Sleepless in Pompeii

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

Sleepless in Pompeii

By Plot Roach

There were problems in the museum almost from the first day the exhibit opened. Setting up the glass cases and lights had been the easy part, but getting the bodies loaded into them had been an abysmal task. Once the security vans had unloaded their cargo, Vincent could see that they had no easy task before them as one stone body after another were taken out of their cargo crates and brought into the main exhibit room.

Vincent, a part time employee of the museum ‘Naturale’, had been charged with the safety of the bodies from Pompeii. Granted they were really only the plaster casts of those found under the ash, but they were bodies nonetheless. Several had already suffered greatly by the hands of the public, some travelers seeking “souvenirs” had broken off parts of the bodies. The original museum which had once housed them, no longer wanted the broken plaster corpses. And the Naturale had gotten them for pennies on the pound. Thus the poor abused corpses came to America.

The first day that the exhibit opened, the electricity in the building failed. The following four days the water kept shutting off in the restrooms and every night since the bodies had been unloaded, the security sensors picked up movement.

There had been so many false alarms that the museum had decided to turn off the movement sensors and hire a human guard to patrol during the evenings. But in two weeks they had gone through three guards. No one wanted to stay with the corpses overnight, stating odd noises like a dog barking, a pig squealing and a couple arguing echoed throughout the building, but that no one could be found.

When the last guard quit, Vincent had been forced to take the night shift to watch over the building. He heard the noises himself, but knew better than to investigate. He knew that he would not find anything living amongst the displays and did not wish to find what else might be making the noises.

After a week of no sleep, and more damage to the museum (this time the ceiling tiles were falling down on the glass cases, shattering them), Vincent was at his wit’s end. The owner of the museum refused to admit that there might be a supernatural answer behind the ‘accidents’, and told Vincent to find a solution or to find another job.

Five different handymen, three investigators and several insurance claims later, he was no closer to an answer than he was before. He sat on the steps of the museum, his head in his hands, wondering how he would update his resume for the next job search when the answer that he had been praying for crept up the stairs of the museum and through the front door, dressed in a thick Victorian style dress that reeked of patchouli.

He only noticed her when she stopped and began talking to the bodies, even pausing to jump over the red velvet security rope to scratch behind the stone dog’s ears.

“Oh great” he told himself. “We have another crazy needing to be tossed out.” And while the local homeless had been a problem on occasion, usually trying to steal something they thought could be pawned, none of them had actually spoken to a display, much less argued with it. And yet here she was, shaking her hand at one of the stone corpses while patting the dog on the head.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“No, it is I who will help you.” she said. Vincent noticed the tumble of red curls that had fallen from under the hat on her head and how they stood out from the thick green velvet of her dress. Eyes, green as emeralds, sparkled with a mirth that had no measure.

“Excuse me?”

“You have been having problems with them, haven’t you?” she asked.

“No. We’ve been having problems with the electrical, the water pipes, the-”

“Security cameras at night?” she asked

“How do you know about that?” he asked.

“They’ve been keeping me up at night as well.” she said. “I live about a block away from here and between the barking, squealing and arguing…” she sighed. “So I thought that I might come over to see if I could help.”

“And just how do you think that you can help?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve learned a lot about them already.”

“You have?” he asked skeptically.

“All you have to do is listen, silly.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“You are not listening!” she said, stamping her foot down like a small child who was just told that fairies do not exist. “Just listen to me, if you can’t hear them.”

“Alright then” he said. “Impress me.”

“Those two over there” she said, pointing to a couple in a corner case. “They are not man and wife.”

“But the paperwork said that they were found together.” Vincent argued.

“They were found together, yes. But they are not man and wife.” she said. “There is her husband” she said, pointing to a lone man across the room. “They had had an argument and she slept with his brother to get even. And she’s been stuck with him ever since the night of the eruption.”

“So if we put her back with him all this will stop?” Vincent asked.

“Not by a long shot.”

“But you said-”

“She belongs with him, but he won’t be happy until he gets his penis back.”

