A Lucky Button

The museum made her uneasy. It wasn’t haunted, they said. There are no such thing as ghosts. Everything is safe.

Yet Lynn couldn’t help but noticing the mural in the fifth floor gallery mysteriously being replaced after one night, the grandfather clock in the fourth floor Gallery of Time vanishing then reappearing in the sixth floor corridor, and the faucets in the girl’s bathroom mysteriously turning on and off by themselves.

Nobody else thought it was strange or unusual, except for James.

James Wong was the son of the museum curator, Christina Wong. Christina didn’t seem to find it unusual or strange that one day during holiday break, Lynn arrived at the museum with her nana and left as James’s closest and most trusted friend. But to be fair, she also didn’t find the creaky elevators that randomly spawned on their own or the cold draft in the fourth floor unusual.

Or that the seventh floor was forbidden.

“The museum has a mind of its own,” Christina would say every time Lynn or James brought these things up. “It’s been this way for years. Nothing to worry about.”

Long after Nana had left to go back to the apartment, Lynn laid on the third floor Gallery of Oriental Tapestries, inspecting split ends on her long hair. “What should we do now?”

“It’s too cold to go outside,” James said, inspecting a suspicious jar of terrapins, “and I think we have explored the entire museum.”

“What about the Culture of the Cossacks? The Mesopotamian Mysteries?” Lynn said, ticking off her fingers.

“We’ve been to all those places,” James said, sighing dramatically.

“Taxidermy and Teaspoons? Display of Telephones?”

“Do you know this museum better than I do?”

“Probably.” Lynn rolled over to her stomach. “We can’t sit here for too much longer. People start to stare.”

“They stare at you because you’re always in some weird position.”

“I’m improving my circulation.”

Lynn was only fifteen, but she seemed to know a lot about circulation and the respiratory system. She also knew a lot about dinosaurs and the Napoleonic wars. A museum is exactly where a girl like her would spend her time.

James, on the other hand, only knew one thing: he was bored.

“There’s one place we haven’t been, you know.”

Lynn rolled her eyes. She knew where this was going; they had this conversation almost every day. “We’ve been everywhere in the museum.”

“Not the seventh floor.”

“The seventh floor is forbidden.” Lynn sat up, brushing the dust off her coat. Really, he was annoying her now. “Can’t we just stay here?”

“Aren’t you curious?” James made a face. “You’re curious about everything. Every key hole we pass, you look through it.”

“The floors that are allowed are creepy enough,” Lynn replied, crossing her arms, “and now you want to go to the one that is?”

“My mother won’t tell me what’s up there.”

“Probably ghosts and monsters.”

James’s eyes lit up. “You really think so?”

“Yes, and that’s why we are not going.” Lynn rolled her eyes, standing up. “Let’s go look at the Gallery of Embroidered Footstools.”

“My mother is working late tonight,” said James, ignoring her. “She has to stay all night for the sword exhibitions.”

“So?”

“So, let’s stay too,” he said as if it were obvious. “The elevators don’t go to the seventh floor, but maybe the stairs do.”

Lynn scoffed. “You really think we’re the first people to think of that?”

“Nobody else has said anything.”

“Probably because they died trying.”

James crossed his arms. “You’re really too scared to see what’s up there?”

“Yes.”

James sighed dramatically. “For a girl who knows so much about science and history, isn’t it odd that you believe in ghosts?”

She ignored that. “Forget the footstools; it’s getting dark now,” she informed him, buttoning up her coat. “Nana will be wondering where I am.”

“Will you be back tonight?”

“It’s Christmas Eve.”

“What better way to spend it?” James smiled.

That was the thing about James. His smile was contagious. Lynn noticed that when she met him a week ago, making faces at his reflection in the Gallery of Teaspoons. He was different from the kids at her school; his smile was different. Something about it drew her to him.

She was still staring at him, trying not to match his smile. It was harder than it looked. “I’ll ask my nana.”

“Don’t tell her.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“See you tonight?”

Lynn frowned, but didn’t argue. After a while of arguing with James, it proved to be a waste of time. She left without saying goodbye, knowing she’d be back.

The museum was a scary place at night.

It was also a lonely place at night.

