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BeakerSqueedom
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Acknowledgement: Thank you, Caitlyn, for assisting me with this story. Without her, some of the muppets wouldn't have been mentioned throughout the story as some lacked roles--but she filled them up. <3
The hours of darkness crept slowly but surely across the ashy dusk; the glow of a small, distant moon hovered tranquilly over the museum, bathing its massive, gray, beastly guardians in silvery luminosity. The lions appeared ever grisly in the eyes of a somewhat disconcerted fellow who had ambled his way timidly through the gritty steps. The rails slid slickly beneath pale fingertips, leaving a chilly coating of water to drip from his fingertips.
With a turn of the knob, the brightness pervaded his sight greatly as the door swung open. Due to the gloom smothering the city, it was clear that the lighting within the lobby had blinded him to a modest degree. The tour guide, Rebecca, only smiled at his entry and waved at him unsurely.
“Good luck, Mr. Daley.” She said kindly, grabbing her maroon purse from the desk at reception. A gentle smile graced her lips, dimples formed attractively, leaving him with quite an impression. The ringlets of her luscious brown hair bounced tenderly as she strolled out the door and into the night. The last thing he heard was the gentle echo of her high heel shoes clicking against the floor until it faded into complete silence.
He wished he knew why Cecil had granted him such a shabby manual. The rip on its edges forced him to take extra, vigilant care of it; it was said that it’d one day save him, if not now. The taupe-colored cover was titled as its namesake in gold letters the moment he flipped it on the exact side for a look. He peered at contents within lazily, reading roughly nothing at all. He shrugged and tucked it into the pocket of his light blue pants.
The time ticked away.
There he was, playing with the lobby desk’s properties that consisted of a colorful globe, work supplies, and even gum. He entertained himself gaily with the phone’s cord for so long, he hadn’t realized the big hand edging toward the number twelve on the clock. But he was a typically lazy man who was a tad bit pessimistic of the success he’d have as a night guard. His pessimism was expressed in these words:
“Larry Daley, the handsome night watchman at the Museum of Natural History, could not have been any more content. So many reasons to be thankful for this job, for example, the fact he could watch over the belongings of dead people who once smelled like old soap and peanuts—Mmm, yum! The only thing he never understood was the motive behind Cecil and his group of old geezers into giving him this old, wobbly manual…
Other than that, there was also the dilemma of his son—his ex just keeps telling him he’ll fail just like he did in all his other jobs. Whooohooo, go Daley… ”
At the end of his humor-filled narration, he heard the plucking of a musical xylophone grow steadily loud. The clanking sounds were followed by skeleton feet pounding against through the spacious hall, ensnaring his attention to the cause. Eyes of blue inspected what one would have thought as an innocent area gone untouched, but his ears did not deceive him.
The lights began to flicker.
Larry dug into his pocket and snatched what he hoped was his flashlight. The rubber, bulky texture implied that it was so. His thumb brushed against the red button of the handle; light tore through the wavering darkness. He kept level-headed amidst the creeping excitement.
the gentle crooning of bones meshing together sounded faintly; A soft growl emanated from behind...
Introduction
The hours of darkness crept slowly but surely across the ashy dusk; the glow of a small, distant moon hovered tranquilly over the museum, bathing its massive, gray, beastly guardians in silvery luminosity. The lions appeared ever grisly in the eyes of a somewhat disconcerted fellow who had ambled his way timidly through the gritty steps. The rails slid slickly beneath pale fingertips, leaving a chilly coating of water to drip from his fingertips.
With a turn of the knob, the brightness pervaded his sight greatly as the door swung open. Due to the gloom smothering the city, it was clear that the lighting within the lobby had blinded him to a modest degree. The tour guide, Rebecca, only smiled at his entry and waved at him unsurely.
“Good luck, Mr. Daley.” She said kindly, grabbing her maroon purse from the desk at reception. A gentle smile graced her lips, dimples formed attractively, leaving him with quite an impression. The ringlets of her luscious brown hair bounced tenderly as she strolled out the door and into the night. The last thing he heard was the gentle echo of her high heel shoes clicking against the floor until it faded into complete silence.
He wished he knew why Cecil had granted him such a shabby manual. The rip on its edges forced him to take extra, vigilant care of it; it was said that it’d one day save him, if not now. The taupe-colored cover was titled as its namesake in gold letters the moment he flipped it on the exact side for a look. He peered at contents within lazily, reading roughly nothing at all. He shrugged and tucked it into the pocket of his light blue pants.
The time ticked away.
There he was, playing with the lobby desk’s properties that consisted of a colorful globe, work supplies, and even gum. He entertained himself gaily with the phone’s cord for so long, he hadn’t realized the big hand edging toward the number twelve on the clock. But he was a typically lazy man who was a tad bit pessimistic of the success he’d have as a night guard. His pessimism was expressed in these words:
“Larry Daley, the handsome night watchman at the Museum of Natural History, could not have been any more content. So many reasons to be thankful for this job, for example, the fact he could watch over the belongings of dead people who once smelled like old soap and peanuts—Mmm, yum! The only thing he never understood was the motive behind Cecil and his group of old geezers into giving him this old, wobbly manual…
Other than that, there was also the dilemma of his son—his ex just keeps telling him he’ll fail just like he did in all his other jobs. Whooohooo, go Daley… ”
At the end of his humor-filled narration, he heard the plucking of a musical xylophone grow steadily loud. The clanking sounds were followed by skeleton feet pounding against through the spacious hall, ensnaring his attention to the cause. Eyes of blue inspected what one would have thought as an innocent area gone untouched, but his ears did not deceive him.
The lights began to flicker.
Larry dug into his pocket and snatched what he hoped was his flashlight. The rubber, bulky texture implied that it was so. His thumb brushed against the red button of the handle; light tore through the wavering darkness. He kept level-headed amidst the creeping excitement.
the gentle crooning of bones meshing together sounded faintly; A soft growl emanated from behind...
