The devil can cite Scripture

Having given the train of college students the slip, I could explore the museum on my own terms, without the tour guide giving me death stares for having headphones on. People just don't appreciate good music anymore. Besides, history isn't my thing. All those dates and wars and kings just blend together for me. Give me some scandal!

Between the usual pictures of monarchs and benign country lanes was a door, marked Exhibit Closed for Refurbishment.  Now this was interesting. I cracked the door open and ducked beneath the red rope, pushing the door closed just as a gaggle of schoolchildren passed by, giving me the cover to close the heavy door properly.  The air was musty and cold tickling the back of my throat.  It was dark too, heavy shutters covering the windows. I leaned against the door, cool wood chilling my back while I pulled out a keyring torch and shone it around the room. The shutters were padlocked shut, and frankly not worth the bother. I'd be in and out in the time it took to prise the padlock off.

The room appeared empty. Empty? What a bore! If it was empty, why shut it off? Sighing, I resolved to stay here; this opportunity was too good to squander.  I walked across the room, and swung myself onto a high, elaborately carved table. " Now is the winter of our- ow!" I said, lifting up my hand from behind me.  I inspected my hand to see a deep gash across my palm, blood running down my wrist. What the hell was THAT sharp in here? I was nowhere near any corners.. I twisted in my makeshift seat, and spotted a dark shadow in the centre of the table. Aha! I pulled it towards me, expecting a ancient crown, just begging to be worn, or a book from forever ago that I could read. It was a box, about the size of a jewellery box, with an enscription in the lid that was too covered by dust and dirt to read.  I felt down and was rewarded by the indent of a lock. Now, where was the key? I swept my hand along the table blindly, but only smooth, polished wood met my hand.  I got up, making to look under the table, when I heard footsteps approaching the door.

I froze, waiting for them to pass, but they stopped by the door. Instinctively, I ducked under the table, to see a figure walk into the room with a powerful torch. They went straight to the opposite wall and reached into an alcove, humming lightly as they swept their hand along the wall. My heart sank. A light switch. DAMN. Why hadn't I thought of that? Then, another thought struck me. If they turned on the light, it'd be only a matter of moments before they spotted me. I was only so good a liar. Crawling on my stomach, I reached the door and inched my way up, to a click. I froze, expecting a gun at my back, or light to flood my eyes, but nothing. I heard muttered curses, and I realized the lightbulb must have blown. I took the chance to escape, closing the door behind me with shaking fingers by increments, and then swore as my hand stung. Looking down, I realized I had the box pressed tightly against my chest with both hands, its sharp edge digging into my wound.

The End

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