morgana: her crown lodged forward a little, a ghostly pallor that glared back at the lad stealing from the box.
“Okay, time’s up. Make your way out so I can have peace here.”
The clip clop of footsteps as Dad headed off.
“Thanks for the free entry.” Paul coughed into his hand.
“Yeah, great, Dad.” Simon’s voice, a little tremored.
Simon wagged a finger at Paul. “Get over here, mate. Put those coins back.”
Paul showed a fifty pence coin to Simon before he slipped it into his clown costume cotton shirt pocket. “Here’s Emma’s money back. Now no-one pays her.”
They walked back to the exit. Susan and Emma’s faces said it all. Their looks of impatience and irritation. Simon, while trying to hold back relief, glared at Paul’s calm demeanour after stealing from the museum.
“Thank you for the visit.” Emma spoke.
A rustle like a brush of wind caught Simon’s attention; whatever it was, it stirred some potted plants along the corridor marble floor leading to Morgana’s remains. Emma, too, witnessed the fluttering plant leaves and winced a little as she gazed at the plant pots and the corridor.
Simon wiped his eyes and brushed it off. Emma stared at the silence of the museum and the direction of the rustles.
“Okay,” Simon clapped as he strolled to the exit turnstile. “Let’s go. Thanks, Dad.”
Dad stomped off for a round of further guard duties. Paul and Susan exited through the turnstile. Simon was almost through it when he realised Emma was not close by.
She’d stalled, staring at the corridor in another weird trance. She rubbed her arms as though cold.
“Em.” Simon called to her.
Emma swung round. “Sorry, coming.”
“That was close,” Simon whispered as they exited the museum.
“What do you mean?”
Simon exhaled. “Tell you later.”
With a brisk pace, Simon swung open the glass doors and headed out towards the road. Emma quickened her pace to keep up. “Okay, why are you walking so fast? What did that idiot Paul do?”
As they walked, Simon hushed his voice. “He stole the money in that coin box.”
Emma stopped Simon, a hand on his shoulder. “Tell him to put it back.” She shouted after Paul and Susan, who’d walked off ahead. “Hey, Paul, give that money...”
“Shhh, no.” Simon urged her to keep walking. “Let him have his fun. He can answer to Dad when he finds out. Not covering for him. Come on.”
***
An hour passed by.
As Simon’s father locked the museum doors, darkness shrouded every space but the lit exhibits. One exhibit emitted an inaudible hum, Morgana’s skeletal remains.
The hum graduated to a rattle.
The coin box shook for a few moments before it danced on the spot.
The lid flipped open.
An acrimonious roar broke through the silence, louder and louder, until a shrill wail filled the museum.
Simon’s dad nearly dropped his keys while twisting about to figure where the horrible sound came from. “What the hell was that?”
With increased pace, he moved towards the ear-piercing cry’s direction.
“Who is that? This museum is closed. Hello.”
He walked up to Morgana’s skeleton. It was shaking, vibrating, and rattling.
His face grimaced. “What the hell?”
The skeleton stopped shaking.
It was as still as a grave again as the tombstone-like silence returned to the museum. He peered down at the coin box.
Still and shut tight.
His face, one of alarm.
“You should never have been dug up.”
***
Simon lay on his bed, pondering on the evening. Clown makeup washed off and trying to settle a disturbed mind. The bed sheet pulled tight, masking half his face.
He just couldn’t sleep.
He flicked off the lamp; the room immersed in darkness. Comfort followed on any other night. Instead, tonight, foreboding crept up to smother Simon. Discomfort ached him as he thought further about Paul stealing the money.
“Idiot.” Simon muttered.
Then something chilled him. Terrible feelings, an uneasy swell in the stomach.
Morgana.
He brushed off silly thoughts of a phantom visiting locals and closed his tired eyes.
Skype lit up his phone.
Simon hovered a finger over the green button and exhaled, he’d had it with his friend. “Paul, this better be quick. Had enough of you for a lifetime.”
He tapped.
Paul’s gleeful face filled the mobile screen.
“Paul. It’s late. I’m tired. What’s up?”
He radiated smugness at the best of times. “Yo dude. Seems I’ve the place to myself. My folks are at a party and gone for a couple more hours. Anyway, if you’re not a sleepy, boring head, how about skipping over? Stay here tonight. Lots of free booze.”
