Rodentia

Bell Pettigrew Museum

Friday evening was brisk and cloudy with a gentle breeze blowing from the North Sea. I walked along past the Psychology and Neuroscience building to arrive at the Bell Pettigrew Museum. I arrived at a busy hour; voices of students echoed throughout the museum and curious visitors studied the artifacts accordingly. Everyone seemed as though they came accompanied, but I was alone. It was a strange feeling I had; feeling isolated in a room full of people. However, I tried as best to ignore this and continued observing the ancient displays of extinct species. What intrigued me most was the eyes of these creatures. They were so well preserved it seemed they were so alive, but their eyes said otherwise. As I inspected these displays, I noticed visitors were slowly leaving the museum. The room quickly emptied and I happened to be the only living being in the room. The silence grew loud and a tension grew in the muscles of my neck. I was in the back of the room accompanied with the monkeys in the mammal display. Their dead, blank eyes glared right through me as if I was transparent.

All of a sudden, I heard the door lock. The loud noise startled me and I swiftly walked to the entrance. It was locked. Panicking, I shook the door while shouting "there's someone in here!" I had hoped whoever locked the door was still in the building, but no one came. Anxious, I pulled out my cell phone and tried to dial somebody--anybody.

No service.

It's fine, I assured myself, someone has to come--a custodian, perhaps.

Hours began to pass. I sat on the sofa in the center of the room impatiently and quite honestly afraid. The room became warmer and I fanned myself with a pamphlet. Someone will come, I repeatedly thought. I must have rehearsed those words a thousand times before boring myself to a slumber.

I awoke in the darkness, with only the street lights sparsely spilling in from the window styled doors. This was unlike any other darkness I'd been in--it felt rather unsettling. There was reason for this; the atmosphere of dead creatures is an uneasy feeling. I used my cellphone light to guide me to the back doors in a desperate attempt to find someone outdoors. I looked at my phone once more. No service. Perfect.

My senses seemed to be sharper than usual. Any and all noises were amplified; I could have heard a feather drop on the floor. There was a particular noise, however, that made the hairs on the back of my neck raise. It mimicked the sound of a crawling critter. I convinced myself it was just a rat crawling in the roof of the building. I walked along the displays, shining my cellphone screen through the glass. In this creative mind of mine, I had the ridiculous notion that after the sun set, the specimens would come back to life. I curiously observed the rodents in particular, thinking that perhaps they did come back to life, even though it would be impossible.

Sweat dripped alongside my face as I paced the dark room and found myself on the sofa again. I laid my head back and decided I'd inevitably have to wait until morning. Suddenly, I felt something on my shoe. It was if something was gnawing on the laces. I shined my cell phone light over my foot and there was nothing there. It's just your imagination, I murmured to myself. I switched positions and laid down on the sofa. But there it was again--like something was tugging at my laces. I quickly rose up and walked around the room. The thought of the possibility of these creatures coming to life constantly popped up in my head. That same noise of the crawling began to get louder and as if there was more than one of whatever it was. I walked over to the rodent display once more and looked at them individually.

Out of the corner of my eye, something had changed. It had moved.