New York, Manhattan, Fifth Avenue.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art looked solemn and majestic under the late-night moonlight.
This temple, which housed the crystallized achievements of five thousand years of human civilization, was currently immersed in a deathly silence.
“Dammit, why is the air conditioning in this ghost place so cold at night?” Jerry, a security guard, tightened his uniform and complained irritably, clutching his flashlight.
“Stop complaining, Jerry.
Think about the paycheck.
This is the easiest job in all of New York.” His partner, Tom, walked ahead, the beam of his flashlight sweeping over ancient sculptures and oil paintings.
“Besides, it’s just us here at night.
No one’s going to bother you while you enjoy these priceless works of art.” “Enjoy?
Please.” Jerry snorted in disdain.
“What’s so great about these stone people with broken arms?
I’d rather be at home watching soap operas.” The two chatted as they patrolled toward the Contemporary Art Wing.
On display here were various baffling pieces of modern art—twisted metal, canvases splattered with paint, and…
“Hey, Tom, look at that.” Jerry suddenly stopped, his flashlight beam freezing on a corner at the end of the corridor.
“What the hell is that thing?
Was that there when we patrolled yesterday?” Tom followed the beam of light.
Tucked abruptly into the snowy-white corner stood a strange statue.
It was about two meters tall, cast entirely from rough concrete, its surface haphazardly covered in low-quality yellow spray paint.
Its head was abnormally large, featuring an extremely crude, almost comical face painted in red—two dots for eyes, an arc for a mouth, and two patches of rouge for cheeks.
Its limbs were short and malformed, with two concrete pillars resembling arms hanging straight down at its sides.
“That’s hideous.” Tom frowned and stepped closer.
“This is probably some prank sneaked in by another so-called ‘avant-garde artist.’ Artists these days love pulling these stunts, calling it performance art when it’s really just littering.” “I agree.” Jerry followed him over and, with a look of disgust, poked the statue’s stomach with his nightstick.
*Thump, thump.* A dull echo.
It was solid concrete.
“This thing must weigh at least a hundred pounds.
How did they get it past security and in here?” Jerry wondered.
“Who knows?
Maybe it’s construction waste the janitors forgot to move.” Tom shrugged.
“Forget it.
Let the curator deal with the headache tomorrow morning.
Let’s head to the next floor.” The two stared at the statue for a moment, and after confirming it was just a lifeless object, they turned to leave.
The very moment their backs were turned.
*Bzzzt—* The old halogen lamp overhead suddenly flickered.
It was an extremely brief moment of darkness, lasting perhaps less than 0.1 seconds.
But when the light returned, an indescribable sense of wrongness instantly struck Jerry’s heart.
“Wait…
wait!” Jerry stopped abruptly, his voice trembling.
“Tom…
did you hear that?” “Hear what?” Tom looked back, bewildered.
“The sound of stone…
grinding.” Jerry slowly turned around, his flashlight beam hitting that corner once again.
In the next second, he felt his scalp go numb.
The yellow statue, which had been facing the corner with its back to them, had now turned around!
It was facing them directly, its comical face painted in red paint appearing incredibly sinister under the pale flashlight.
Moreover, it was at least two meters closer to them than it had been before!
“Who…
who did this?!” Jerry shouted in terror.
“Who’s pushing it?!” “Stop joking, Jerry!
It’s just us here!” Tom was also startled.
“Maybe you just remembered the position wrong?” “Impossible!
I swear it was in the corner!” Jerry stared deathly at the statue, cold sweat rolling down his forehead.
“Don’t move…
Tom, don’t move the flashlight!
Keep your eyes on it!” “Are you crazy?
It’s just a rock!” Tom thought Jerry was being overly sensitive.
He impatiently moved to check if there were wheels on the bottom of the statue.
“Dammit, my eyes are so dry…” Tom rubbed his stinging eyes and instinctively blinked.
In that single blink.
The grinding sound rang out again.
It was as fast as a gust of wind.
When Tom opened his eyes again, a magnified, graffiti-like red smile occupied his entire field of vision.
The statue was standing right in front of him, less than a centimeter from the tip of his nose.
A thick, metallic stench of blood hit him.
“Agh—!!” Tom let out a short scream.
*Snap!* The crisp sound of bone breaking echoed through the empty exhibition hall.
Tom’s head was snapped backward at a bizarre angle, and his entire body slumped limply to the floor.
“Tom!!!” Jerry, standing a few meters away, witnessed everything.
He hadn’t even seen how the statue moved; in the blink of an eye, his partner was dead!
Fear flooded over him like a tide.
He wanted to run, he wanted to scream, but his legs felt as heavy as lead.
He stared wide-eyed, glaring at the murderous statue inches away.
But in the next second.
Soreness and stinging forced his eyelids shut.
It was only a thousandth of a second.
Darkness fell.
*Snap!* The midnight museum returned to a deathly silence once more.
Only the two twisted corpses and the yellow statue standing quietly in a pool of blood remained, as if silently mocking the fragility of life.