Fiction | Magical Realism | Competition
The Museum of Extraordinary Objects
COMPASS
The Museum was unique in several ways. One, was that it traveled. Like a circus, the transience was part of the attraction. It was never in the same town for more than three days at a time. Second, of course, was that no other museum had exhibits of the nature that one could find here. Some items of the museum’s collection were sacred antiquities or harmless artifacts. Some had advantageous magical properties, and yet others were rumoured to be powerfully dangerous. One room held nothing but an ancient book of maps documenting cursed places worldwide.
On his first day as a docent, Orlando was nervous. To focus himself, he began silently reciting the information he had memorized, hoping it would make him feel better about leading his first tour. He was still tripping through his lines when the curator beckoned him over to a group gathered around the fountain in front of the main tent. He swallowed as he realized this was it. This was his group.
He introduced himself quickly and, forgetting to ask where they were from or if they had any initial questions, launched straight into the introduction: “The museum is unique in several ways,” he began. “It, uh.. Well, it… uh, the — the items that you will see are, uhm…” Orlando’s mind was suddenly blank, as if all that he had studied had been swept away by a massive mental tsunami. An elderly couple at the front of the group smiled at him encouragingly, indulgently, but a teenage girl in the back had already taken out her phone and her parents were glancing around as if gauging their chances of joining another group.
“The museum is, uhm, the museum is…” oh, for heaven’s sake thought Orlando in exasperation. He recalled the words of his childhood piano teacher before every recital: ‘if you make a mistake, keep going. No one else will care unless you stop and point it out to them.’
He cleared his throat and smiled brightly, making eye contact with the elderly couple in the front, whom he’d decided were allies. “Have you ever imagined what it would be like to witness the end of your world?” His confidence was boosted when this bold statement harnessed the attention of adults in the mid-section of the group and even the teenager’s younger brother.
Orlando skipped the introduction and led the group towards a number of relics recovered from Pompeii. He spent exactly three and a half minutes regaling them with stories about the items on display and then shuffled them on to the next exhibit.
A rabbit’s foot, a broadsword, a skull with an ancient coin fused over one eye socket, and a ship’s compass each had their own glass case. ‘These are some of our magical items,” Orlando explained. “The broadsword will win its bearer any battle in which it draws blood. No matter if it’s a duel or a full-scale war. This compass went into the Bermuda Triangle more than 100 years ago and is the only item confirmed to have returned. Instead of pointing North, it guides the holder to whatever they would most like to find.” Here, Orlando paused for dramatic effect and questions and when no engagement was forthcoming, he drooped just a tiny bit.
“It’s not real though, right?” It was the teenage girl in the back. She popped a bubble of gum, phone still in hand, “Like, I’m not saying this to be salty, but these are just made-up stories so we feel better about paying 42 dollars to get into this freakshow, right?” She looked at the other group members for support.
Orlando’s eyes crinkled in delight. His hiring package had provided several possible answers to this inevitable accusation and he had been so looking forward to using one of them.
“Well!” He said, drawing himself up, “All I can do is present the information we have about the items currently in our collection. It is up to you to decide what you believe about the world…” He held eye contact with her for a moment, tucked his chin into a brief nod, and then waved the group forward without further discussion.
Later, as he returned the group to the fountain, Orlando finished the tour with the museum’s introductory information he had been unable to remember when they started out. “As you have now seen, the museum is unique in several ways,” he stated assuredly.
The curator arrived distraught.
“Sorry, excuse me, folks, I just need to borrow your guide for a short moment.”
The curator spoke in a hurried whisper, glancing around them distractedly. “There’s been a theft. The compass from the Bermuda Triangle is missing. Did you notice anything unusual during your tour? Anything out of place? Anyone in the group who looked suspicious?”
Orlando swallowed hard. The compass had been in its proper place when he had passed through that section of the museum. The curator wasn’t accusing him, yet, but he was suddenly worried his first day as a docent would also be his last. Orlando’s eyes glazed over as he tried to think if he had seen anything questionable during the tour. He replayed it in his mind and his gaze came to rest on his group, waiting patiently, if curiously, for his return. He did an absent-minded head count. And then he did a recount. The elderly couple who had been his most committed participants were no longer with the group. They’d disappeared.
Thank you for reading! This story was written for The Lime Castle’s January contest. It also satisfied the requirements for the Australian Writer’s Centre January Furious Fiction challenge as follows:
1. Your story must take place on a character’s first day of a new job.
2. Your story must include something being stolen.
3. Your story must include the words TRIP, TRIANGLE and TSUNAMI. (Longer words are okay if original spelling is retained.)
