“Ah yes,” Wenona said as a wave of sympathy washed over her, “The Chamber of Horrors, I have the final paperwork for the sale right here.” She produced the envelope and handed them to the curator. He accepted them like a prisoner receiving his last meal.

“It tears me apart to sell the place.” He sighed, “But what can I do? People have become so jaded; an old fashioned chamber of horrors just doesn’t interest them anymore.”

“I’m really sorry.” Wenona said with great sincerity, “I can imagine how hard this is for you. You know, the sale isn’t final until you sign the papers. If you want to think about it…” The old curator shook his head. “No my dear, I can’t afford to keep it open another month. I’ll just take these home and bring them back on Monday.”

The sad look on the curator’s face was killing Wenona. Normally she didn’t get so involved with her client’s lives, but this time she couldn’t help herself. The man was signing away forty years of his life, and despite her minor role in the sale, Wenona’s guilt was agonizing.

“Are you sure that selling the museum is necessary? I mean, perhaps if you added a new exhibit you could stimulate interest.” For a brief second a light of hope appeared in the curator’s eyes, but it vanished just as quickly. “No, I’m afraid not. It would take something really sinister to bring the crowds back, something truly diabolic.” For a second he seemed lost in thought. Then a smile appeared on his lips. “My dear, could you do me a favor?”

“Anything” Wenona said, pleased that she could be helpful in some way. Her interest clearly pleased the old man as he answered, “I would be pleased if you would agree to be the final visitor to my little museum. If you could come by tonight, say around 8 o’clock?”

“I’d love to.” Wenona answered, her sincerity wavering a bit.

Wenona spent the rest of that afternoon trying to track down a friend who would accompany her to the museum. Fayth had a heavy date. Kerri was working late. Arela was getting over a cold and didn’t want to be out after dark. Wenona decided that if she was going to follow through with this, she would have to do it alone. Why did she have to be so prone to guilt?

It was well after sundown when Wenona arrived at the museum. As there were no lights on outside, she briefly hoped that she would find it locked. But no, the door opened as she approached. Intellectually she knew the door was rigged to open when people approached, but knowing this did nothing to slow the beating of her apprehensive heart.

She stepped into the foyer as the door closed behind her. The red curtains on the walls were drawn back, revealing the floor plan of the museum. “Okay, I’m here.” She thought, “I’ll just go to one of the halls, look around quickly and go. I will have done what I said, and they can tear the creepy place down and put up a mall.” The guilt struck again as she glanced at the map for a place to go. The menagerie of famous monsters? Yuck. The medieval dungeon? Maybe not. The hall of serial killers? No thank you.

“Maybe this was a bad idea.” Wenona thought, so consumed in her nervousness that she failed to hear the curtains parting behind her or the shadowy figure who emerged from them. “I came inside, that’s enough. I can go now.” As the chloroform soaked rag pressed itself against her mouth and nose, Wenona just had time to realize that she wasn’t going anywhere.

As consciousness fought to reassert itself in Wenona’s mind, the first thing she became aware of was a rhythmic clicking sound. It was a dull, mechanical sound, too near to be ignored. Slowly, Wenona forced her tired eyes open, to reveal a pendulum blade hanging over her, and it was moving.

A wave of panic banished the remains of Wenona’s grogginess. She tried to roll away from the swinging blade, only to discover that her hands and feet had been securely bound to hold her in place. She tried to scream, “What’s going on!” But the sound that came out was muffled and unintelligible. Her mouth had been securely taped shut to ensure that she would meet her end quietly.

Wenona stared up at the blade. Yes, it was moving, and it was getting closer. How long did she have? She couldn’t waste time wondering that, she had to get away, now! Wenona twisted and pulled in an attempt to free her wrists. They were tight, painfully tight. Whoever it was who tied her up did not want her getting away. The pulling hurt her wrists even more, but the thought of the blade slashing her middle made her forget that. But the ropes around her wrists still weren’t coming loose, and the blade was now close enough that she could feel the breeze. And it was getting closer!

“So this is the medieval dungeon.” The faint but familiar voice sounded in Wenona’s ears. “Okay, that’s enough. I can go now.” It was Kerri! She must have gotten off work early. “Krrr!” Wenona screamed as loud as she could. “Krrr, hllp mmmm!”

“Huh.” She heard Kerri say, “They even have sound effects in some of these exhibits. They’ve thought of everything.”

“Krrr! Pllllnnn, hlllp mmmm!” Wenona screamed into the tape with all the energy she could find. She wouldn’t have more than two minutes before the blade reached her. If Kerri didn’t hear…Wenona closed her eyes and braced herself.

“Hello? Wenona, is that you? I thought I heard someone calling me. Was it…omigod Wenona!” Wenona’s eyes flew open, to reveal Kerri standing over her. Kerri glanced around quickly, until her eyes rested on a switch only partially concealed by the curtain on the wall of the exhibit. She darted over and flipped it. Slowly, the blade ground to a halt.

“What’s going on?” Kerri asked as she freed Wenona’s mouth from the gag. Wenona took a deep breath before answering her. “I was grabbed from behind. I think it was the curator. He said it would take something ‘really diabolic’ to bring people back to his museum. Well, what would be better publicity than to have an actual murder take place in his chamber of horrors?”

“C’mon, let’s get out of here and call the police.” Kerri said as she hastily began untying Wenona’s wrists. Wenona sighed, “It probably won’t do any good. I expect the old man set up a alibi to protect himself. Then, as she rubbed the rope burns on her newly freed wrists, she found herself almost laughing. “Besides, I said I’d do anything to help him out. I guess I should have been more specific.”

Story by David

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