The Werewolf and the Human

Museum Errors

“That was interesting,” I said, looking at Jackie.

              “Something wrong?” she asked me.

              “Wrong?” I said, taking a breath in.

              “Yeah, you seem to be thinking something,” she said, helping me walk back to the bench that I had sat on three hours ago before we entered the main part of the museum.

              “I am always thinking about something,” I said, laughing.

              “You are, but this is different. You are thinking about something deeply,” she said, putting her arm around my shoulder.

              “I am usually doing that too.” I laughed.

              “That’s not true.” She pulled me into her just a touch more. “You usually only think about things to the max capacity that you need to, to be able to survive life.”

              “Hurtful, but fair.”

              “So, what is going on with you.”

              I looked around and saw an old man eyeing us. “Maybe we should wait until we are alone.”

              “Why? You think he’s going to take us out,” Jackie said, and then the realization of what I had just been through hit her. It was like watching a traffic accident that started out as a small fender bender that ended up being a full-on car crash, somehow involving a train. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by what I just said. It’s just… I wasn’t thinking…”

              I looked at her for a few seconds before I tried to smile. “It’s ok,” I whispered.

              “No, it’s not,” she said.

              “It is,” I said, grabbing her hand.

              The old man walked over to the two of us, and I realized a few things about him. He favored his left side, limping slightly. He probably had some sort of arthritis. He kept wringing his hands. He also had a slight bit of jaundice, and I wondered how bad his liver actually was. “Hello,” he said begrudgingly.

              “Hi,” I said, sitting up from Jackie’s shoulder.

              “How long are you all in town?” he nearly growled at us.

              I looked at Jackie, but she seemed to ignore me or didn’t notice what I had. “Not long. We are only here until our car gets fixed.”

              “Why are you here?” this time, he did growl at me.

              “In the town or the museum?” I asked, looking at Jackie.

              “Both,” he said, his voice somehow even harsher.

              “We were only traveling through town when our car broke down,” I said, looking at Jackie.

              She grabbed my arm. “Then we had an accident. We thought we could kill some time at the museum while we waited for the car to be finished being fixed.” Kill? Bad choice of words.

              “How much longer until your car is fixed?” he asked us.

              I almost laughed. I had been asking the same damn question. I wanted the answer, so damned if I was going to let him get the answer first. “We don’t know,” I said, looking at Jackie.

              Jackie nodded. “I have been in constant contact with them, but they still seem unable to fix the car.” He grumbled something that I didn’t hear, and then he walked away. “Odd.”

              “Not really,” I told her, shaking my head. My head feeling itself fill and swell, “He doesn’t want us here.”

              “Why shouldn’t he want the business?” she asked, grabbing my arm.

              I tried to laugh, but the laugh wasn’t quite right. “I don’t know, but I can prove it,” I whispered.

              She laughed. “I would love to see how you can prove this one.”

              “Well, take a look at this area and tell me three things that every other museum in the world would have, but this one doesn’t,” I said, closing my eyes.

              For a few moments, there was silence. I wondered if she saw what I had seen. Could I have lost my mind? It’s possible. “There is no reception desk.”

              “Look at you,” I said, smiling at her. “Do you wanna try the next thing that’s odd?”

              She looked around the room for a few seconds. Again, I wondered if I saw something I shouldn’t have seen. “There is no sign for prices or any information of how much to pay.”

              “Good job, Watson. One more, and I give you the gold star,” I said, looking around the room.

              She looked around the room, her head moving quicker than mine could, or mine would. My head was still barely moving, and I had to try my best to let it rest. “I don’t see the last one.”

              I sighed. “It’s ok. I’ll give you the silver star when we get back to the car.”

              “Well,” she said.

              “All the exhibits were donated by the same five families,” I said, pulling my feet onto the bench.

I laid my head on my legs before she said anything else. “I’m sorry, but can you clue me into why that matters.”

“I could, but I think we are about to go round two with Mr. Museum.”

“Is that what we are calling him?” she asked, leaning in.

“That’s what I’m calling him,” I said, trying my best to smile.

He walked over to us and looked at me for a few moments before he said anything at all. “Do you have a problem with this museum?”

“No problem with the museum,” I said, taking my head off my knees.

“Do you have a problem with me?” he said, a slight growl in his voice.

“No, not personally,” I said, taking my feet off the bench.

“Then would you please explain to me why you wrote on my exhibit?” Mr. Museum said, glaring at me. The growl was in his voice, but it seemed that he was trying to hide it.

“You wrote on the exhibit?” Jackie asked, almost slapping me. She stopped her arm just seconds before she could hit me.

“Just the placard,” I said, rolling my eyes and then getting very dizzy. I couldn’t believe that just rolling my eyes would get me that dizzy, but the truth was it made sense. I just refused to admit it at the time. I refused to admit a lot of things at the time.

“That is still writing on the exhibit,” Jackie said, glaring at me.

“Barely,” I said, trying to stand, but at the moment, Jackie is a lot stronger than I am. She pulls me back down.

“Apologize to the nice man,” Jackie said, grabbing my arm. I looked at her for a second; actually, I glared at her for a second. “No, and if the information is wrong, it doesn’t matter.”

“Fine,” I murmured. “I’m sorry I wrote on your plaque.”

Mr. Museum looked at me for several seconds. “What was wrong with that plaque?”

“The dates for one,” I said, looking at him and then at Jackie.

“The dates aren’t wrong,” he said, glaring at me.

“They have to be,” I said, shaking my head, nearly wanting to vomit after I did that. “The union didn’t start the mandatory draft act until March 3, 1863, which means that guys you say were drafted on February 17, 1863, couldn’t have been,” I said, closing my eyes.

“Are you just making up dates?” Mr. Museum asked me.

I pulled my knees back up toward my chest. “No, it’s true.”

“Was that the only thing wrong?” he asked me.

“That was the most egregious thing,” I said, turning my head to look away from him. I looked at Jackie, and she knew that I needed to continue. I didn’t really want to. “I noticed a few small things like the fact that the Battle of Gettysburg was after the Battle of Chancellorsville, not before.”

“You didn’t think that one was worth writing on the placard for?” Mr. Museum asked me.

“It was the first that I noticed. The one that I wrote on was just the tipping point.”

“I see,” Mr. Museum said, walking away from us.