Southend U3A

February 2024

The Open Window - Pete Norman.

Barry stood at the foot of the impressive steps, at the top of which were a pair of even more impressive doors. He had stood right here, on this very spot, just a month ago but then his mind had been firmly fixed on other things – the interview.

However, now he was an actual museum employee: a reception desk clerk, a tour guide, a security guard – in fact, Jack of all museumy trades – on his first day at work and full of excitement, trepidation and pure, undiluted terror.

He climbed the steps, walked through the doors and presented himself at the desk. The man who occupied it looked to be only a year or so older than himself and his face looked terminally bored. However, when Barry announced that he was starting work today, the hint of a malicious smile crept across the man’s lips as he said, quietly, ‘Another lamb to the slaughter!’

Barry was quite taken aback by his reaction but the smile evaporated as the man reached for a radio and said, respectfully, ‘Mr Haven, it’s Colin, you’ve got a newby at the entrance.’ He listened for a few moments and then pointed, ‘Up those stairs, turn left and someone will meet you.’

This was not quite the auspicious first encounter Barry was expecting but he did exactly as he was told; he scaled the huge concrete staircase and then turned left into a wide corridor, flanked by massive Egyptian statues. Hurrying towards him was a rather large man who he recognised from his interview.

He gave a bright, ‘Good morning, Mr Haven,’ and extended his hand. The boss took it in an iron grip and gave it a hearty shake.

‘Now, it’s Barry, isn’t it?’ He didn’t pause for confirmation, he put his arm around Barry’s shoulder and guided him along the corridor, completely ignoring the ancient statuary and into a small but comfortable office.

He smiled. ‘I take it that you have already had the pleasure of meeting Colin. I’m afraid that our Colin has a very childish sense of humour and he does like to play practical jokes, but you must pay him no attention.’

He ran his finger down the duty roster chart on his wall. ‘Well, I never. It looks as if we are rather short of staff at the moment – nothing new there then!’ He smiled. ‘I’m afraid I must call upon Colin to show you around today . . . but please, pay no heed to his puerile sense of humour – he is really quite harmless.’

The next few hours were taken up with Colin leading him through a maze of rooms, talking almost nonstop, about his role as tour guide and security, pointing out the principle works of antiquity in each one, together with the places of vulnerability, especially the windows and external doors.

When they reached a room full of sarcophagi, most of which looked occupied, Colin stopped and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Has Mr Haven told you that we are all expected to also do some night shifts? . . . that’s like night shifts all on your own?’

Barry nodded carefully.

‘. . . Completely on your own . . . at night . . . it’s your job to stop . . .’ he waved his hand across the ancient bandaged remains, ‘. . . to stop this lot playing football.’ He said it with a completely dead pan voice but the hint of mirth in his voice was barely concealed. Nevertheless, Barry glanced anxiously around the room and saw, beyond the mummies, a small glass cabinet which contained three skulls, round and shiny and the thought of macabre midnight football matches would haunt his mind for a long, long time to come.

On the top floor were store rooms and other rooms which were not open to the public but, security wise, every door and every window was potentially vulnerable and had to be checked.

They reached the door of the last room and Colin actually seemed genuinely subdued. ‘Just watch out when you come round here,’ he said, ‘We’ve had a few problems with this one.’

Before Barry could ask more, Colin had hurried off down the staircase and into the main exhibit rooms without further comment.

Barry had absolutely no intention of being led along by his histrionics so he just dropped the subject completely and concentrated on the mammoth task ahead of him – there was so much to remember.

As with every new member, Barry spent a week on each floor learning the ropes, learning the most common questions the visitors asked and how to find the best responses for the persistent.

It was a couple of months before he was asked to do his first night shift. Mr Haven pointed out that the museum was full of priceless objects which were highly valuable and highly vulnerable. That there had never, in his time, been any break in but, in a building such as this, vigilance was the only protection for these priceless artifacts.