It made her uneasy, standing in the empty lobby with her hands stuffed inside her blue toggle coat. Her french braids were tied back tight; her lucky button in her left pocket. Without it, she probably would be too scared to come at all. It was cold and dark outside, and most people were home by now, celebrating Christmas Eve with their families. The ice skating rink across the street housed a few lingering teenage girls, giggling and tripping over their skates. All the other shops were closed.

“Lynn!”

She startled. James had apparently just woken up on the sofas; his black hair was all messy, and he was rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “You came?”

“Nana was asleep,” Lynn explained. As if that were the reason for her being there.

“My mother is in the second floor gallery. She won’t be done for a few hours.”

“Do we have to take long?” she asked as they walked over to the elevators.

“No.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Why did you avoid eye—”

The elevator dinged, cutting her words short. It was coming down from the sixth floor.

“Who summoned the elevator?” Lynn said out loud.

“There’s only one way to find out,” James said, his eyes glistening under his glossy black hair.

Lynn’s stomach dropped. “I don’t like this.”

“You don’t like anything fun.”

“I like you fine. Are you saying you’re not fun?”

The elevator doors opened. Nobody was inside.

“This is scary.”

“It’s not too bad.”

James pressed the small number 6 on the panel. Lynn held her breath. The elevator groaned, the doors shutting slowly with a metallic whine. Every inch of it creaked.

Lynn’s heart picked up. Feeling overwhelmed, she tugged on James’s coat sleeve.

Before he could reassure her, the elevator doors opened back up with a shudder and reluctant sigh. They were on the sixth floor.

She was usually met by a large mural of The Journey of Zheng He. Instead, the wall was nearly bare, with a few moths and a pair of gloves on the floor. The lights were dim; nobody was there.

“I don’t like this,” she whispered, her heart quickening.

“We’re almost there,” said James, trying to sound unbothered. It didn’t work.

They stepped out into the foyer; the elevator groaned and went back to sleep. In the dim lights, it was hard to find where the door to the stairs was, since hardly anyone used them anyway.

That’s when she noticed it. “All the exhibits have changed,” Lynn said breathlessly.

The murals were different; the display cases had switched. One of them was unlocked; Christina never forgot to lock them. Something was definitely not right.

“Over there,” said James, pointing to the left. The door was hidden behind a tapestry of a map. Lynn peered closer, trying to decipher what the map actually was, but James had opened the door and was already inside. Had the door always been there?

“Wait,” she started to say, opening the door, and then they both stopped in their tracks.

Behind James there was a small directional sign in unfamiliar handwriting: Stairwell to 7th floor. Not open for public viewing.

James looked at Lynn.

Lynn looked at James.

And they went up.

The seventh floor was completely dark. When they opened the door, a few dim lights flickered somewhere. It was freezing. Somewhere in the distance, a clock was ticking.

Lynn shivered, suddenly not feeling the weight of her lucky button. James shrugged his coat off and wordlessly handed it over.

If the other floors of the museum were odd, the seventh floor was outlandish. Double as creepy. The people in the murals looked too real. Random objects were strewn around, labeled incorrectly. Storage, perhaps?

“James,” Lynn whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Do his eyes…look real?”

She pointed at the man with the red cape coat, eating at a large feast in the mural across from them. It was as if he was holding direct eye contact with Lynn, waiting for her reply.

“It’s probably fine.” But James’s voice was tight.

“Can we go now?”

“Wait—what’s that?”

James pointed to the back of the room. There was a small red door, which didn’t fit in with its surroundings. It had a radiant—almost offensive—aura. Something about it begged to be opened. It made her feel uneasy.

“Let’s go back.”

“After we look, I promise,” James insisted, walking ahead. Reluctantly, she followed. Just like she always did.

“Your mother is probably finished by now.”

He turned the handle. It was locked.

“She’s probably wondering where you are.”

He held up a fist to the door, knocking three times.

Somewhere in the room, the clocked tolled. It chimed twelve times.

“James,” Lynn whispered again. She didn’t like this at all.

There was a soft click; the door unlocked.

She tugged at his arm again. She didn’t let go this time.

With a shaking hand, he turned the knob of the handle.

