This is a new chapter that's been added after revisions.
The exhibit doors closed behind her as the same creaking sound effect echoed over hidden speakers. The fog collected at her feet, swirling around her ankles. There was another line painted on the floor that led the way through the exhibit, glowing in the black light.
Penelope stepped forward, following the line.
Suddenly a new light flashed on, lighting up a figure in front of her and making her jump. It looked like a large-scale photograph of The Raven statue, printed out on foam core.
"For nearly a century, the town of Ridgestone has been plagued by rumours of a mysterious creature that haunts the surrounding wilderness," came a voice booming over the speakers, low and dramatic, like the narrator of an old horror movie.
As she walked through, the lights followed, illuminating a new part of the exhibit just up ahead. A question—WHAT IS THE RAVEN?—was printed out in a huge curve of text, set above an illustration of The Raven that looked like it had been torn from the cover of a retro sci-fi magazine. It was much like the silly statue. The Raven was depicted as an over-muscled man with a bird's head, too-long arms, and a loin cloth, reaching for a buxom woman who was screaming in horror.
"What is the creature known only as The Raven?" echoed the narrator's voice. "No one knows for certain. Over the years there's been much debate about what it is and where it came from. Some theories about the origins of this bird-like being range from a demon summoned from hell by devil worshippers—" the mere thought of it made Penelope roll her eyes, "—to a something that slipped through from another dimension." That theory made her laugh aloud.
"But," the narrator continued, "the most popular theory is that The Raven has been here all along. Ravens feature prominently in the folklore of the local indigenous peoples." A swell of drums began to play behind the narrator's voice. "Could the ravens in their legends be the same creature still spotted in the forests of Ridgestone?"
Penelope couldn't help but frown. What a cliché, she thought. How many cryptids banked on bastardized versions of the stories passed down by indigienous people? Bigfoot, the Ogopogo... Too many. She couldn't help but feel that it was lazy, a cheap way to add flavour. Despite the high budget, this exhibit was proving to be just another cheesy roadside attraction.
She had half a mind to turn around—she doubted think she'd find any information of worth here. Maybe she'd try the library after all... But then she remembered the gates closing behind her, just as the light above her flicked off. Another one, a little further down, turned on, beckoning her forward. It seemed there was no way out but through. Penelope hurried down the line. Let's get this over with.
The new light was set on a blown-up sepia-toned photo, the images cut up and staggered to give it a 3D effect. It appeared to be an old image of the town; many of the brick buildings that lined the main street were the same as they were today. A group of sombre-faced men were lined up out front, each of them grimy-looking, even in sepia. In the back was an image of a half-finished railway line, men dotted alongside it.
The voice had followed as well. "Whatever its origins, The Raven has been spotted in the area for as long as there have been people. In 1919, the local paper—the RIDGESTONE REVIEW—first ran a story on these rumours," it said. The voice changed, warbling like it was coming through an old-fashioned radio. "From the front line of western progress come reports that a horrific beast has been circling the railway workers' camps at night. There have even been reports of men going missing. Watch your back, boys!"
A small raven-like figure flew over the scene before disappearing behind a cut-out of a mountain. The light switched off, and another one turned on a little way down the line. Penelope chased after it.
"With the railroad finished, easier access allowed for more people to come and settle in Ridgestone," the voice continued as Penelope reached the new display. It featured more men poised over monstrous stumps, ancient trees collapsed behind them. "The town began to grow, attracting immigrants from all over Europe to its booming lumber industry. And with more eyes on the skies, more sightings of The Raven were reported."
Next to the scene was a blown-up article from a newspaper. The same-old-timey radio voice began to read an excerpt aloud: "Magnus Hansen, a newcomer from Norway, warned his new neighbours of a winged-demon who has been seen flying around the forest at night." Another vaguely bird-shaped silhouette arose from behind the cut-out trees, its eyes glowing in the dark as the light turned off.