When all the public had left and the external doors had been locked and secured and all the other staff had gone home, Barry was left alone in this vast building with nothing but history and death for company. As he wandered through the cavernous rooms, he whispered, ‘Why does the building look so big after hours?’ and then he asked himself, ‘and so threatening?’ . . . It was exactly the same building it had been before, only it was empty of people and staff . . . and darker . . . much darker. His mind ran back to Colin’s first ever comment to him, ‘Another lamb to the slaughter!’

He shuddered, took a firm grip on himself and began to acquaint himself with the changes that the night time brought.

He hurried through the mummy section, pleased to find that there was no football playing . . . yet . . . and he concentrated his efforts on the doors and windows – the external security of the building.

The whole museum covered, the only rooms left to check were on the top floor, which were out of bounds to the public. He checked them all except the very last one. He approached that door with some trepidation and, as he opened the door, a cool breeze blew across his face. He slammed the door and backed away to the opposite wall, his heart racing and Colin’s words ringing in his ears. What was it to be? fight or flight?

Reason slowly began to take control. This was his very first night shift and Colin had made a deliberate point of telling him that, ‘We have had a few problems with this one.’ He took a firm grip and opened the door again. The room was empty, as before, and the window was still wide open. His brain was churning out of control but he knew that he was being set up so he fought to regain his senses.

He closed the window and then backed out of the room. He remembered some of the old films he had seen, so he tugged out a hair from his head, which he fixed carefully across the door opening. If anyone wants to play tricks, then that will surely give themselves away.

He hurried back downstairs to the small rest room where he brewed a cup of coffee and tried very hard to put the window right out of his mind.

As a newby, he followed the prescribed timings to the letter and all too soon he found himself standing outside the very last room again. He crouched down and saw that his hair was still there, ‘sealing’ the door. With a little more confidence than before, he turned the handle. The breeze hit his face as he stepped inside and stared at the open window.

His blood ran cold as he heard a faint sound behind him. He spun around but there was no one there. The sound was soft and high pitched, almost beyond the ability of his ears to hear. His brain struggled to make sense of it all: maybe it was all just Colin’s childish sense of humour, maybe it was apocalyptic football matches or poltergeists . . . but Colin was most definitely top of his list. He closed the window and slowly turned to face the room, trying to work out a plan.

Then the sound came again and this time he thought it sounded like soft childish laughter, but it dissolved into the walls before he could make sense of it. He almost ran to the door, secured it with the hair and walked quickly along the corridor to the staircase and began to descend but then a plan began to develop: he stopped just far enough down that he could conceal himself and still be able to watch the door . . . and then he waited . . . and waited.

Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing happened and he could feel his eyes fighting to stay open. Eventually he gave up. He rose, stretched his aching legs and walked back. The hair was still in place. He had seen no one come into or out of the room. He opened the door . . .

. . . he walked through the cool breeze and shut the window. He made a fingertip search of the room until he was satisfied that there was no other secret way in. There was no other explanation. He sat down with his back to the window and gathered his strength.

The sound came again; it still sounded like soft childish laughter only this time it didn’t dissolve into the walls, it hung in the air in front of him for a few seconds, as if taunting him.

He said, ‘Hello?’

Tinkling laughter was his only response.

However, he had prepared himself for this. He asked, ‘Who are you?’

There was a slight pause before the window above him opened again. The laughter this time was less certain and somewhat less playful.

Barry smiled. There was no trace of anything malignant in whatever or whomever was doing this.

He said, ‘I’m Barry and I’m the newby here.’ He smiled at the absurdity of talking to a blank wall but he carried on regardless and explained who he was and where he came from and how he loved his job and how some of the exhibits were quite scary . . .

When he had finished, a soft tinkle answered him.

He rose to his feet and said, ‘Now, can we make a deal? I will be doing this night shift quite regularly and if you promise to leave the windows alone, then perhaps when I get round to this room then I can stay for a while and we can have a chat,’

As the soft tinkle gave its promise, he opened the door but then he stopped and called over his shoulder, ‘Except, of course, you can still do that windows thing whenever Colin is on . . .’