The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,9

throughout the cavernous room. Other museum guests had stopped to watch the commotion too. Timothy felt his face turning red as he noticed a small blue dot on the floor next to his foot. It looked like a thin piece of peeled paint, or maybe rubber. He kicked at it, almost unconsciously, and the answer came to him.

A water balloon.

Someone had thrown a water balloon at Abigail.

Stuart.

Timothy wanted to scream. Carla, Stuart’s partner, stood next to Mandy and Karen in the doorway, but the culprit was gone.

“Are you okay?” he said to Abigail instead. She only stood there, dangling her arms, looking like a wet cat. She shook her head slightly, but Timothy couldn’t tell if she was just trying to dry off.

Through the crowd of his classmates, Timothy watched a couple of security guards push their way toward him. He glanced at The Edge of Doom. Droplets of water clung to the black clouds and the open chasm, as if the painting itself had started to precipitate.

Oops.

Before the two large men in uniform could make their way to him, Timothy felt Abigail rush past him, through the door on the far side of the room. “Wait,” Timothy called, running after her, trying not to slip on the wet floor. Peeking over his shoulder, he noticed that one security guard had stopped to examine the wet painting. The other guard, however, was coming after them.

7.

Through the doorway, Timothy went to the large staircase spiraling into the lower levels of the museum. Pausing briefly to peer over the brass railing, he noticed a quickly moving shadow descending, fluttering against the white marble steps, already one flight down. “Abigail!” he called. Footsteps were coming up close behind him. Timothy hurried toward the top step.

He ran so fast that the stairs seemed to disappear beneath his feet. He descended into the bowels of the building, aware that he’d finally breached the ground level and was now chasing Abigail into the basement. When he ran out of stairs, a darkened hallway stretched before him. The shadows at the far end of the hallway seemed to shiver, or maybe that was just Timothy, cold and winded and wet.

Timothy listened. He could still hear footsteps, but he wasn’t entirely certain whether they were in front of him or above him. He kept going. Halfway down the hall, Timothy noticed movement in a lighted doorway. This room was long and thin with a low ceiling. On the opposite wall was another doorway. A red velvet rope hung across it. A small sign, perched in the center on a silver pole, read: ADMINISTRATIVE OFFICES—CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC.

Timothy entered the room. He wandered past small luminescent gold objects, Aztec creations, which were crowded onto the shelves of several display cases. A few small idols with wide, toothy smiles looked ready to laugh … or bite.

Halfway through the room, Timothy heard a sniff. Looking down, he could see Abigail’s foot sticking out from behind one of the cases. “Abigail, are you okay?” he asked.

Her foot disappeared behind the case. She peered at him. Her face was blotchy with tears. Her shirt was still soaking wet, and her hair was a tangled mess. “Hell,” she said. “Just … go away.”

Timothy bent down anyway. “Stuart got me pretty good too,” he said. He pointed at his darkened shirt.

“Wow,” said Abigail. She looked at Timothy and seemed to really see him. Her face changed, and in her fiery eyes, he noticed recognition, as if she had suddenly stumbled upon a mirror. “You’re totally drenched.”

“Freakin’ Stuart Chen.” Timothy chuckled. “He’s the freakin’ fart-slap. Better watch himself at swim practice tonight. His towel might just end up in the pool.”

They stared at each other for several seconds, surrounded by the grinning golden idols, before Timothy felt laughter creeping up from the bottom of his stomach. Before he knew it, they were both giggling. It felt good to laugh. The laughter grew the more he tried to contain it. He tried to be quiet. But soon, it was impossible to stop. Abigail appeared to have the same problem. Her shoulders hitched and quaked, but a few seconds later, as their laughter began to die down, she covered her face in her hands. Now she was crying.

Timothy didn’t know what to do. When he’d come after her, he hadn’t thought about what might happen next. He reached out and touched her shoulder. “Abigail, don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s not worth it. People are just …