Susan nudged her face into the screen view. “Come over, Simon. Bring Emma. She may still be awake.”
“First, Paul, I want you to give the money back to my dad tomorrow or give it all to me, and I’ll take it back.”
“Dude, it’s just coins, a few coins, nothing more. Won’t be missed.”
Simon’s eyes widened. “Paul. I mean it. Dad will know and I’ll be the one picking up the pieces and taking shit.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll give it all to you when you get over here.”
“Guys, I’ve drunk enough and no, I’m not coming over. I’m tired. Not waking Emma up. She’ll be asleep. We’ve been out all day. I can’t handle any more booze.”
“Get your ass over here. Plus, I found a use for that money, wink, wink, know what I mean.”
Simon sat up on the bed, back to the bed board. He rubbed his eyes. “Don’t you think your folks will smell that when they get home? And you said you’d give it back.”
“I’ll use my money. Just teasing you. I’ll call the man and it will be delivered later. Chill. No. We’ll sit in the garden.”
Even at a low volume, Paul’s phone voice blared out at a high pitch. Simon, sleepy, shrugged half-heartedly.
Why do I entertain anything he says? Simon thought.
“I’m pissed off with you for taking that money. That must go back.”
Paul pulled his phone closer. “C’mon mate. Told you. I’ll give it all back. Jeez. Come over. Short little walk and you have free booze and the good stuff.”
Susan’s face filled the screen as she grabbed Paul’s phone. “I’ll call Emma. She’ll be up for coming over. Time to party on.”
“Not coming. Catch you tomorrow. And don’t call Emma.”
“Okay, Simon.” Paul smiled as he clasped his phone again. “See you.…”
Bang, Bang, Bang.
Resonating door knocks on Paul’s front door were almost as clear as his phone voice in Simon’s bedroom.
Simon kept his tired eyes on the video call screen.
That better not be Emma.
“Who the hell is that?” Susan’s voice in the background broke up a little over the phone as some distortion hit the video.
“No idea... Wait a second.” Paul dropped his phone on the bed, giving Simon a still view of the ceiling.
“Okay, guys. I’m off now. Enjoy your party…”
A yell emitted from the phone.
Susan.
Simon gasped. He squeezed the phone as it stayed stuck on a still view of Paul’s ceiling and his room’s silence.
A scream.
Susan’s face filled Simon’s screen as she picked up the phone. Her face, sweaty and terrified. The phone nervously held as she reached out a nervous hand and shut the bedroom door.
“Simon, something attacked Paul. I couldn’t…couldn’t see who…he’s...he’s...”
Simon bolted off the bed to his feet.
A shaky palm held up his phone and the view of Susan’s panic-stricken face.
“What do you mean by something attacked him? Susan, I’m done with you guys for tonight, okay?”
Susan’s head turned with the sound of Paul’s bedroom door slamming open into the wall. She dropped the phone onto the bed, returning Simon’s view of the ceiling.
A snarl emanated from Simon’s phone speaker then a choked yell from Paul erupted.
And Paul was hurled into the bedroom with a sickening crack heard as his head hit the far wall, off screen.
Susan’s scream was deafening, followed by broken whimpering as another shrill snarl pierced the air. She screamed.
Simon watched the still view on the phone as the unthinkable unfolded, video frame by video frame, and all he could do was watch. Nothing but a view of the ceiling, but with screams and Susan’s whimpers. More cries from Susan echoed through the phone as Simon tried hard to calm his own racing heartbeat.
“What’s going on?” Simon yelled.
Susan’s body then rose in the air and into the phone’s screen view, almost touching the ceiling light.
Simon could clearly see that something unseen in the room held her up by the neck.
A crackling sound ended her screams.
And whatever force gripped her then tossed Susan’s limp body to the floor.
“Susan,” then a raised voice, “Paul.”
Blood drained from Simon’s face.
A shadow clouded the camera’s view.
Then a black screen.
Skype disconnected.
Simon froze as he stared at the screen. He tried to Skype him back, but got no answer. He quickly dialled Paul’s landline number, but no one picked up.
“What’s going on?” Simon yelled. Then in a quieter voice. “Please tell me this is you screwing around, Paul.”
Simon clutched his hair and paced the room.
Trembling fingers twisted sweaty hair; he fidgeted. A pained and watery gaze into thin air began as he tried to fathom what had just happened.
