The wax museum was even scarier in person, if that's possible. Not that Ms. Dakin's description is not vivid enough; believe me, it was. However, if you were in a supposedly "haunted" museum in the middle of the night – not to mention the bizarre wax statues – you'd probably be a little spooked too. And why would a sixteen year old girl be hiding around a wax museum on a Friday night in the first place? Shouldn't she be painting her nails at home, surrounded by her three closest friends, talking about how great Travis Bollani looks in a lab coat? Never mind. Based on the thirty-seven missed calls on my phone, it's not all made of wax. at the Carmel Wax Museum. “Have you heard the story?” asked Wesley Conrad as we squeezed through the gap between the rusty fence and entered the museum. “Harper Fischer was shot and killed here during an armed robbery. » I looked at him carefully. "What? How do you know?" "It was all over the ten o'clock news." He moved like a shadow, his gray eyes scanning the empty parking lot. His oily blond hair hung limply around his bony shoulders , moving with each jerk of the neck He looked like a scarecrow: straw hair and timid eyes I didn't speculate about the possibility of being shot tonight; we didn't have time to think about it. We found the rose bush exactly where Mrs. Dakin told us. I dug my hands into the dirt and dug. Even though it had been years, the box was still in its resting place. t wasn't my first request to save money. I was about to pull the box out of the ground, but the sound of twigs snapping behind me stopped me in my tracks. "Charlie McKenna? landed on a cheerful redhead with a matching smile. "Excuse me, are you Charlie McKenna?" she asked me a second time... middle of paper...... Unable to hear. the ghost, another shot was fired and Mrs. Dakin screamed in pain. My heart leapt and Wes and I exchanged glances. The ghost, who was completely bald except for a few hairs on the top of his head, looked at Mrs. Dakin. “You asked him to take my savings, you have no rights. And for that, I will haunt you until you tell me where she is. He smiled, revealing craggy black stumps for teeth. Wes grabbed a nearby wooden plank and slipped behind the shooter. He heard the heartbreaking crack and waited for the gunman to collapse. The gunman turned and stared at Wes for a moment before the slightest smile broke his ice-hard expression. He took the tin box from her hands. “It belongs to me.” Looking from a distance, I saw the shooter pointing the gun between his eyes. The gunshot light went on and he disappeared. But not for long.