Night Security

The Letter

I listen to the news channel on the tv as I get ready to go to sleep. "It is currently 7 AM on Tuesday morning here in New York, and don't we have some exciting news," the lady news anchor says.

"That we do, Stephanie. That we do," the male anchor laughs.

"Well, Bob, correct my math if I'm wrong, but it has been exactly three years since we've lost the beloved Night Program at the Natural History Museum."

"It has been. Such a shame. My kids used to get so excited to see the T Rex," Bob sighs.

"Well, don't be too sad about it, Bob. The British Museum is doing a special exhibition at the Natural History Museum this Thursday. We will get to see some exhibits we miss as well as a few brand new ones. There where rumors circling around about an expansion to many of the departments here in New York, such as the Egyptology department, the Prehistoric department, as well as many others, but the museum's curator, Dr. McPhee had no comment to spare about the subject," I accidently drop the spoon I was holding to mix my tea when I hear that last sentence. I rush over to the tv, falling over the couch as I reach the remote. I turn the volume up.

"Wasn't the Egyptology Department closed shortly after the end of the Night Program?" Bob asks.

"It sure was, but that never stopped the thousands of letters full of complaints to both the British Museum and Natural History Museum, demanding the return of the department. It is said to gain a very familiar face as well as a few others, but I dare not ruin the surprise for those of you at home who wish to see the exhibit back in action!" I feel a sensation I haven't felt in a while. My heart skips a beat. I grab the pillow next to me and scream into it, kicking my feet in the air.

Bob keeps talking. "We hope to see you there! In other news, those of you planning on going to tonight's motor show might want to bring a jacket, as temperatures are suspected to get well below freezing point."


(Skip to Thursday)
I run out of the house, so excited for tonight. I accidently slip and fall on my icy steps. I manage to catch myself, but I cut my hands on the cold, splintering wood and ice in the process. I brush it off and continue down the street. I stop at a small drugstore and buy some wraps for my hands before continuing on my way to the museum. I rush up the steps and through the doors. "Dr. McPhee!" I yell out, sliding on the floor. I almost fall, but he catches me. "Are you excited?" I ask, big smile on my face.

"For what?" He asks, confused.

"For today? I know I am," I smile.

"What's so exciting about today?" he asks.

"Ahkmenrah is back," I shake my head at him.

"Ah, yes. The Mummy. I've been meaning to talk to you about that," he leads me into his office. "As I'm sure you've heard, we are regaining out Egypt exhibit permanently, but we're also expanding it," He starts. I sit in the chair.

"So it is true?!" I smile brightly.

"Yes. We will be gaining not only Ahkmenrah back, but both of this parents. The British have gotten some new mummy's for their department, so we get theirs," he explains. I try act as normal as possible, but it's hard to hide this much excitement. My knee starts bouncing and I bite my lip. "As I'm sure you've guessed, I want you to head the department again. Same conditions as last time," he says.

"Oh yes, sir! Thank you so much! I won't disappoint!" I stand up and shake his hand excessively.

"You never have. What... What happened to your hand?" He notices the bandage.

"Slipped on the steps this morning, but I'm fine," I smile, letting go of his hand. "I'll see you tonight?" I ask. He nods and I leave the room. I go up to Egypt to find that it's still empty. I sigh softly.

"Excuse me, ma'am," a voice says from behind me. I step out of the way to see 6 men carrying big crates.

"Is this?" I step up to the crates after they set them down.

"The Mummies. Yes, ma'am they are," The same man says. A smile crosses my face and I'm so happy. "You seem to be pretty happy over some dead guys," he says with a grin. I look up at him. "Odd fascination for someone as pretty as you to have," he notes, flirting with me.

"I'm the head of this department. If you could alert me when the crates have been removed, I would really enjoy to get back to my job," I say, not looking at him. I pull out the notepad and pretend to be taking information off the shipping labels.

"Well, when you're done with your job, how about you and I go out for a drink?" He asks. I still avoid looking at him.

"No, thank you," I say in a kind voice. "I'm committed elsewhere," I state.

"It's not a proposal. Just drinks," he presses.

"I am sorry, but no," I stand my ground.

"Not even one martini?" he asks, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"First off, I never gave you the right to touch me, so you can remove that hand of yours. Secondly, I am committed to someone else, so no thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you here to do the job you're being paid for," I point to his coworkers who are working on removing the crate. His coworkers snicker as I walk off.

"Bitch wasn't even that cute anyways," he says to them. I ignore it, because his image of me does not matter. Once all of the men are gone, I walk back into the room. My foot crunches a stray foam peanut as I walk in. I pull my polishing rag out of my purse. I look at it and remember opening night just three years ago. I begin to polish the men's fingerprints of the gold sarcophagi.