The Museum of Natural History was a surprisingly good museum; Vincent begrudgingly thought. It was disappointing that something he was forced into had some good in it. He supposed, it wasn't direct, but it was still his step-mother's brother who owned the museum. Dr. McPhee-- as he was told to refer to him in a non-family setting-- was his technically uncle, and he had an opening for a Night Guard position. Vincent, being very close to seventeen and not really supposed to work at such a place-- especially so late at night-- could only beg his new uncle for some leaneace. His sob story would work, hell, he wouldn't even have to act for it.
Vincent enters the old building. His hand goes through his hair, fixing it from frizzing by the hands of the harsh wind outside. His nose scrunches at an odd smell. No matter how warm and welcoming the museum seemed, it always had a hint of some baby's diaper and an overabundance of lemon-scented spray in the air.
Vincent sneezes and wipes his sleeve on his dry nose. He nods, confirming only to himself that he is ready, and begins to walk toward the information desk. A recognizable woman sits there. She looks like any other woman; however, the first time Vincent had come here, she had spotted him reading Sacagewea's plaque and told him all her knowledge on her, boring Vincent into a standing sleep.
"Hey-" Vincent drags out. He looks for a name tag of sorts, "Rebecca," he gives a polite smile, "I need to talk to Doctor McPhee."
"Oh, I'm sorry, you'll need to-" Rebecca is cut off.
"Vincent?" the clean shaven man Vincent was looking for comes toward the two. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to talk with you," he clears his throat and glances away for a second, "about a job."
McPhee sighs, "Let's talk in my office."
The two British men walk away from the stragglers at the entrance and into a clean office. It smelt wooden. Which would make sense as it was piled high with a plethora of wooden furniture. McPhee sits behind his desk in a comfortable black chair, leaving Vincent with one of two mesley grey chairs.
"Vincent," McPhee sighs, "I can't give you a job," Vincent looks away and sighs. He raises his eyebrows as the older man continues, "You're much too young, and you have school."
"Yes, I get that, but you don't have to pay me," Vincent tries to reason, "I already have a job, I don't need another one. I just need some place to stay until- say- two in the morning?"
"How come?" McPhee grows worried, "Is everything alright at home?"
"Yes, everything is fine. It's just," Vincent looks away, disgust on his face, he swallows, "they're at it until then. And they're so noisy."
"Pardon?" McPhee is confused, "Who's at what?"
"My dad and my step-mother," Vincent breathes in. It's better to just get it out, "They've been having sex every night, and it's very loud. Neighbors complain."
"Oh," McPhee nods his head slowly, understanding the disgust, "Can't you wear headphones?"
"They shake the whole flat," Vincent shakes his head with exasperation; as if it's obvious that McPhee would know about his sister's sex life.
"I-" he sighs, "I suppose, but you leave at eleven."
"One."
"Twelve."
"Fine."
"Good."
The two stand up and walk to the door, "At least I didn't need to do Plan D: Suck McPhee's Dick," Vincent smirks and holds a fist toward McPhee.
McPhee shakes his head, "Don't make me regret this."
The two exit, walking back into the entrance. Vincent holds his hands up in mock surrender, "No problemo," he turns around and struts out of the museum, not a care in the world.
Vincent strolls through the dark Museum toward the security room. He only knew where it was because he had a private tour when he first met his step-mother's brother a few months ago. He still wonders why his father remarried so quickly after his divorce, and even faster with a new woman, but that was something to think about on his own time.
"Ah," Vincent looks up to see three old men and a younger (but still older than him) man, "I see you've made it. Vincent, right?" Vincent purses his lips and nods. "Larry, Vincent, meet me up on the second floor. I'll slip into my orthopedics and give you a little tour. Arthritic knee," he turns around, but then looks back at the two, "Not fun getting old, my friends," He waves his hand, "Go on."
