Breathing in Gallery Seven

That statue moved. I swear it moved. I've been a security guard at the Blackwood Museum for three

years. Never believed in the supernatural. Until last Tuesday. Two AM.

Empty halls. Then I heard them. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

Not mine. I followed the sound through the Egyptian wing. My flashlight barely

pierced the darkness. The footsteps stopped at Gallery Seven. There stood an ancient statue I'd passed

a thousand times. A woman carved from limestone. But something was different.

Her face. The expression had changed. Her eyes seemed focused.

Locked on me. And her mouth. It was curved into the faintest smile. I checked the security