Free Curioddity by Paul Jenkins

Wil could have sworn he noticed the nearest wooden crate move once again but he was too busy watching Mary Gold On Ice to pay any particular attention.
    â€œI’m sorry I had to pop off for a few moments, Wil,” said Mr. Dinsdale. “I was just putting Mozart’s First Clonecerto back in its case. I’d like to show you around the place, if you’re amenable, so that you can get the lay of the land.”
    â€œIs she always that friendly?” asked Wil, nodding his head in the direction of Mary Gold, who was now gliding from the back to the front of the main desk and yelling “Don’t come back anytime soon!” in body language.
    â€œOh no,” replied Dinsdale. “Mary generally isn’t too friendly with new arrivals. I don’t know what you said but it must have been very charming, you sly dog.”
    â€œMaybe she felt sorry for me because I was confused,” mused Wil, meaning every word of it. “I’m just glad I didn’t get my throat ripped out. You show any sign of weakness to someone like that and you’re lunch meat.”
    â€œYes, that’s about it!” said Mr. Dinsdale, chuckling. “Woman frightens the life out of me, too, but she’s a darn good typist! Come on!”
    With that, Mr. Dinsdale picked up his pace and bounced up the next flight of steps two at a time. Wil followed suit and found himself slightly breathless on the upper landing of the museum, staring down a wide corridor. On either side were empty glass cases and more wooden crates, suggesting that someone was in the middle of setting up a new exhibit. Out of the corner of his eye, Wil noticed one of the wooden crates wobble slightly, like a Mexican jumping bean.
    â€œWhat’s inside the crates, if you don’t mind me asking?” Wil blurted out.
    The little curator stopped short for a moment. He seemed to find Wil’s question amusing. “What do you think is inside them? You’re entitled to one guess. There are no wrong answers.”
    â€œI don’t know. Every time I stare at one it stops moving and another one moves in the exact place I’m not looking. I feel like they’re all working together, or something. Are they remote controlled?”
    â€œI really wouldn’t be able to say. They were part of a large consignment that came in from Venezuela a few years ago. We decided not to open them up because they were so stupendously interesting just as they were. As a matter of fact, they work well as an exhibit. They help distract new visitors to the museum so that people can un-look properly at the items on display.”
    Wil and Mr. Dinsdale were now moving along the corridor, headed for one of the main upper display areas. Wil did his best to ignore the moving crates, and they did their best to distract him out of the corner of his eye. He stared ahead, fixated on the end of the hallway.
    â€œWhat did you mean by what you said outside?” Wil had been thinking of asking Mr. Dinsdale that question since the moment he’d entered the museum but he’d been distracted by some wooden crates, not to mention the combative Miss Gold.
    â€œI’m not sure what you mean,” replied Dinsdale as they entered the first display area, which looked suspiciously like a historical reenactment of Hideous Junkyards Across the Ages.
    Wil stopped abruptly, forcing the old man to stop, too. He wasn’t going to proceed unless he had his question answered with the due care and attention it deserved. “‘Your eyes only see what your mind lets you believe,’” Wil said, refusing to allow Mr. Dinsdale to ignore the question or wander away from the moment. “Where did you get that from?”
    â€œDid I say that?” replied Dinsdale. Like all older men, he possessed somewhat of a twinkle in his rheumy old eyes, and Wil could not be sure if that twinkle was intentional at this very moment. “Well, that was