Author Archives: Laurie Whiteley

The last visitors have finally left, and it is nighttime in the museum. As she closes the door behind the last visitor to leave, he turns and waves at her, smiling. She returns his smile – it is warm and genuinely happy. She is pleased that he has been, but is even more pleased that he and all the others are gone. She likes the museum’s guests well enough, certainly, but having the museum to herself at night is blissful. She locks the door firmly, and rattles the handle as a reassurance that yes, finally, the door is shut and locked and she is all alone again. Throughout the house the silence is punctuated by the faint sound of state-of-the-art clockwork and highlighted by the smell of cherished leather. Continue reading →

The rain had started around noon that day and continued in a greasy drizzle all afternoon. It was well past sunset – David wasn’t sure how far past sunset, but at this time of year it could have been midnight or three pm. David’s sense of time wasn’t helped by the fact that he was drunk. It was a good, old-fashioned Christmas Office Party Drunk: merrily drunk but not boss-offendingly drunk. This year he hadn’t even managed to get copping-a-feel-from-Debbie-in-Accounts drunk, but that’s life. Continue reading →