No other light came on. Penelope looked around for the next stop and saw that the line on the floor led around a corner. As she followed it, she saw that the light was already on another display.
The voice started up again as she approached it. "As the Great Depression hit and the lumber industry began to falter, like so many other boom-towns, Ridgestone went through some hard times. But despite the hardship, The Raven remained. It was in 1932 that the first photographic evidence of the creature was captured."
The light shifted, illuminating another blown-up photograph. It was black and white, capturing the pointed tops of pine trees and the mottled sky overhead. Just above was a long blurred shape, something captured mid-flight. Penelope scowled at the image. It was hardly convincing.
A new voice came through the speakers—a woman's voice. "We were picnicking, out in a little private spot in the forest. It had been a beautiful day and Monty had been taking photos of us all. But then the weather took a strange turn, like a storm was blowing in. It was sure to be a doozy—we could feel the electricity in the air. We began to pack up as quickly as we could, but then Monty pointed up and there was something crouched on the top of the trees. He tried to get a photo, but it moved so quickly. It flew off into the forest and we got out of there as quickly as we could."
The story was much more compelling than the image—it sent shivers crawling up Penelope's spine. She noticed a small plaque on the bottom of the images: Voice of Nadine Roaldson, an eyewitness. These were Penelope's favourite kinds of accounts. Nadine had sounded very natural, not forced at all, just an earnest person sharing what she saw with no flare. Suddenly the blurry photo didn't look so silly.
"But this would be the last time The Raven would be seen for a long while," the usual narrator piped in again. "In time, it was forgotten, dismissed as another tall tale told by bored locals. That is, until..."
The photo disappeared into the darkness as the light moved on again.
Nearby, a large sign sparked to life, bright purple against the underlying blacklight.
THE RAVEN REAPPEARS
Beneath the sign, a large TV flickered to life.
"In 1987," the narrating voice piped in, "nearly fifty years after the last sighting, The Raven revealed itself again."
On-screen, an illustration of a party appeared. It was of a large group of young people standing around a large fire. On one edge of the frame, a single boy was running out of the forest, screaming something as others turned to look.
"The Raven was first sighted again at a gathering of the town's youth. A local boy claimed that he encountered the strange being in the woods, inciting a panic. Many initially thought it was a prank, but The Raven soon made itself known."
The image on the screen faded to a clip of video that looked like it was captured on a vintage camcorder. The caption underneath read: 1987. In the footage, a girl was playing on a forest path, dancing for the camera, but something in the background caught the camera operator's eye. They zoomed in...
A strange dark shape could be seen peeking around the edge of a tree before quickly disappearing into the forest.
"Over the next few decades," the voice added, "as technology rapidly improved, so did the quality of evidence."
Another clip played, captioned: 1991. As the voice said, the quality was better, but the shaky camera-work wasn't. The camera followed a large dark shape as it swooped over the treetops and out of sight.
Yet another clip followed, this one captioned: 1998. This time, it was night. A dog was barking in the distance. The camera operator followed the noise, finding the dog at the edge of the yard, barking frantically into the forest. The camera zoomed in, trying to see what was bothering the dog... and found two gleaming eyes staring out from the darkness. The camera turned as the operator ran off, dog in tow.
And then, finally, a clip that Penelope recognized. The very clip she had watched earlier that day. The shadow in the treetops, staring down at the camera before the witness turned and fled. The fact that it had already been added to the exhibit made Penelope suspicious...
"Keep your eyes open and your cameras ready," the voice said, "because maybe you'll be the next person to see The Raven for yourself."
Another illustration of The Raven appeared on the screen, the same muscled man with the head of the bird. He was animated to reach for the viewer as a loud caw echoed through the speakers. Then the screen went black.
After a moment, the lights raised, and a set of doors at the end of the room opened.
"Please exit through the gift shop," the narrator said, his tone changed to something friendly and light. "We hope you've enjoyed The Raven Experience."