The room was impossibly dark. If there was anything in there, they couldn’t decipher it.

“Time to go now,” Lynn pleaded, tugging James’s arm.

As if activated by her voice, dim lights flickered half-heartedly, illuminating the room. It was…more storage?

James let out a reluctant sigh. “This is boring. Let’s go.”

“I agree.” They turned to leave.

“Wait.” James stopped in his tracks, staring at the portrait beside them.

Lynn didn’t even try to hide the whine in her voice. “What now?”

“Is that…”

She followed his gaze to the portrait, then jumped as if seeing a ghost. It was a portrait of a skinny teenage boy with outgrown black hair and slightly smudged glasses.

“Why is there a portrait of...me?” James whispered.

Lynn peered closer. It had to be James. Yet, something about his face wasn’t quite like him.

“You’re not smiling,” said Lynn. “You look…sad. Or sorrowful.”

“What is going on?” James didn’t bother hiding the fear in his voice this time.

“Something’s not right,” said Lynn. That she knew for sure.

“Let’s go find my mother.”

They both spotted it at the same time. Next to James’s portrait was a nearly identical frame. A girl with long brown hair tied back in french braids. A remorseful sigh on her face. Eyes dull.

“It’s you…”

“What is this room?” Lynn asked, her voice quivering. She reached for her lucky button out of instinct.

With a shaking hand, James pointed up to the plaque above the dull lights. The Gallery of Ghosts.

“There’s more of them,” Lynn said, stepping back. They weren’t the only portraits; nearly ten other kids’ portraits lined the walls. Anne Maldonado. Colin Hart. Myra Andrews. Kai Lewison. Wei Jinghua. Meng Xu. Alice Webster. Curtis Reed.

And now: James Wong. Lynn Aoki.

“Have you ever heard of them?” Lynn whispered.

“Lynn…we’re not safe here. We need to leave.”

He grabbed her hand and they sprinted towards the door. The lights flickered in the room; like the darkness was chasing them. Lynn reached out and shoved the door open, and she and James tumbled out. Without hesitation, they bolted towards the staircase.

They were both breathing heavily. The elevator took longer to summon. It shook more violently. The museum was dark now; the absence of people was eerie and ghostly.

Christina was still on the second floor, inspecting the exhibition of swords with the sword experts. When James and Lynn barreled through the doors, everyone in the room jumped.

Christina looked briefly confused before rearranging her face to concern. “James? What are you doing here?”

He looked at Lynn. She gave the smallest gesture of a head shake.

“We got carried away exploring,” said James, regaining his breath.

“I assumed you were exploring,” said Christina, laughing a tinkling laugh. The sword experts laughed with her. “I had no idea you’d be back so soon.”

Lynn’s heart skipped a beat. Christina locked eyes with her, as if she sensed it.

“I’m going back to my nana’s,” Lynn said out loud. “James, can you come with me?”

Christina waved a hand absently, turning back to the swords. “I’ll see you in the morning, James.”

Without a goodbye, Lynn took James’s hand and led him down to the first floor. Gave his coat back, buttoned hers up, tightened her scarf.

“What’s going on?” Even though he whispered, his voice echoed inside the empty lobby.

“We’re not safe,” Lynn whispered back. “Especially you. Your mother…something isn’t right.”

James didn’t say anything. She could hear his heart and mind racing.

“We’ll be back tomorrow. We will rescue those kids,” Lynn said decidedly.

“Rescue? What happened to them?”

“Don’t you see?” Lynn turned to face him before opening the doors. “The museum isn’t safe. Everyone who went to the seventh floor…”

She saw the realization cross his face. His eyes widened in fear, then clouded over. “You don’t think my mother…”

“I don’t know,” Lynn admitted. “It’s all very strange.”

James tugged on Lynn’s arm. “But…we’ll fix it, right? We’ll bring them back?”

“Definitely.”

If there was one thing about Lynn, it was that she was determined. She wasn’t very brave, but she was sometimes lucky, especially with her lucky button in her left pocket. And with James, she felt even more reassured.

Together, they would save the city. The museum.

As they walked towards Nana’s apartment arm-in-arm, Christina Wong paced in the second floor lobby, wondering why her son and his new friend were still alive.

The End.