They listened to his garbled explanation, treated him kindly, and agreed that a different career might suit his temperament. The day staff found him there in the morning, deeply asleep and covered in dust. Scattering lay on the floor in the dark, unable to move, expecting at any moment to be torn apart by the phantoms bubbling up from his imagination. He went over backwards and the expanding cloud passing overhead crashed into the shelves on the other side of the room, which were demolished. It seemed to him to happen in slow motion, bits of pottery and statues spreading out as they drifted towards him. 'Look, I don't want to have to come in there and get you!' said Scattering with heartfelt accuracy.Īnd the shelves exploded. pottery?Ī rat, then, somewhere on the rear shelves? Rats didn't sob, did they? Museums don't like things to be thrown away, in case they turn out to be very important later on.Īnother sob, and a sound like the scraping of. It was mostly just old shelves and drawers, full of the things that were almost, but very definitely not entirely, thrown away. He was in the basement, which was not among the most scary places on his round. The place was securely locked no one could get in. A faint sob is something you have to wait to hear again, because you can't be sure.

At least you are certain when you've heard a scream. It meant that he stood out.Īnd then he heard the sob. It was no use telling himself that everything in here was dead. It occurred to new employee Rudolph Scattering about once every minute that on the whole it might have been a good idea to tell the Curator about his nyctophobia, his fear of strange noises and, he now knew, his fear of absolutely every thing he could see (and, come to that, not see), hear, smell and feel crawling up his back during the endless hours on guard during the night. It was midnight in Ankh-Morpork's Royal Art Museum. The chant of the goddess Pedestriana is a parody of the wonderful poem 'Brahma' by Ralph Waldo Emerson, but of course you knew that anyway. And to Colin Smythe for his encouragement. This book is dedicated to Rob Wilkins, who typed most of it and had the good sense to laugh occasionally.

Unseen academicals by terry pratchett