My Adventures at Zak Bagan's Haunted Museum

Chapter 9: The Study

As the rest of the group shuffled out of the basement, Amber had waited upstairs. She hadn't gone for purchasing the RIP Tour ticket. We stood by the railing as other RIP Tour ticket holders wandered back up.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "I notice you seem frazzled from going down there."

"Yeah. I just got overwhelmed. There were weird voices coming through the spirit box down there. It was good to get out before everyone else."

The tour guide interrupted. "We have trouble with people getting overwhelmed in there and in the Kavorkian Office too. It's not unusual. If you need some extra time to collect yourself, join us at the end of the group."

She turned to the rest of the people with us, "If you'll follow me, we'll move into Zak's study."

We continued along the hallway. More creepy nick-knacks were displayed in cases that lined the wall. We stopped by a room that looked fixed up into a study. A skull was on a desk with a doll displayed off to the side. The tour guide started to talk about the skull on the table; how it was something Zak valued but was highly cursed. I kept getting distracted, as if someone was standing by me. I kept turning my head, but no one was there but the wall behind me. It was odd. Why would I feel that anyone was there? After all, I couldn't see that this room was particularly special.

The tour guide had switched to talking about the artifacts on the wall with most of the tour group turning and listening to her.

But I kept focusing on the doll. The doll, the tour guide had mentioned, had been a witness to a murder. The doll had been held by a girl as her brother defended her against his father that had been roaming the house killing the family. It was said that the father's blood still stained the dress of the doll. The white dress with brown blood spatter stains looked Victorian. The dolls dark, brown hair framed her cherub face. Her porcelain eyes stared back at me.  

That's when I heard the noise. This weird whistle. It sounded like a "twill" sound. Like some girl or child making a sound.

"What was that?" said the woman beside me. She had stayed back with me from the group, still standing next to her boyfriend. Both were still in the study while the tour guide spoke about the wall ahead of us to the rest of the group.

"You heard that too? It sounded like a whistle. Like a twill," I answered.

"Yeah. Maybe like a kid did it," added the boyfriend.

We pointed it out to the tour guide when she'd finished talking about the wall and before we moved into the next room. But she didn't seem to believe us. "Likely just some workmen using a drill," she said, dismissing our comment.

"But it's Sunday," I mentioned. "You sure there is work being done behind that wall? And while the museum is open?"

"I don't know. I can check later for you."

"Yeah. I'd like to know."

She turned to speak with the rest of the group looking at the wall of nicknacks. "Now, it's time to go into the celebrity room. If you'd please, follow me." She waved us along with the rest of the group into the next room.  I kept thinking as I walked through the doorway, that the sound didn't seem like a drill. And it came from inside the room.

But I moved along. Because maybe some workmen just wanted the overtime for working on a Sunday.