I worked at the natural history museum as a security guard on the night shift for almost six months before I broke Ricardo's only rule and saw with my own eyes what exactly the displays got up to in the central rotunda between midnight and 3am.
First of all, you know that all display items that resemble living beings - mannequins, toys, statues, figurines and, of course, museum displays - come alive, as in, become sentient and can move around and stuff, at night, right? Of course you do, everyone knows that, even if most people have never seen it themselves. Display items are usually pretty sneaky and try to only move about when humans aren't watching. I knew about it before I started working at the museum, but didn't actually see it in action until my first shift..
Every night, precisely at midnight, the museum would become a hive of activity for exactly three hours, with dinosaur skeletons roaming the halls, taxidermied lions and tigers roaring, and busts of famous heads laughing and calling to each other across the exhibit. The displays didn't seem to mind moving around in front of me, in fact, they were friendly; most would say hi or stop for a chat as they went about their business (every display spoke perfect English, even the animals and skeletons, I don't know how). Sometimes I would need to save a teetering vase from a stampeding wooly mammoth or a priceless parchment from a group of wax Roman soldiers who wanted to start a campfire. It was a great place to work, no two nights were ever the same.
The very first night I started, Ricardo, my boss and the former night security guard - he moved to a day shift when I took over his nightly role - explained to me everything I would need to know about the night shift at the museum.
"There is no rest at all during midnight to 3 - we call these the Living Hours - you must patrol the building and keep watch. Don't interfere with the displays unless you have to - just leave them to themselves, that's how they like it. Don't try to be too buddy-buddy, your job is to protect them and the other artifacts."
He loaded me up with lists and maps and keys and a flashlight and the recommended route for patrolling and the other tips and tricks I needed to know. I was excited and nervous. It seemed like my shifts outside of the Living Hours would be pretty boring, but anything could happen during those three hours each night!
When he was just about to leave me to get on with my first shift, he turned back with a warning. "Oh, and no matter what, and I mean no matter what, DO NOT go into the central rotunda during the Living Hours. You might hear loud noises, you might hear things that will haunt your dreams, you might feel like it is your duty to make sure everything is ok; I am telling you, you must never, ever go in there. Don't even look in. Before and after the Living Hours is fine, but during is absolutely forbidden. Do you understand?"
"Of course," I said, perplexed by the severity of the look on his face and tone of his voice. "But--"
"No buts, no questions. Just don't go in there, have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, absolutely. I won't go into the central rotunda for any reason during the Living Hours."
"Good, good," he seemed to relax a bit. "Alright, I will leave you to it. Have a great first night, I will check on you in the morning." With that, Ricardo turned and left the museum.
I have to be honest with you, I was very curious about his warning about the central rotunda. I knew exactly what space he was referring to, it is a big circular foyer on the ground floor that is open up to the domed ceiling - the second and third floors have balustrades that circle the open space. It is in the very centre of the building, and while it has doors to close it off from the first floor, the upper level hallways converge on the sections from which to look down to the lobby below. It would be very difficult to avoid those areas during patrol, although Ricardo had been careful to give me routes that bypassed it on every floor.
So, for the first six months, I heeded Ricardo's warning and avoided the central rotunda, following his maps to the letter. And I did hear strange noises coming from that area. Screeches and screams, grunts and growls, all manner of vocal exclamations from a range of different creatures, I couldn't even begin to tell you what they were. Sometimes it sounded like someone - or something, or many somethings - was being beaten, the thwacks and thumps and cries reverberating down the marble hallways. Other times, there was such a cacophony of noise you couldn't make out one sound from another.
I would often see some of the displays heading in or out of the doors to the rotunda on the first floor; the ones going in would usually give me a grin or a wink as they went past, and the ones coming out - who always looked a little bit worse for wear - seemed too out of it to notice me, and just shuffled back to their permanent section of the museum.
My curiosity about what was happening in the central rotunda plagued me throughout those initial months. What could possibly be going on? Why was it such a secret? I just wanted to know! I was so tempted to sneak a peek over the railing on one of the upper levels, but managed to resist.
During those first few months, I also became really good friends with the museum's prized T-Rex skeleton, Peter (who was more or less the reason I ended up breaking Ricardo's rotunda rule - actually, not becoming buddy-buddy, as Ricardo said, with a display was Ricardo's other rule, so I guess I broke them all). Peter was prized because he was nearly 100% actual T-Rex bones; I think there were only a few toes and ribs that were fake to make up his complete skeleton. Most T-Rex skeletons are only partially real, like 50-60%. He was very proud of his authenticity.
