by Suzanne Weyn
To Bill Gonzalez. XXOO. And thanks.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Introduction
1
2
3
4
5
6
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13
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Teaser
About the Author
Also Available
Copyright
You have arrived at the Haunted Museum. It’s a place where dreams are made — bad dreams! Ghostly phantasms float by. When you least expect it, a hand grabs your throat. A jar falls and unleashes an ancient curse. An old-fashioned music box plays a tune you’d rather forget.
I opened the Haunted Museum many, many years ago. And I’ve been adding to its “special” displays for longer than even I can recall.
Some say the museum has become a worldwide chain — just an entertaining fraud for the amusement of tourists.
Others see something more mysterious, more sinister, within its walls.
Either way, no one escapes unaffected by what they find within the museum. The items that touch your hands will come back to touch your life in a most terrifying manner.
Take, for instance, the case of Emma Bryant, who is about to dance to the tune of an antique music box she defiantly touches: a music box of death!
Da-da-da-da DUM Dee-dum dee-dum Da-da-da-da DUM Dee-dum dee-dum
Happy Haunting,
Belladonna Bloodstone
Founder and Head Curator
THE HAUNTED MUSEUM
TWELVE-YEAR-OLD EMMA Bryant knew she should be in her ballet/modern dance class rather than here in the Haunted Museum. Not that the other students would miss her — those perfect girls with their perfect dancing form.
Emma recalled her last dance class and cringed. During her attempt to plié, she’d crashed into Elizabeth McGowen, the best dancer in class. Knocking Elizabeth back had resulted in the entire group behind their star dancer toppling over. Emma knew her face had blazed red under the angry looks the other girls had cast her way as they helped one another up.
No, taking off from dance class was not what she should have been doing right now. Emma figured she needed all the practice she could get.
But this trip to the Haunted Museum was how her best friend, Keera Kramer, wanted to spend her twelfth birthday, so how could she not go?
Keera had been waiting to visit the Haunted Museum since the girls had been in the second grade. Her parents had said it was too frightening, but they’d finally relented and were allowing Keera to hold her party there.
“Man, they really don’t want you to touch their stuff, do they?” Keera leaned in close to Emma to comment. DO NOT TOUCH signs were hanging everywhere.
“It makes me want to touch something just to see what would happen,” Emma said with a grin.
“Don’t do it!” Keera warned. “My parents would freak if we set off all the alarms in the Haunted Museum.” They both glanced across the room at Mr. and Mrs. Kramer, who were looking at an exhibit called Bizarre Oddities, which featured shrunken heads, a bat with an eerily human face, a two-headed cow, and that sort of thing. The girls’ friends Lauren and Stella had already made their way over to a special Haunted Music Boxes exhibit and were nearly out of sight.
Emma had never been in a Haunted Museum before. But so far it seemed like a sort of cross between Madame Tussauds wax museum, Ripley’s Believe It or Not!, and The Haunted Mansion in Walt Disney World. In the front chambers of the place were a motion-activated talking skeleton dressed to be Long John Silver, the pirate; a shredded mummy who jolted into a sitting position from his coffin; and the body of the space alien they claimed crashed in Roswell, New Mexico, back in 1947.
Emma stopped to examine the crinkly, grayish figure lying on a plank. Its eyes were closed but the large eyeballs bulged beneath its lids. Was it real? It was hard to tell.
“It’s fake,” Emma decided.
“It looks pretty real to me,” Keera disagreed.
“How would this place get a real alien?” Emma asked. “Don’t you think the space program or the government or someone would have it?”
“I suppose,” Keera said. Still, it did seem pretty convincing. Even Emma bent to examine it more closely.
“Don’t touch!” a guard barked harshly as she pointed to one of several DO NOT TOUCH signs on the walls.
Emma jumped back, her hands in the air. “I wasn’t going to!”
The guard glowered at her. “See that you don’t!”
“Wow! What’s bugging her?” Emma griped once the guard moved away.
“They really, really don’t want you touching things,” Keera said in a low tone. She tugged Emma’s sleeve. “Everyone’s already gone into the Haunted Music Boxes exhibit — come on!”
The tinkling of spooky music played softly as Emma and Keera crossed into a shadowy, narrow room. Mirrors on the walls gave Emma the feeling of being in a maze. She caught sight of Lauren and Stella studying a music box and then realized that there seemed to be ten of them. Their reflections were bouncing off the many mirrors. The music boxes sat with their lids open on shelves lit from above. The first one was a porcelain skull. The top of its head was flipped up to show sculpted worms, while a recording of screams played. “That’s so gross!” Keera said, impressed.
The next music box was in the shape of a haunted house. Every two minutes, the door swung open to unleash maniacal cackling from within. That’s not scary, Emma decided.
The next music box played a French tune as a small guillotine inside dropped on the head of a tiny doll lying under its blade. The head bobbed on a spring before popping back in place on the doll’s neck so the blade could fall on it all over again. “That’s kind of cool,” Emma said.
“It’s creepy,” Keera said with a shiver.
