Spookyness

Creeping Jesus

*Credit to Karl Drinkwater on creepypasta*

“Ah, this is BORIN’. Museums are rubbish.”

“Fabian James, will you be quiet!” Mr Jenkins, the teacher, hissed through clenched teeth – for the third time that day. “Please pay attention and stop ruining things for everyone else.”

Some of the other members of Fabian’s class giggled, looking forward to another amusing episode. Fabian just looked down and kicked the toe of his shoe against the floor.

The curator that had been showing them round continued.

“And this is the archaeology section, The Bowen Gallery, where we keep historical items that have been dug up. They tell us a lot about the past.”

“Have you got any axes and spears?” Fabian asked suddenly, looking up.

“Well, no, but we do have…”

“Just so’s I can kill Tommy with one,” Fabian interrupted.

“Fabian!” erupted Mr Jenkins. “I won’t have that kind of talk.”

“I’d kill you first anyway,” muttered Tommy, so that only Fabian could hear.

“What we do have is something scary,” the curator continued, trying to get the class’s attention back. “A skeleton!”

Some of the class perked up at that.

“It was dug up in Aberystwyth Castle twenty years ago. We have assembled the pieces over here,” he said, gesturing towards the glass display case, causing the children to crowd round it, “and…”

“Skeletons aren’t scary anymore,” Fabian laughed. “They were only scary hundreds of years ago.

Only aliens or zombies are scary now, or Freddy Krueger. Skeletons are just sad.”

“Right, that’s it!” snapped Mr Jenkins. “Fabian, if you speak again and interrupt the curator you are going to miss out on the school party next week. You will be banned from attending and I’ll write a letter to your parents explaining why. Your behaviour had been disgraceful today and I am very disappointed in you. It is like you have been trying your best to ruin the day for everyone, despite us being in this lovely museum and being shown around.”

“And he touched all the things in the bwthyn that said ‘Please do not touch’,” said Jessica.

“He spilt coke on the carpet in the shop on purpose,” alleged Tommy.

“He pulled my plait,” added Amanda.

“Fabian stole two of my sweeties and put ‘em both in his mouth at once,” wailed Samantha.

“And he said a rude word when we went to the top balcony,” added little Dafydd Huws.

“So that’s your last warning,” shouted Mr Jenkins, red-faced with exasperation. “DON’T SPEAK AGAIN, FABIAN!”

Fabian knew Mr Jenkins was serious. So he shut up and let the curator talk about cannonballs and broken vases. Though he couldn’t resist sticking two fingers up at Tommy when Mr Jenkins wasn’t looking.

His interest perked up at the recreation of an iron-age hut. At one end a life-size creepy dummy of a girl held a stick and stared out. From the other end you could see another dummy squatting over a fake fire, eerily lit by the orange light that made it look like flames. The fake hut was lined with rags, and had deep shadows, as black as night.

The dummies looked as fake as lots of other stuff in the museum, Fabian thought, but it wasn’t them that interested him.

A devious expression crossed Fabian’s chubby features.