The Terror Museum

On a blank stretch of brick wall, at some point between where Greenwich Village meets Gramercy and East Village, you can sometimes find cemented steps leading up to two large black doors. On a golden ornament-label to the right of these doors you will find the title by which this establishment goes by. That title being ‘The B. Rorret Museum of Historical Antiquities’. 

Behind those doors there exists an anomaly of a most horrific nature. There, closed in and tucked away from the world, lies eldritch horrors from the old world, the cosmic ethos and the mythical past. These are the tales that make up the legend of The B. Rorret Museum, or as most unfortunate-souls call it, ‘The Terror Museum’.

Founded on February 16th, 1506 by Junior-Duke Balthazar DeEmulous Le’ Atticus Rorret of Centre, France, the Rorret Museum served as an establishment of bizarre and monstrous wonder. Originally only being accessible by members of high society, as the museum, itself, moved through the centuries and change locations around the globe, more and more the accessibility of the establishment shifted until all were allowed to enter it’s doors. Much of the museum’s past documented history from the 1500s to the 1900s has remained elusive and not much else is know about the continuously shifting compound.

In the rare writings of philosophers and noblemen alike, who had been graced with the ability to stand witness to the structure’s contents, no specific details are given as to the items displayed within the museum. Each documented encounter appears to be fabricated, showing a similar degree of explanatory style that differs from any of those philosopher's or noblemen’s previous scripts. The amount of halls, dorms, rooms, displays, exhibits, features and chambers contained within the museum has never been known, as the exact area of ground the establishment covers is supposed to be ever-changing.

It is speculated that no person, for however long they’d spend venturing the Rorret Museum, would ever explore the building unto it’s entirety. It has been gathered that areas of the museum remain frequently cut off due to construction or renovation of exhibits that have been documented to have lasted centuries before completion. The exact names of those exhibits are unknown, as is the current status of their standing in the museum.

The only thing more queer about the faint history of the museum itself is the strange slur of speculation that surrounds its founder, Balthazar Rorret. According to all research, and historical findings, there has never been any documentation of a Junior-Duke by the name of Balthazar Rorret serving a title in Centre, France in 1506. The duke does not appear in any records of French hierarchy, and furthermore, as the years seems to pass there appears to be a decline in accessible files that hold any proof of the museum, or its founder’s, existence.

So now it floats into legend as all the spawn of the spiraling stratosphere often do, becoming myth until its eventual arrival back within the precipice of mankind’s wondering eye.

Upon entering the large black double-doors of the museum you will first be met with a large room, predominantly constructed of wood and shaped in a cylinder-like shape, connecting to other cylinder like rooms. In the first room there sits a desk, and behind it sits the museum’s headmistress and caretaker, Miss Madam Paura; A descendant of the magnificent Balthazar Rorret. She sits in control over visitor access to the exhibits, oversees all issues involving the establishment and lastly, stands in as the current manager of the museum.

She has long black hair and pale skin and red lips, appearing far too doll-like to be human. She is mostly quiet, practically able to speak with her wide black eyes that appear green in candlelight. Under her command are the three groundsmen; The three brothers, Spavento, Spettro and Spaventare.

They handle to set-up and construction of the exhibits, as well as the museum’s upkeep. The brothers all appear just slightly different from one another, all of them with sickly green skin and and darker green hair. Working well together, they are marvelous servants and are self-proclaimed to have been working under Miss Paura for as long as they can remember. 

Wandering the halls of the museum, these four would more commonly be seen snooping around the blocked-off areas of the museum, or tucking away precious objects which they fear will be stolen. The many other residence who work for the B. Rorret Museum of Historical Antiquities stick to their respective sections of the compound. That being food service, directory or tour-grouping.

They are referred to as residence as every employee of Miss Madam Paura lives within the museum’s sectioned-off living quarters. The other employees who are rarely seen don’t make many debuts to the common one-time visitor of the museum. To a ‘museum regular’ these other employees will certainly show a sense of attachment, perhaps even under an obsession-esque light.

While the three brothers can be seen running about the building, Paura can most often be found at the front desk or checking the museum’s inventory within the stealthily-hidden stockroom. A place where even the more unnatural of the museum’s specimens rest, unseen or unable to be seen. Through legend the contents of the Rorret Museum’s stock and storage rooms have become a wet-dream for thieves and treasure hunters worldwide.

Past the cylinder-like rooms there are small halls, unmarked, that follow through inner-foyers complete with grand staircases. These flow up unto balconies where exhibits, doors, openings and chambers vastly stretch out in a variety of directions. The largest and most suggestively-fascinating of these openings lies in a rounded-room foyer connecting to seven particular halls that share no interwoven connection through the building.