“Better be another of your jokes,” Simon muttered, then he slapped his forehead. “Must be it. Paul, you asshole. It’s Halloween. Nice try, nice try, cool.”
He tried to call again. Still no answer. He typed a text: Okay, Paul, that won’t get me over yours. Loved the Susan levitating phone app sfx crap trick. What digital effect app did that? Cool. You’re a dick...
Simon’s bedroom light flicked on. A very unamused mother stood in the doorway. “What the heck is all this loud yelling I just heard?”
He pressed the phone to his temple. “Sorry, Mum. Just a final Halloween prank from Paul and his cretin girlfriend...”
Bang, Bang, Bang.
Thumps on the house front door, hard.
A blanched face, then a whimper from Simon.
Mum in her nightgown examined her son’s thumping chest.
“What’s up with you? Someone’s at the door. You expecting anyone at, what is it, almost 1am?”
“Sorry, Mum...”
Simon dwelled for a moment.
She knocks three times.
Mum began cursing as she left to go answer. “Can’t be trick or treaters.”
Simon extended his arm, an attempt to shout do not answer it muffled by fear. He could hear the front door open. Mum chatted with someone.
Mum strolled back into the bedroom. “You have a visitor, an upset one. What have you done?”
Emma, tear-streaked face, entered and sniffled. “Sorry. I couldn’t get hold of you on your phone. Had to come over. I’m so frightened.”
Simon hugged her. “What’s up? Did that prick try to scare you, too? I’m gonna kill him.”
“I’m off back to bed. Hope you’re okay, Emma.” Mum shook her head. “You kids today. I really can’t keep up. It’s so late, honey. Let me know if you want a lift home.”
Mum exited the room and closed the door.
Simon held Emma tight for a moment. Emma sniffled and looked into his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I hope you don’t mind me coming over.”
“Mind. Em. What did he do?”
“Nothing. Just being idiots as usual.”
His phone rang, and he withdrew it.
“This will be that prick. Okay. One second.”
Simon walked away from Emma a few steps and held up his phone.
Confused.
A WhatsApp video call from Emma.
Can’t be. She’s right here.
He held up the phone as a WhatsApp video call from Emma started. Behind Simon, Emma in the room, continued to snivel and stare with teary eyes at him.
“Who’s using your phone?” Simon held up the WhatsApp video view and hit the answer button.
Emma’s concerned and less upset face filled the screen. “Babe, has Paul or Susan tried to call you? Anyway, look, I’m sorry. I sent Susan a harsh voice message demanding he return that money. Simon?”
Simon looked away from the phone. He swivelled his head to glare at the person behind him. Lips and chin trembled.
And someone different stood there in a bright red dress.
Simon recognised the attire and the black stripes from the description in the museum, long black hair, tangled and like flames that danced in a wind. Wild and voluminous, the hair flowed as freely as her uneasy smile.
His chin quivered.
Whatever looked like Emma in front of his terrified eyes was not Emma anymore.
And words failed as he stared at the witch’s face.
Yet, before him stood the beautiful lady in the picture at the museum. The face of a young woman, porcelain skin on an enchanting face that looked velvety to any touch. Not the long dead bare bones seated in the museum.
She continued to smile at a frozen Simon with wide, cold eyes.
Simon’s breath caught in his throat as coldness spread from his chest to arms and legs. He choked out one word in a couple of brittle whimpers: “No…no…”
His jaw locked in a dropped position at the phantom apparition in his room of a long dead woman. The woman that was left dangling from a rope for weeks, accused of witchery, the town’s dark secret, that was dug up - and one now wanting to collect.
On WhatsApp, Emma yelled. “Simon, Simon. What’s wrong? Answer me.”
He’d forgotten the phone, gripped tight in a shaky hand.
He opened his eyes and slapped his head, wanting to wake up from a bad dream.
Morgana’s apparition stepped closer to Simon.
She took one jerky step closer to him, and another, until close enough for Simon to peer deep into her fierce eyes. The smile faded. The penetrating gaze of her cold eyes radiated a fierce and malevolent transformation from the smiling lady. Instead, a cruel sneer grew to replace the smile.
Face whitened, Simon dropped the phone and white-knuckled fists clenched as he covered his face.
The witch’s promised curse had come for him.
Simon’s scream grew on its path to hysteria, increasingly shrill with intensity.
A flow of chilled air paralysed him as she spoke.
“Pay...me…”
