Curioddity by Paul Jenkins Page A

once, as opposed to complicating things even further.
    â€œIt’s a lightning catcher,” explained Dinsdale in a reverent tone. The little curator seemed to be looking directly at the green bottle, which looked very unlike a receptacle for electricity and much more like a receptacle that once contained a soft drink. Wil looked behind the shelf, just in case there was an actual lightning catcher somewhere in the immediate vicinity that he hadn’t noticed earlier.
    â€œAre all your museum exhibits this impressive?” asked Wil, gesturing to the various items of scrap around him. He hoped the obvious sarcastic tone of his question might make his point: he was beginning to tire of being led around an elaborate thrift shop in search of an explanation regarding a job that he was getting more and more inclined to refuse in advance.
    â€œAre you not really a fan of lightning catchers, Wil?” asked the little curator, his expression betraying a genuine disappointment.
    â€œOn the contrary, I find them to be extremely compelling. Look, Mr. Dinsdale … I’m sure you’re a very nice man. But at the risk of forcing the issue for a second time, I’d greatly appreciate it if we could get to the point. You said you had a job for me, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to discuss that instead of admiring your lightning catcher, amazing though it may be.”
    The little man brightened, seeming to feel relieved that Wil had demonstrated a genuine appreciation for his dirty old green bottle. “You’re right, of course.” He chuckled. “Sometimes I let the splenditude of this place distract me from the tasks at hand. It’s probably not a good idea to let the trail get too cold. Come on … it’s over here.” With that, Mr. Dinsdale struck out toward an exhibit area farther along the hall. Finally, thought Wil, we’re getting somewhere.
    *   *   *
    A T THE end of the hall was a sign that read, TEMPORAL AND SPATIAL ANOMALIES EXHIBIT . Beyond this sign was another display area, inside which was yet another collection of assorted pieces of trash. At least, thought Wil, it was mercifully devoid of any wooden crates. As he entered, he could have sworn that for an instant he caught the image of the ghostly young woman out of the corner of his eye. He got the distinct impression the girl was pretty and cheerful, though quite how he arrived at such a conclusion he could not be sure. Whatever the case, when he turned to look directly at the phantasm there was nothing directly in front of him. He began to look rather puzzled, a fact that did not escape Mr. Dinsdale’s notice.
    â€œYou’ve seen her, haven’t you? The girl with the curly hair who appears in the corner of your eye.” This was more of a statement of confirmation than a question. Wil found the old man staring intently at him, waiting for a response to the affirmative. He was not immediately inclined to play along, though he had to admit this was an intriguing development.
    â€œIs this another one of your exhibits?” he asked. “I mean, it’s a test, or something, right? So people think the place is haunted. And then at the end you show them it’s a projection, or a trapdoor.”
    â€œWell, yes and no.” The little curator seemed genuinely puzzled himself by the happenings around the museum. “The thing is we’re pretty sure the young woman everyone keeps seeing isn’t a ghost. At least, she’s not a ghost in the typical sense but she’s most definitely real. After much analysis I’ve been forced to conclude that she’s not haunting us. Unless I’m mistaken, it’s most likely that we are haunting her. It’s as if the museum has found a way to plug into her spiritual gestalt wherever she exists in time and space. It’s probably a side effect of one of the temporal exhibits we have up