This section dubbed, ‘The Seven Halls’ consists of The Reficul Hall, The Nommam Hall, The Suedomsa Hall, The Nahtaivel Hall, The Bubezleeb Hall, The Natas Hall and The Rogehpleb Hall. These serve as the main traveling pathways amidst the deepest bowls of the museum. It is assured by Miss Paura, as it was assured by Balthazar before her, that these halls contain the true magic of the B. Rorret Museum and are not to be viewed by those with the faint of heart.

‘The Hall of History, A Horrifying View Into The Possible Past, Present And Future Of All And Everything’ serves as just one example as to the horrors the museum can offer. All visitors are warned to not spend too much time in this hall, as people have often gone missing within it; Pulled into a place between time and space, where the unfathomable has become the norm. Not that many people would believe it, but each exhibit in The Hall of History is represented by a large black slab of glass upon a black wall.

The only light that comes through this labyrinth of black hallways comes from the glass slabs themselves. Each one plays a picture of possible events, to come or that have passed. These events range from global-crisis to personal horrors the lone visitors face, reflecting the distain in their lives.

The glass contains a strip of a world so close, closed off by a sheer thin sheet of a reflective enigma. Sometimes its almost like the ‘things’ on the other side of the glass can see the viewer, as if their really there. As if the exhibit isn’t an exhibit at all, but merely a tear in spacetime and a window into alternate dimensions where the essence of these worlds are considered horrific to the viewer of this one.

The labels beneath display the names of the events that play out before the visitor. Like animatronics, but animatronics that are too real, even for the greatest creators of special effects. An example of this would be strolling up to a glassed-in exhibit entitled ‘Aliens Take Earth: 2024’ and watching through a large window, that seems to be enterable should you shatter it, ships from space demolish humankind as women and children are gunned down by laser fire.

As a man, screaming and bloodied runs up to the glass in front of you, screaming and crying for you to crack the exhibit and let him in; Let him into your world. Away from the fate which befalls him as a species of space-creature creeps up behind him and mutilates him before you. All the while you can’t help but feel it was all too real as the alien peers at you with hate filled eyes and indifference.

And no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t break the glass, no matter what. How about an exhibit entitled ‘Clown Earth: 2016’. A world where murderous clowns rein supreme, as the planet is taken over by blood-thirsty painted freaks and only coulrophobes inherent the earth, just to be continuously killed off before the eyes of the viewer.

How about having a front seat view to an exhibit labeled ‘Undead World: 1966’ and being witness to hordes of the reanimated ravish the earth as you witness only the most disturbing of sights. A place where it matters not if the plague was brought on by gods, or chemicals or the sheer uprising of hell. Visitors are asked to view only one or two glassed exhibits in The Hall of History, for their essence eats sanity.

Before long the worlds contained within the displays draw you closer, pulling you in until you are lost. It is a soul-grabber which traps you and ensnares your consciousness, pulling you into an unfortunate past, present or future and with no way to return. All that is known is that this hall is a hub to the parallel worlds that stand opposite to ours.

Each slab of glass is a petrified glimpse into an actual alternate reality. Even to the caretakers of the museum it is unknown how many visitors went missing and continue to disappear in The Hall of History. Most witnesses just find it fortunate enough that we’re the ones standing on the viewing side of that glass.

Since the hall’s new redesign it has now been appropriately dubbed ‘The Hall of Alternate Histories’. The dangers of the hall still remain, though the number of missing persons seems to be dwindling on a monthly basis. This is good.

Other halls offer a variety of horrors that include displays of living, carnivorous, acid-spitting, needle-shooting, hypnotic plant life, most comply found in ‘The Chamber of Nature’s Cruelest Creations’. This hall is one that the museum’s tour groups don’t usually pass.

The greatest tour-giver in the most recent history of the museum has to be the monocled, top hat and inverness coat-wearing gentleman who goes by the title of ‘The Black Hatter’. Or ‘Hatter’ for short. He rushes the halls in a blazing horse-drawn carriage and offers tours in groups of up to four individuals as well as swift transportation around the museum.

He acts more lively apart from most of the museum’s employees, actually enjoying what he does and often aggravating the other staff members with his dangerous and close-call racing maneuvers around the corridors of the building.

Surprisingly there has never been any case of the Black Hatter or his carriage ever running down a single visitor. News which I’m sure upsets the other morbid members of the staff.

Signs along exits and entrances to rooms encourage visitors to call the front desk if they are in distress. This would be helpful, especially for a place of this misfortunate caliber, but alas, the second a phone enters the doors of the museum the phone loses all signal and becomes useless. As do a selective few other electronic devices that mostly concern contact with those outside of the museum.

The building has it’s own phone system. Free-to-use wall phones, that look like they’ve been modeled right out of the 1800’s, line every few corners of the building. Even through it’s transformation into the twenty fist century, the museum always has taken great care in the upkeep of it’s gothic-victorian look. The look of the museum stayed with people after they would return to the outside world. “That is, if they’re granted that luxury.” As the brothers used to say.