The night guard and Vincent walk to the stairs, awkwardly avoiding talking for some reason or another. Vincent bounces on his heels in an uncomfortable motion, hoping to sooth whatever anxious nerves running through his body. As much as he wants to step away from the man, he thinks it would be rude to do so.
The man clears his throat, "I didn't know that they would have another night guard," Vincent purses his lips with awkwardness. "I thought that they could only have one due to downsizing."
Vincent shrugs, "I'm not getting paid," of course it was a rather confusing statement, so he emphasizes, "I know Doctor McPhee." It isn't much of an explanation, but it would suffice.
The next day, the old man who slipped into his orthopedics-- Cecil, as Vincent would come to know-- leaves with his other friends, Gus and Reginald. Vincent and the unacquainted man are left in the dark locked museum.
"So," the man walks around to the information desk, "What's your name, kid?"
Vincent rolls his eyes, "Vincent, and you, old man?"
The man nods with a small lift of his lips, "Larry."
"Cool."
"Cool," Larry draws a repeat out.
"I'm going to pick up some garbage," Vincent walks away from the man.
He doesn't know if there was a cleaning crew, but he takes it as his chance to leave the odd man. He doesn't get far when Larry starts talking into the PA system. Vincent sighs, his headphones lying unused around his neck are pulled up. His MP3 turns on and starts playing "Funkytown" by Lipps Inc.
Vincent had found a plastic bag-- by god, he hoped it was clean of anything disgusting-- and uses it to hold any scraps of garbage he finds in the museum. It had been getting pretty full pretty quickly, so Vincent made his way to a bathroom to empty it.
Flipping the bag over and gently shaking it into the garbage can, Vincent glances outside. The sun was about to set. Its hues are warming in the cold, dead museum. He had a few more stops, then he would be done with picking up garbage. He would finally wash his hands from the germs and sickly things he had picked up.
The Pharaoh Exhibit is last. Vincent rather liked the architecture, it certainly reminded him of an actual tomb that a Pharaoh would be in. Not that he's seen one, he could only assume from the movies he's watched that certainly are semi-based in realism.
Vincent sways to the music, he's glad that there is something to distract him from this desolate, soundless building.
"Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight," Vincent sings quietly to himself.
He leans down and grabs a scrap of paper, written on it was a number and hearts. Poor kid. No bitches for them. Vincent crumples it up and throws it into the plastic bag.
Vincent freezes in place, he could have sworn that he heard something. He pulls his headphones down to his neck; ABBA still plays loudly.
THUD
Vincent turns around, he isn't facing the gold bar of chocolate on the wall. He looks at the sarcophagus.
He leans toward it, expecting a bug of some sort to jump at him. Even a rat would be better than a dead mummified body coming to life.
THUD THUD
The top of the sarcophagus hits the rock above it.
Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight
Vincent steps back.
Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away?
The sarcophagus hits the rock again. Screaming startles the young man. Vincent steps back once more, hitting the wall behind him.
The Anubis statues outside the room begin to shift as well, making the sound of cracking bones and tumbling rocks as they move, inching closer to the entrance. They seem to know Vincent was in there with their King. They thrust their spears at Vincent, in hopes to get him out of there-- kill him, if it so be.
"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," Vincent mumbles to himself, his breathing fastens, "Don't kill me! I'm too young to die! I've got so many cats to pet!"
The sarcophagus mumbles, the statues kneel down and stop their attack on Vincent. He breathes out heavily, though it's still rather fast.
Vincent finally catches his breath, "Hey- uh- King Ahkmenrah, right?" there's silence, then a tap on the sarcophagus. "Okay," Vincent whispers, getting what he was saying, "do you need help out?"
Another tap.
Vincent walks over with shaking hands. Is he really about to help a dead man out of his sarcophagus? He pushes at the rock above the dead man's resting place. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many grunts he grunts, he could not move the rock. Curse his twig arms.
"I-" Vincent breathes heavily, "I'm sorry. I can't move it."
