The Museum of Curiosities 

I had always been a traveler; a rambler of sorts. I had never stayed in one place for long. I had to be on the go, exploring and studying out of the way places and interesting and odd things.

The small village of Sneeuqfognik was one such place. The village may have been just a dot on the map, but it was home to a museum with over a million abnormal findings from all across the universe. A cursed museum.

As I stood on the dirt pathway in front of the structure, a tall, lanky man with snow white hair and a salt-and-pepper beard approached.

“Hello, miss,” he tipped his Fedora. “I am Professor Ezra Donaby. I teach courses on the usuals and unusualities at the University of Nanreffeh. Have you heard of it?” I detected a slight English accent.

“No, sir. l’m sorry,” I shook my head. “l haven’t.”

He pointed his black cane toward the building. “But you know of the museum?”

“A good friend told me about it. She hasn’t been here but saw something about it on the internet. I love this kind of stuff, you know, weird and whacky? I’m not sure why. Some people tell me it’s because I’m weird and whacky myself.” I giggled.

“I would be honored if a beautiful woman such as yourself would accompany me in an afternoon adventure.” The man extended the crook of his arm with an air of sophisticated dignity.

In a mock curtsy, I bent just a bit and thread my arm through his. “My name’s Deidra Spence. I’m certainly no professor, but I do have a degree in history and archeology.”

Professor Donaby patted my hand. “ls that so, my dear? Is that so?” And he escorted me into the lobby.

We paid our fares and began to move through the various exhibits. A practically new mobile phone was held in a small glass case. I read: “Back in 1938, a woman was reportedly spotted using this mobile phone.”

“That’s not much information, is it, Deidra? Do you believe in time travel?”

“Mmmm, it does pose an interesting question, but I’ve not really researched it much. How about you?”

Donaby placed his hand on the small of my back and nudged me to the next exhibit. He read: “Generally, the human body is not capable of surviving freezing temperatures. Because when a body becomes frozen, the heart stops, and the odds of returning to life are slim.” He stroked his long whiskers. “In 1983 a woman named Tatiana Carrinski lost consciousness and froze. She held no signs of life. Yet, after several hours, she thawed and began to move. She lived a healthy, normal life for twenty more years. In 2003, she passed away of natural causes. She remains a medical mystery to this day.”

“Eeew.” I turned up my nose. “I guess this is her mummified body?” I tapped on the glass and quietly, walked onward.

“What might this be?” Professor Donaby gasped and stepped backward. He steadied himself against my elbow.

Thirty-two rats, each intertwined at the tail were behind cage bars. Oblivious to their audience, they munched on blocks of cheese and a large, fresh carrot. I read: “Rat kings aren’t an actual thing. Instead, the term refers to a group of rats who have decided to intertwine their tails and become one. More-over, it seems that rat kings tend to stay bunched together for life. It is unclear why rats do this.”

The college professor wiggled a finger into the rat’s cage. “Oh, aren’t they simply adorable?” he gushed.

“Not particularly,” I replied in all honesty.

He held out a hand, and we walked around the next corner. A long, beautiful, white wedding dress with puffed sleeves and a sequined bodice hung inside an old-fashioned armoire.

“I’ll read this one,” the professor announced. “In 1841, a girl from a rich family named Mary Jane Simpkins fell in love with a low class well digger named Ezra Donaby. Her father, John Simpkins, refused to allow the marriage and banished the young man from their town. Mary Jane was doomed to spinsterhood. She remained angry until her death in 1912.”

“Ezra Donaby? How funny. That’s your name, too.” I swatted the man at my side on the arm. “What a coincidence.”

“‘Tis no coincidence, Mary Jane. I have returned to make you my bride. Late is always better than not at all. Correct?” He tried to kiss me, but l pulled away and stumbled to the floor.

Somehow, l was now wearing the beautiful white wedding dress from the armoire. The corpse of Tatiana Carrinski, holding a mobile phone and rats crawling atop her toes, stood over me.

“Daddy’s not here, Mary Jane. Daddy’s not here. We can get married now. I love you, Mary Jane.” Ezra’s skin had withered and cracked like old leather. With each tinny word he spoke, his jaw unhinged and broke off onto the floor, piece by piece by grotesque piece.

No one was around to hear the dead man’s bride scream.