Part 1

I've been hired as a security guard to watch over a statue. It's a large one. Like, really, really large. The statue has its own bedroom in the museum, and two men are living there now. There is a guard right there too, but he was killed and eaten a few nights ago. There's a museum director there, but he's a creep, and one of the two men said he's a serial killer.

He and his partner have some sort of weird ritual where they sleep together in bed in the nude, and at times they do it with other people, and it's always the same two, the same sex, but the other guy is always different, but there's always two people, sometimes there are even four. That has me thinking, well, who's to say it's two people? The director can easily be doing it alone.

They've been killing a male guard to get into the museum, and they're after a particular statue, and the museum is on the second floor. And every night, at midnight, they come out and do it, while I sit on a little metal chair and watch.

This time, they come out and their clothes are on, but one of them is tied up with a rope around the neck, and he's unconscious, and he's naked, and they have some blood on their hands. He is tied up so he can't move and they're fucking him, but he's not conscious enough to know what's going on. They come out of the museum, they look at me, they look at each other, and then they head for the ladder leading up to the museum. And I'm thinking, why are they bringing him up? Why not leave him on the ground? They go to the ladder, climb up and I hear them start doing it.

I'm thinking, if I was going to kill someone and get the body up the ladder, wouldn't it make sense to take the person's clothes off so I wouldn't have to put them back on again? They go up the ladder, I look at the clothes they have on, they look at each other and say something, and then they climb down. They go back into the museum and get dressed, and leave.

The next morning I head out to the ladder, which is really high, and the ladder is really steep. I climb up. There's no one there. They're gone. They've taken their partner down. There's nothing up here but broken statues and some cobwebs.

My boss asked me if I found any kind of blood up here, and I said no, but there's a lot of blood down in the museum.

I started to say something, and he put his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't be stupid," he said.

I thought about it, and then I said, "Do you really think they did this? Two guys in the nude? If they did this, how did they manage to carry their partner down here? How did they get him down the ladder?"

He looked at me as though I was crazy. "They carried him down the ladder," he said. "That's why he was tied up. And why they left their clothes behind. There's a lot of blood in the museum, but it's not blood from him. It's from the guy they brought up here. And you've seen what happened to him. It's obvious they're the ones who did this."

"And this?" I said, gesturing at their clothes. "Were these down here all this time?"

He frowned, "Yes, but they were all the way in the back. You wouldn't have seen them."

"And these?" I asked, indicating the blood on the floor.

"There's a lot of that all the way around."

I didn't say anything, but I was thinking.

We were sitting in my office when my boss said, "Look, I've had enough of this. I'm not going to cover it up anymore. I think you're insane. Or, to put it another way, I think you're insane if you think they did this. Do you know what it's like for them to come out here to do this?"

"I think I do," I said. "I think I understand what they feel like. I'm glad I can help."

"You think you can help, you crazy son of a bitch? You think you can help?"

"I don't know," I said. "I'd like to try. I don't have a plan yet. But I'm going to do something. I have to, because I don't know how long I'm going to be out here. And I don't know if it's a matter of days or months."

"Are you planning on moving out here?"

"No," I said, "not for a while. I don't know what I'm going to do. I thought I'd stay with my parents for a while, but I'm thinking maybe that won't be possible."

"Stay with your parents? What, are you nuts?"

"Yes," I said, "I'm going to need to be around to watch them. I don't know if they'll be able to handle this."

"Oh, they'll be able to handle this," he said. "Trust me. They can handle anything. I doubt they've got a problem."

"Maybe I'll stay with them," I said. "I could always stay there."

"Are you nuts? You think you're going to live in their house?"

"That's what I'm thinking," I said. "They have plenty of room. They won't mind. They won't have to clean their bathroom or anything. I could even get my own."

"I don't want to see you and your parents again, and I know it'll be like this. You'll start doing this and you'll feel like shit, and you'll want to go out to watch someone at midnight and you won't be able to, so you'll start to think about people you've killed and how they would want you to do this. It's really sick."

"I don't think they'll mind."

"Oh, they'll mind. They'll mind a lot. The minute you move in, it'll be as if you were in jail. And your parents are going to get very upset and think you want to punish them."

"They'll be glad to see me, I'm sure. They'll be really grateful."

"It'll be like this for a while," he said, "you'll have to keep pretending you're one of them. And every time you do it, it'll hurt even more."

I had been sitting in my office, doing some paperwork, while he was sitting at his desk, not doing anything. I glanced up at him and saw that he was crying.

I didn't know what to say.

Then I didn't have to say anything. He said, "I'm going to lose my job."

"What?" I said. "You're going to lose your job over me? You'd do this? I was the only one who was helping. I was the only one trying to figure out what was happening, and now I'm supposed to watch people murder each other, and sit by while you do this."

"That's not what I meant," he said, sniffling. "I mean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that. I was just, well, I've just been thinking about how this would ruin my life. If you move in with my parents I won't be able to see you. I mean, I can't help you. I can't do anything. If you move in with them I'll be in trouble. It'll be as though I did this. If you move in with them, I won't be able to see you."

"Well, I'll do whatever I have to do," I said.

He looked up at me, trying to smile. I guess he was afraid I would leave. "We'll have to do it from a distance, I guess," he said.

"So the only thing we have to worry about now is distance," I said. "That sounds good."

And I was right. It did sound good. It was a nice, peaceful feeling, knowing that there was someone I could call at any time, day or night, and that he would come and take care of me. It was a kind of relief to have a place to go, and not to have to go back and forth, and to not have to get to know anyone else, and to have an excuse to run away.