Emma wasn’t especially frightened by the exhibit, though she did find the music boxes intriguing. It was such a change from the usual sweetness of music boxes, and she loved all the intricate details. “There are some bizarre minds out there,” she remarked to Keera.
“Yeah. Tell me about it,” Keera agreed.
Near the end of the exhibit hall, Emma saw a doorway into the gift shop. Stella and Lauren were already in there with Keera’s parents.
“We’d better hurry and meet everyone in the gift shop. They’re probably waiting for us so we can go have lunch,” Keera said.
Emma heard Keera speaking, but she wasn’t really paying attention. Instead, she drifted over to a smaller display case. Emma inspected a highly polished wooden music box whose cover had been lifted to show a lovely scene of a man and woman dancing a ballet.
The little male doll in the box wore a velvet coat and dancing tights. His feet were turned out and his arms were held in front of his body.
The woman doll’s curls were piled on top of her head and she was dressed in a dance costume of velvet and pink tulle netting. She stood high on pointe shoes, her arms in a circle over her head.
A hauntingly melodic piece of music played gently as the figures turned in circles. Da-da-da-da DUM Dee-dum dee-dum Da-da-da-da DUM Dee-dum dee-dum
“That’s pretty,” Keera remarked. “And look, the scene is reflected in the mirror on the inside of the cover.” A wide oval mirror sat in the middle of a satin cloth.
“Why would something this pretty be in a haunted music box exhibition?” Emma wondered. She leaned closer to get a better look at the twirling cou
ple.
“I’ve warned you already! Haven’t I?”
Emma looked up into the red face of the same scowling guard who’d scolded them earlier. “Do not touch!” she snarled.
“I didn’t even lay a finger on the stupid —”
Keera grabbed Emma’s arm. “We were just leaving,” she told the guard with forced cheer, pulling Emma toward the gift shop.
With a disapproving grunt, the guard walked back toward the doorway to the rest of the museum.
“What a crab,” Emma grumbled.
“Forget about her,” Keera advised, still pulling Emma along. They were about to step into the gift shop when Emma broke loose of Keera’s grip.
“What are you —?” she heard Keera mumble as she hurried back to the music box with the dancing couple.
Emma knew she was being childish, but she couldn’t help herself. The guard had made her angry. She acted as if it would be the end of the world if Emma touched something when she’d never intended to!
Her eyes flashing defiantly, Emma pressed her thumb on the mirror until she left an unmistakable print. “How do you like that?!” she whispered at the guard, who stood looking away at the other end of the hall.
A shiver swept down Emma’s spine, but she decided to ignore it. It felt good to do things her way for once.
Keera was instantly at her side, clutching her arm. “You’re going to get us kicked out,” she complained.
“Calm down. I didn’t hurt anything,” Emma assured her, and they hurried into the gift shop.
AT HOME that night over dinner, Emma told her parents about the Haunted Museum, sparing no detail of the two-headed cow, cursed necklaces, and alien body they’d seen.
“It sounds grotesque,” Mrs. Bryant remarked, and speared a bite of cauliflower with her fork.
“It sounds cool to me,” her nine-year-old brother, Jason, disagreed. “I wish I could’ve gone.”
“I can think of many more useful ways to spend one’s time than immersing oneself in the macabre, can’t you?” Mr. Bryant commented as he cleaned his glasses with his napkin.
Emma turned to her mother. “What did he say?” Mr. Bryant was a middle school English teacher and believed in speaking well.
“Dad, why can’t you just speak regular English?” Jason added.
Mr. Bryant just sighed and returned to his meal.
“Your father doesn’t see the point in spending time on spooky, bizarre subjects,” Mrs. Bryant explained.
“Oh,” Emma said.
“Ellen, I can speak for myself,” Mr. Bryant complained to his wife. “But, yes, that’s what I meant.”
The doorbell rang and Jason ran to answer it.
“Who is it?” Mrs. Bryant called.
In a few moments, the door closed and Jason returned holding a cardboard carton. “No one was there, but this box was sitting on the doorstep. It’s from the Haunted Museum, for Emma.”
“It must be a party favor from the Kramers,” Mrs. Bryant said. “How kind of them. Open it, Emma.”
Emma jabbed at the tape with her supper knife until the box was open. Inside was a gleaming wooden music box. It was just like the one she’d left her thumbprint on. Emma’s heart raced. Who had sent this? Why?
“How lovely!” Mrs. Bryant said with enthusiasm. “Is it a replica of something you saw in the museum?”
“It hardly deserves to be called a museum, dear,” Mr. Bryant objected.
“You know what I mean,” Mrs. Bryant said.
“There was a Haunted Music Boxes exhibit,” Emma told them, still staring down at the music box.
“That’s dumb!” Jason declared. “It’s not even scary.”
“No doubt it’s the only item from the gift shop that the Kramers deemed suitable,” Mr. Bryant decided.
“They’re no fun,” Jason grumbled. “They should have sent something cool.”
“Let’s see it, Emma,” Mrs. Bryant urged.
Emma lifted out the music box just as Mrs. Bryant’s cell phone rang. “It’s your dance school,” she said, checking the caller ID. “They probably want to know where you were today.”