“And where is it now?”

“On a coffee table in New Jersey, I think. He said that the tourist who snapped it off definitely had a Jersey accent.”

“And he knows this how?”

“They’ve been around a long time, Vincent.”

“And how do you know my name?”

“I’m not psychic, it’s on the nametag pinned to your shirt.”

“Oh.” he said. “But if you’re not psychic, how do you know what’s going on?”

“Like I said, all you have to do is listen.” she said. “Now, I think he’ll take a replacement penis. Something stone, about the same color will do. It’s just for show, he knows. It’s not like it’s going to see any use…”

“And where do we get something like that from?” Vincent asked.

“I know a few places.” she said, winking at him. “But in the meantime, your biggest problem is with them.” she said, pointing to the next case. Both occupants wore sneers of anguish on their stone faces. “They are still mad at one another, even after all these years.”

“Another love spat?”

“No, they don’t belong together. They weren’t lovers, they were neighbors.” she said. “And they hated one another fiercely. So how did they end up in the same coffin?”

“Glass case.” he corrected. “The case he was in was shattered by a falling ceiling tile, so we had to put him into hers.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to get another case for him or things are going to get… interesting.”

“Define ‘interesting’.”

“Are you all paid up on your fire insurance?”

“Okay, I’ll get right on it.” he said. “But why are they so mad after all these years?”

“He killed her dog.”

“But the dog was found in his yard.”

“Just listen, okay?” she said. “He killed her dog, he fed it hemlock and pottery shards that had been mixed in with ground up meat. It was a nasty way to go. But instead of burying it and letting it go, she kept throwing the body in his yard so that his neighbors would know what he had done.”

“Why would he do something like that?”

“Her dog ate his pig.”

“The pig over there?” Vincent asked, pointing to half a stone pig laying in the display of “Life Among the People of Pompeii”.

“Yep. She sent the dog on the pig and when it killed it, she cut off the half that had been chewed and was going to butcher the other half when her neighbor found out.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“So what do we do?”

“First, get them separate cases. And then, get them to apologize.”

“And just how do we do that?”

“I have an idea” she said.

Later that night, after Vincent locked the doors to the museum, the woman waited in the Pompeii exhibit with a large paper bag. “Okay, now what?” Vincent asked.

“Dear sir” the woman said. “The woman in the case over there is sorry for stealing your pig and would like to make it up to you. So she asked me to give you this.” The woman produced a can of Spam from the bag. “Now I know it doesn’t look like the pig that you lost, but in a way it’s much better. It has already been slaughtered, so there’s no need to feed or clean up after it. And better yet, it’s already been butchered, cooked and taken off the bones. It’s filled with delicious spices and ready to eat right out of the can.” She then slipped the can of Spam into the case and under the body where no one would see it.

“Now madam” she said, walking across the room to the woman’s display. “That gentleman over there is sorry about how he treated your dog and would like to make amends.” She pulled out several dog biscuits and put them under the stone woman’s hand. “He now forgives you for stealing his pig.”

“Are we done?” Vincent asked.

“Not yet.” the woman said and headed to the case where the long separated couple was once again together. “I couldn’t find one in plaster or cement, but I thought that you might like this instead.” She pulled the last item from the bag and showed it to Vincent before putting it in the case. It was an eight inch stone phallus, clear quartz and in a state of erection. “If it’s only going to be for looks, it should be something worth looking at, don’t you think?”

“I think that I’m going to have to remove it during normal business hours.” Vincent said.

“I think that he can live with that -so to speak.”

“You never told me your name or how you figured this all out.”

“Oh” she said, blushing. “My name is Crystal. I’m a jeweler, and it really is the truth: if you listen to stones, they will tell you everything.”

“But the spirits of the dead are trapped in plaster...”

“It’s not much different than flesh, really. But they do tend to get a little more ‘hard headed’ with time.” With that Crystal and Vincent left the museum. There were fewer problems with the displays since her visit. The only problem being the sound of a dog whining when it appeared that its owner had run out of dog biscuits.