At night I walk around the wax museum.
Always alone, however often times, I could feel the eyes of the sculptures staring at me menacingly.
they don't move , I mean, how could they? They're just wax.
Very realistic art pieces they are indeed.
Pianos, people, household objects or furniture, historical torture devices, all made with wax.
The place feels cold and empty,
despite the abundance of objects occupying the museum.
I wander around until my frail knees become weak looking for anyone that isn't supposed to be here.
This time, I nearly fall into a sculpture of someone famous,a familiar face , maybe someone on television.
The eyes on this "person" are evil and malicious, looking down at me with disproval of epic proportions.
I repeat to myself, "it's just a wax dummy, it's just a wax dummy" but that gives little comfort, I swear I saw that thing blink just now.
I stand firmly, and head into another room, a torture chamber.
Everything in the room from the shackles to the guillotine,
ropes, whips and blood, look frighteningly real.
Even the sculpture, representing the one who enfuces punishment
seems realistic... But then again, I am staring into a mirror.
A very realistic sculpture I am indeed, the only living one here.
No one broke into the museum tonight;
I'll just stand guard and wait another night,
for some poor soul to break into this Museum after dark.
YOU ARE READING
☆Creepypasta Stories☆
FanfictionA collection of stories I gathered from all around the web. Some are edited because I couldn't find the original story, none are by me unless mentioned. Each "chapter" is a different story. I'll be adding stories every now and then so it won't be m...