The Bryants had a family rule about not answering cell phones during supper, but Mrs. Bryant must have felt the meal was already disrupted because she took the call, wandering into the kitchen as she spoke to the person on the other end of the phone.
Emma returned the music box to its cardboard carton and set it aside. Mrs. Bryant was smiling when she returned from the kitchen. “That was Madame Andrews from the dance school.”
“Hoping I’d fallen off a cliff and was never coming back?” Emma asked sarcastically.
“No! Why would you say that?” Mrs. Bryant asked, shocked.
“Because then she wouldn’t have to invite me to try out for the dance team.”
“Well, that’s exactly what she did call about,” Mrs. Bryant said as she resumed her seat at the dinner table. “She wanted to remind me that I have to sign a permission slip for you to audition for the dance team. Why do you think she doesn’t want you to try out?”
“Because I’m the worst one in class,” Emma replied.
“Not at all,” Mrs. Bryant disagreed. “She just told me you’re a very spirited dancer.”
“Spirited! That’s funny,” Emma said. Spirited was one way of putting it. It was better than saying always one step behind the other dancers, or constantly going the wrong way. Emma loved to dance; she lived for it. And she knew she could be pretty good, too. It was dancing with others that threw her. She just couldn’t stay in step.
“Madame Andrews doesn’t want me on the dance team and neither do the other girls,” Emma said.
“That’s nonsense. Why would she request that you audition if she didn’t want you?” Mr. Bryant questioned.
“She asks everybody to audition,” Emma explained. “She has to. Madame Andrews wants to seem fair, but I already know I won’t make it.”
“I think you’re a lovely dancer,” Mrs. Bryant said.
“That’s because you’re my mother,” Emma replied. “I’m always bumping into someone or something. Two days ago I tripped a girl.”
Jason laughed uproariously, but his parents silenced him with withering stares.
“It’s true,” Emma insisted glumly. “Elizabeth is one of the best dancers in the class, and she was really mad.” She’d shouted at Emma for being so clumsy while the others looked on disapprovingly. It had been mortifying.
Emma rubbed her belly unhappily. Just remembering it made her stomach ache. “Can I go to my room?” she asked. “I don’t feel so well.”
“Of course, dear.”
Emma took her music box in its cardboard carton and carried it upstairs to her room.
Inside, Emma sat on her bed with the music box at her side. Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she sent a text message to her friend. Thanks for the music box.
Keera’s response came right away. What?
The Haunted Museum sent a music box — from you, right?
No idea what you mean, Keera texted.
OK … weird. TTYL. Emma signed off.
Emma set her phone aside and pulled the music box onto her lap. If this music box was a copy of the original, it was a very authentic-looking imitation. It had the same highly polished top. The lining and the oval mirror were the same, too. The little figures were identical to the ones she’d seen at the Haunted Museum. They stood in place, poised to begin spinning when the music started.
Peering more closely into the box, Emma gasped.
The thumbprint she’d left on the mirror was right there!
EMMA BACKED away from the music box. “That’s impossible!” she cried.
Mrs. Bryant came to the door with a pink bottle of medicine. “What’s impossible?” she asked.
“This isn’t a copy of the music box in the museum, Mom. It’s the exact one I saw there.”
“Why would they send away a part of their exhibit?” Mrs. Bryant asked as she opened the
bottle. “It couldn’t be.”
“No, it is,” Emma insisted.
“What makes you think so?”
Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to reveal to her mother that she’d left her fingerprint on the mirror after being told repeatedly not to touch anything. “It just looks so exactly like it,” she said instead. “I mean … every tiny detail is the same. Completely the same. It’s crazy!”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Mrs. Bryant said, offering Emma a spoonful of the pink medicine. She checked her daughter’s temperature with the back of her palm on Emma’s forehead. “Isn’t it meant to look like the original?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then what’s wrong with it being the same?”
Emma sighed. She’d have to confess. “I touched the mirror and left a fingerprint on it. The fingerprint is right there. Look!”
Mrs. Bryant smoothed Emma’s hair and grinned. “Oh, you’re being so silly, Emma. Anyone could have touched this and left a print. You might have done it yourself just now. I wouldn’t let it concern you.”
Scowling at the music box, Emma nodded. Her mother’s words made sense, she knew. But still …
“There now, get some rest.” Mrs. Bryant picked up the music box and examined it. “It’s so lovely,” she remarked. “Should I play it?”
“No. Later,” Emma replied. “I think I would like to get some sleep.”
“Good idea,” Mrs. Bryant agreed, setting the music box on Emma’s nightstand. “Take it easy tomorrow so you feel better before school on Monday.” She kissed Emma on the forehead and left the room.
Emma changed into her nightgown and climbed under the covers. It was a little early to go to sleep, but it had been a long day and she was tired.
Almost without thinking, Emma took the music box from the nightstand and gazed at the fingerprint on the mirror. Curious, she placed her thumb over it.
The size matched perfectly, but maybe Emma’s mom was right. Any number of people could have touched it while the music box was in the gift shop. She couldn’t recall exactly where she’d touched it, anyway.
Unable to resist hearing a little of the music, Emma wound the small key at the side of the music box.