Footsteps alert Vincent of an oncoming person, or thing. His breath hitches and he steps back from the sarcophagus.
"Yell all you want pharaoh," a man with a mustache stands next to Larry. "You've been in there for 54 years. You're not getting out tonight."
Larry notices the shadowed figure, "Vincent?" he asks over banging on sarcophagus and muted screams come from within.
"Ah, Vincent," the banging stops, "Come out from behind there," Vincent steps around and stands with Larry and the mustached man, "There's the source of all this commotion," he points at the golden chocolate bar on the wall, "The Tablet of Ahkmenrah. Arrived here in 1952 from the Nile expedition," the air grows grave, "On that night, everything in this museum came to life. And every night since."
"So everything in the museum comes to life every night?" Vincent would have asked if it weren't for the fact he is slightly creeped out already.
"Exactly," the mustached man agrees.
"And I'm-" Larry looks at Vincent, "we're supposed to do what?"
"You're the night watchmen; Lawrence, Vincent. A venerable position in this institution," the man takes a second and then screams, making Larry and Vincent jump. He laughs and slaps Larry on his arm, "Come on, lads."
Vincent stumbles away from the sarcophagus, looking back at it as the three of them leave the exhibit.
A phone call comes as Vincent is messing around at the front desk. Larry sits beside him, nodding off slowly, "Vincent, have you gone home, yet?"
McPhee.
Vincent knows well that he hadn't left the museum, and he wasn't planning on it before sunrise, "Uh, yeah," he looks at a clock on the wall, twelve twenty-four, "Just left."
"Good, good," he sounds tired, "Get home safe."
"Yeah," Vincent stands up and walks away from the sleeping man, "Night."
"Good night," the phone call ends.
Vincent continues walking away from the entrance, it's not like Larry would keep him busy with snoring. The majority of the museum had been locked up, thanks to Theodore Roosevelt and his one night promise in helping keep the museum in order. It surprises him that Ahkmenrah's exhibit isn't locked up, though, it wasn't like he could get out, anyway.
The Anubis statues stand outside the pharaoh's room. As Vincent passes, they glance at him, weary of the tiny man. Vincent lets a low whistle. Between closed teeth, he clicks the back of his tongue.
"So," Vincent draws out. He looks at the sarcophagus, he feels slightly crazy for talking to a corpse, "You're like a King and whatnot," there is a silence. Vincent nods, "Cool, cool," he sucks in air, "Uh, are you like a mummy in there? Like a dried up corpse? No brains and shit?"
With no response, Vincent sits on the floor and puts his headphones on. He had a slight paranoia that someone, or something, would creep up on him as he waits for his alarm to go off, so he has one of the ears behind his own ear.
tap tap
Vincent glances up with lazy eyes. Ahkmenrah taps on his sarcophagus again.
"You good, Ahkmenrah?" Vincent hesitates to stand. He waits for a response.
tap
"Okay?" Vincent looks to his side, a bit confused, "I suppose you're bored, right?"
tap
"Uh- I mean- I could tell you about myself, I know a lot about me," silence.
tap
"Okay, uh, I absolutely love sweets and could eat them all day if I could. My dad would have a field day if I did, though."
There are odd pauses during the rest of the night. He had no clue what he would tell a dead man. He did, however, feel like a narcissist as he gave information about himself without getting similar information back from his conversation partner; but what was he to do, it's not like he could understand him.
"I like music."
"Coffee's good. I know this coffee place that has this secret order of the week. You get a free croissant if you order it."
"My dad has this nasty scar across his back, got skated over one day. Said it was gorey and got to fly in a helicopter to the hospital."
Vincent left after dawn. It was much later than he would have liked and after the public started coming into the Egyptian exhibit.
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Edited
Word Count: 2308
Notes: Yes, ABBA can be listen to by any gender or nonconforming individuals, you can fight me on that.