The Museum That Locked Itself
Part 1: The Sealing
Tamsey Meriwether pressed her nose against the bus window as Mrs. Herald’s fifth-grade class pulled into the The Burke Museum parking lot. October mist clung to the building’s stone corners. It smelled like old rain and secrets. For just a moment, less than a heartbeat, she thought she saw one of the gargoyles… move.
“You okay?” Kinsey leaned over from the seat beside her. Her field journal already open to a fresh page. “You got that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one you get when you’re thinking about your great-grandpa’s island.” Kinsey kept her voice low. She was the only one Tamsey told about Starlight Cove. She’d of course, left out the important parts. The magical parts. The parts that would make people think she was weird.
“I’m fine,” Tamsey said. “Just excited about the exhibits.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. The Burke Museum rose before them like an old guardian. Its modern glass facade still managed to look ancient in the Seattle drizzle. Rain drummed different rhythms on different surfaces. A metallic patter on the bus roof. A softer whisper against the museum’s windows. The air tasted like blackberries from the wild bushes growing along the parking lot’s edge, mixed with something else. Something older. Magical.
“Alright, crew!” Mrs. Herald stood at the front of the bus, her rainbow scarf bright against the gray morning. “Remember our museum manners. Inside voices, respectful hands, and…”
“…curious minds!” the class chorused back.
Luke groaned from the back seat. “Do we really have to stay together the whole time?”
“Free exploration after the guided tour,” Mrs. Herald promised. “Two-thirty to three-fifteen. But you travel in your assigned groups, and you stay where I can see you. Got it?”
Tamsey’s group included Kinsey (of course), Luke (unfortunately), Harlow (the quiet artist who sat in the back and drew on everything), and Danti (who was currently trying to balance a pencil on his nose). Could be worse.
The mist tasted like Starlight Cove as they filed off the bus. Tamsey tried not to think about Great-Grandpa Otis. About the way he’d looked at her last summer and said, ”You’ve got the sight, little bird. Same as me. It’ll call to you in the strangest places.”
The museum’s interior was all smooth wood and focused lighting. Beneath it all, it tingled. The tour guide, a college student named Marello, led them through the geology wing first.
“These crystals formed over millions of years,” Marcello explained as he gestured to a display of amethyst geodes. “Deep underground, in conditions we can barely imagine.”
Tamsey barely heard him. Every step into the museum made her skin tingle. Like air before a thunderstorm. That same feeling she got on Starlight Cove when Great-Grandpa Otis would tell stories about the island’s “old magic.”
“Earth to Tamsey.” Luke waved a hand in front of her face during their break between wings. “You’re being extra weird today.”
“Leave her alone,” Kinsey said, not looking up from her journal where she was sketching the museum’s floor plan from memory.
“I’m just saying…”
“Well, don’t,” Danti interrupted cheerfully, offering Luke a piece of gum. “Hey, did you see that taxidermied bear? I swear its eyes followed me.”
Harlow, who’d been silent all morning, finally spoke. “Museums feel alive. Like they’re watching.”
Everyone looked at her.
“What?” She shrugged, pulling out her sketchbook. “They do.”
Free exploration time came at 2:30, just as promised. Mrs. Herald gathered them one last time. “Groups of five, stay visible, meet back at the main entrance at 3:15. And remember…”
“Look, don’t touch!” everyone chorused.
The groups scattered. Tamsey found herself pulled toward the upper floor. Toward an exhibit she hadn’t seen on the tour. Her feet seemed to know where to go even though her brain didn’t. Kinsey followed, curious. Luke trailed after them, complaining about wanting to see the dinosaur fossils again. Danti and Harlow brought up the rear.
“Where are we going?” Kinsey asked.
“I don’t know,” Tamsey admitted. “I just... need to see something.”
The exhibit was small. Tucked into a corner near the architectural history section. Behind glass, A piece of carved stone, about the size of a shoebox. The placard read: Original cornerstone from the Burke Museum’s first building, 1899. Carved by architect William Sterling. Note the unusual protective symbols—their meaning remains unknown.
Tamsey’s breath fogged the glass before she realized how close she’d gotten.
The stone was covered in symbols that swirled and interlocked like Celtic knots. Older. And underneath the symbols, carved so small she had to squint to read it: For those with sight, when sight is needed.
“That’s weird,” Luke said. “Why would an architect carve….”
The building’s heating system kicked on with a groan. The glass case rattled.
“Probably should step back,” Kinsey said nervously.
Tamsey couldn’t move. The symbols glowed. Faintly. So faintly she thought she might be imagining it. Glowing green light. Like the mushrooms that grew in the old-growth MystigianWoods in Starlight Cove. The forest that was alive. Magically alive.
The case popped open. Just an inch. Just enough.
“Uh, should we call someone?” Danti asked.
Tamsey reached out. She didn’t mean to. Her hand moved on its own. Drawn by curiosity? Her fingers brushed the carved stone.