"Ten bucks for that?" Penelope muttered as she moved towards the doors. She couldn't help but feel a little ripped off.
She had to shield her eyes as she stepped into the well-lit hall. As they adjusted to the plain lights overhead, she discovered that here is where they had dumped the old tourist artifacts. It was embarrassingly bare compared to the over-the-top production of the previous exhibit. Along the walls were dozens of framed photographs of the town's history: images of the mountains, the local indigenous communities, the first lumber mill, and the families of the settlers. Each image was accompanied by small descriptions on yellowed paper, old enough that some looked like they had been typed out on a typewriter.
There was one larger frame, its label a little more updated than the scraps of yellow paper. A blond-haired man with bright blue eyes stared out from the gilded frame. He stood tall, looking proud to be pictured. The little plaque beneath read:
ROALD CHRISTENSEN
Beloved Mayor
1946–1987
How beloved could he be if he had been relegated to this neglected back corner? Penelope wondered, hurrying past. She felt bad for all the people in these pictures, ignored and forgotten back here, but she realized why as she passed them by—most people simply wouldn't care, not when The Raven was the main attraction.
The hall ended at the entrance of the gift shop. It was filled with the same cheap merchandise that you could find at any small-town tourist stop, plus a large section of Raven-themed knick-knacks and t-shirts. Penelope shot an apologetic smile at the bored-looking girl sitting at the register and hurried out.
Penelope hoped to rush past Liam to avoid speaking to him again. Thankfully, he was already preoccupied. The same pushy man she had met the day before at the diner—the mayor—was there, and they appeared to be arguing.
"When you're at this desk, you're the face of our town!" the mayor grumbled. "You need to be more welcoming."
"It's way too early, Gunnar. There's no one here," Liam snapped. "So, what does it matter? I don't really want to sit around smiling at the walls like a maniac."
"You should be grateful," the man—Gunnar—snapped back. "Tourism is the only reason your mom's campground does well."
Liam scoffed. "Yeah, my family's real thankful."
"If you don't want to work here, I'm sure some kid coming home from college for the summer will be happy to take your job." Gunnar sneered. "Isn't that why you're working here, though? To pay for college next year?"
Liam held his glare for a moment, then forced a smile, pushing it wide until he looked just as maniacal as he had said he would.
"Perfect," Gunnar said with a sarcastic edge. "And didn't you just say someone went through? That's not no one." He turned then, catching sight of Penelope.
Penelope shrank back from his gaze. She wished that she could dive into the forest of fake trees to hide, but there was no way out but past him.
"See?" he shot back to Liam, his demeanour shifting to pleasant and welcoming. "We have a guest right here!" He left Liam at the desk and started towards her. "Hello, dear! Did you enjoy yourself?"
"Uh, sure," Penelope muttered, trying to sneak past.
But the mayor was closing in. "What was your favourite part?"
"The videos? I guess?" Penelope mumbled. She was almost past him, but...
"Oh yes, that's usually a big hit," he continued, now right in front of her. "It's very compelling evidence, is it not?"
Hearing his voice up close, Penelope suddenly realized that he had been the narrator of The Raven Experience. "Uh..."
The mayor's bright blue eyes shifted as they fixed on her face. "Y'know, you look awfully familiar..."
Penelope's skin went icy. "H-Huh?" she sputtered, stepping back. She was so close to the exit. If only she could slip by...
"You met her yesterday," Liam chimed in, "at the diner with her dad. She's dyed her hair, though."
Penelope turned to look at Liam, looking smug behind the desk. He noticed that?
"Oh, oh, yes, of course," Gunnar said, his brow tightening. "But that's not it, I swear I've seen you somewhere before."
"I g-get that a lot," she said. "One of those f-faces, I guess,"
But the mayor didn't get a chance to respond. She had made it to the entrance of the fake forest. She turned and fled, weaving through the artificial trees until she was free.