The symbols blazed green.
Light pulsed through the museum like a heartbeat. Once, twice, three times. Every door in the building slammed shut. Display cases rattled. The lights flickered. An alarm wailed.
“What did you do?” Luke yelped.
“I didn’t….I just touched….” Tamsey jerked her hand back, but it was too late.
The cornerstone’s light faded. The damage was done. Through the windows, she could see Mrs. Herald and other teachers running toward the main entrance. Security guards speaking urgently into radios. The doors wouldn’t open. They could hear Mrs. Herald’s voice, muffled through the glass: “Stay calm, everyone! The security system just malfunctioned!”
“This is bad,” Kinsey whispered, clutching her journal. “This is really bad.”
“Maybe they’ll get it fixed fast,” Harlow said hopefully. Her voice shook.
Danti tried the door to their gallery. Locked. He tried the emergency exit. Also locked. “Uh, guys? I think we’re trapped.”
Luke rounded on Tamsey. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know!”
But that wasn’t quite true. The stone recognized her. Magic. The same thing that let her see the magic of Starlight Cove.
A sound echoed through the gallery. A low, musical humming from the walls.
“Did you hear that?” Tamsey whispered.
“Hear what?” Luke looked around frantically. “I don’t hear anything except alarms and us being LOCKED IN A MUSEUM.”
Kinsey went very still. “I hear it. Like... singing?”
The humming grew louder. And then, impossible as it seemed, the stone gargoyle in the corner of the gallery moved.
It stretched, like someone waking from a very long nap. Stone scraped against stone. Granite wings unfurled. When it turned its head toward them, Tamsey saw that its eyes glowed. The same green as the cornerstone’s symbols.
The gargoyle was covered in tiny emerald moss that grew in patterns like musical notes. It smelled like warm summer sidewalks, old stone, and rain-soaked earth.
“Um,” said Kinsey. “Is anyone else seeing this?”
“The gargoyle?” Danti’s voice had gone up an octave. “The MOVING GARGOYLE?”
“I don’t see anything,” Luke said, but he’d gone pale. “You’re all pranking me, right?”
The gargoyle hopped down from its pedestal with surprising grace. Up close, Tamsey could see it was almost friendly-looking, despite the fierce carved features. Its granite surface radiated warmth. When it spoke, its voice was like wind through stone archways, musical and deep.
“Finally,” it said, sounding relieved. “I thought you’d never arrive.”
A crow landed on the gargoyle’s shoulder. Not a stone crow—a real one, with glossy black feathers and bright, intelligent eyes. It looked at each of them in turn, then cawed dramatically.
“Edgar, please. You’re not helping.” The gargoyle sighed. It actually sighed! Then looked at Tamsey. “You have the sight. The museum recognized you. And now...” It gestured to the sealed doors with one stone wing. “Now it won’t let anyone out until it knows you’re not a threat.”
“A threat?” Tamsey’s voice came out as a squeak. “I just touched ~ ”
“The cornerstone. Yes. The protective wards your architect friend carved over a century ago. Very powerful. Very, very paranoid.” The gargoyle sat back on its haunches. “The museum thinks you’re here to steal something sacred. We have to convince it otherwise.”
“We?” Kinsey asked faintly.
“You, me, and Edgar here.” The crow puffed up importantly. “Oh, and your friends, though the tall one still can’t see me properly.”
“I can hear you talking about me!” Luke protested.
The gargoyle, Doyle, Tamsey somehow knew his name was Doyle, tilted his head. Moss shifted on his shoulders like living sheet music. “The museum isn’t trying to trap you. It’s trying to protect something. And we need to help it understand you’re not the threat.”
“How?” Harlow had pulled out her sketchbook and was already drawing, her hands shaking only slightly.
“Each wing of the museum has a song,” Doyle explained. His humming started again, soft and low. Where his voice touched the air, raindrops from the skylights above began to hover, suspended. “I have to sing them all. The right frequency, the right melody. And you...” He looked at all five of them. “You have to help me navigate.”
Outside, Mrs. Herald’s voice called, “Can everyone hear me? We’re working on getting you out!”
Edgar the crow cawed. “Better work fast, Stoneface. The humans are getting nervous.”
Doyle nodded. “The museum has five wings. Five songs. And probably five dozen ways to make this harder than it needs to be.” He stretched his wings again, and Tamsey caught the scent of ancient granite. Warm and oddly comforting. “Are you ready?”
Tamsey looked at her friends. Kinsey, already taking notes. Danti, looking scared but determined. Harlow, sketching Doyle’s face with quick, sure strokes. Luke, who couldn’t quite see Doyle but was squinting hard, trying.
She thought about Great-Grandpa Otis, about Starlight Cove, about all the magic she’d tried to ignore because it made her different.
“Ready,” she said.
The adventure was just beginning.
This story was requested by one of my paid subscribers, Robert C. Worstell & I eagerly turned it into my November series.
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