The Special Exhibit

It was the opening day of Midoriko’s own curated exhibit at the museum. She paced around the exhibit, giving everything a final look for her own peace of mind before it opened to the public. While she was passionate about everything on display–all of it carefully hand-picked by Midoriko herself–the crown jewel of her exhibit was the cursed kīla.

The special exhibit, naturally, was centered around cursed objects and their folklore. While there were a handful of items from the National Museum of Ethnology’s own Collection, most items were on loan from elsewhere. Everything there had a story to tell. There were demon blades, dolls, as well as a variety of antiques and historical artifacts. Besides a standard dissertation, this was the culmination of Midoriko’s tireless research to obtain her doctoral degree in anthropology.

It was because of Midoriko’s unique ability that she was drawn to the concept of curses. She had discovered it by accident in elementary school. There was a rumor going around her school of a cursed desk, which went that anyone who sat at that specific desk would fail every exam, no matter how hard they studied. It didn’t matter if the desk moved around the classroom or moved classrooms completely–the curse followed that desk.

When Midoriko first encountered the desk in the third grade, she noticed that it gave off an ominous aura. Being near it made her sick to her stomach, and it seemed to give off a rotting odor that only she could smell. One day, her classmates had switched her normal desk with the cursed one as a form of bullying. She dreaded sitting there, but when the teacher forced her to sit down, it all went away as soon as her hands touched it.

Of course, no one believed her when she told them. Kids being kids, her peers instead chose to avoid Midoriko for the crime of being “creepy.” Midoriko quickly learned her gift was a thankless one and kept it to herself.

It had been a few months since the museum had received the kīla, and Midoriko still found herself continually drawn to it. It was unlike any cursed object she’d ever encountered before. Even now, after frequent handling, it still radiated its mysterious aura as evidenced by the light-distorting halo only Midoriko could see. It was clearly a powerful object, but signs of a curse had yet to manifest.

She and others took special care in handling the lacquered box, so there was no “curse” of illness. There had been no incidents, accidents, or disasters of any kind to speak of. So what was the nature of this glow?

That question would have to go unanswered for the time being as museum visitors trickled into the exhibit. Midoriko tore herself away from the kīla and lightly tapped her cheeks a couple of times to calm her nerves.

For the next seven hours, she would be giving a lecture on the exhibit and her research once an hour. There was no time for distractions.

***

Midoriko was more than halfway through the day, and her confidence in public speaking was only growing. She’d repeated her lecture so many times by that point that she’d memorized it completely. Every hour, museum patrons would gather and listen with great interest as she spoke. Her heart swelled every time someone engaged with her and asked questions.

So why was it now that someone was rolling their eyes and scoffing at her words?

“...A-and so you see across cultures, that the…um the power of a curse is in direct correlation with the um belief of that curse…” Midoriko’s voice wavered as she once again watched the man standing at the back of the crowd roll his eyes and smirk.

She tried not to look at him, but it was difficult not to.

Not only was he standing in her direct line of sight, he was also taller than most patrons. His shaggy, messy hairstyle seemed completely mismatched to the rest of his appearance–holding a fancy cane, wearing a three-piece suit, and handsome. In fact, he was so handsome that his behavior was all the more irritating to Midoriko.

Midoriko cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses before resuming her lecture.

“S-sometimes a curse can have a scientific explanation,” she said, averting her eyes from the handsome bastard who cocked his head and pouted mockingly at this portion of the lecture.

“For example, many of the archeologists who opened King Tut’s tomb succumbed to what they believed to be a curse. We know now that their illnesses can be explained by things like malaria and exposure to toxic gases that had built up in the burial chamber over millennia.”

She heard a snicker from the crowd. Her head snapped toward the sound to find that man masking his laughter with a cough. Her eye twitched. If you’re sooo bored and uninterested, you can just leave!!

Midoriko took a deep breath to regain her composure before continuing.

“This exhibit includes an artifact with a similar story,” she said, gesturing to the display case holding the kīla. “This is a Buddhist ceremonial dagger. It’s believed to be cursed because at the temple where it came from, many of the monks became extremely ill after coming into contact with it.”

She glanced over at the overdressed heckler, expecting him to have his full disinterest on display once again, only to find him staring intently at the kīla. Midoriko was slightly rattled by his sudden interest, but pressed on with her lecture nonetheless.

“As you can see inside the case, there is a lacquered box with it. This artifact was found inside the box and kept with it at the temple. Every monk who became ill had handled the kīla with the box.” Midoriko’s gaze swept over the crowd. People looked between the display and her, hanging on her every word. “Now, can anyone guess what it is about these objects that might have made people ill?”

She looked at the man in the suit again, thinking that surely an arrogant bastard like him would be eager to answer such an obvious question. But he just continued looking at the kīla with a smile on his face.

“Is it because of lead paint?” a patron asked, snapping Midoriko’s attention away from the man.

“Oh! Um…That’s close! The vermillion pigments were actually produced with cinnabar, which contains mercury. Though lead-based pigments were also likely used,” Midoriko explained.

“So the dagger isn’t cursed?” asked a young boy.

Midoriko’s heart swelled. More than anything, she loved it when children engaged with the exhibit by asking questions like that. She crouched down to meet the child’s eyes.

“Well, that’s the thing,” Midoriko said with a soft smile. “As much as it is true that the toxic paint on the box holding the dagger can make people sick, to the monks who experienced it, that sickness is the curse. They truly believe in it.”

“Will I get sick too?” the boy asked, hugging his father’s leg.

“Nope!” she replied brightly. Midoriko stood up and put her hand on the glass case. “This will protect all of us.”

The boy’s fear seemed to evaporate slightly, but Midoriko could tell that just a little more reassurance would do the trick.

“You can trust me on this. I touched everything in here, and I’m doing just fine,” she said with a wink. Midoriko leaned over and, in a low voice, added one last thing. “Just between you and me, I can cleanse curses. So I made sure everything in here is actually curse-free.”

“Pfft!”

Midoriko’s head instantly looked up at the sound. Suit Man had audibly laughed at her.

She tried desperately to keep her composure as the boy’s father thanked her for her time, but when they were out of earshot, she decided it was time to unload on this rude patron.

“Excuse me, sir, but I couldn’t help but notice you seem to have an issue with the exhibit. I am the curator, so I can certainly answer questions you may have or help you…” Midoriko said in her best customer service voice.

He cast her a quick but indifferent glance before moving away to look at the other items on display. Midoriko followed. She wasn’t done yet.

“I apologize if this exhibit is not to your liking. Perhaps you might have a better time looking at the other exhibits in this museum,” she whispered sharply. The man leisurely looked around, clearly ignoring her.

As he stood in front of an unenclosed suit of samurai armor on display, he leaned in closely with his body bent at a near forty-five-degree angle over the velvet ropes. Close enough that he was in danger of triggering the alarm.

“Ah! Sir! You can’t do that!” Midoriko raised her voice as she tried to gently guide him away from the display. The man just cocked his head to the side and smiled.

Now that she was up close, not only could she smell his strong cologne, but Midoriko could really take in the man’s beautiful features. The way his eyes angled slightly upward at the ends, his well-defined nose, smooth and unblemished skin with two moles near his right eye and one on his chin. How infuriating…

“Very excuse me! I don’t understand it. Please repeat slowly,” he said in broken Japanese.

HUH?!

Midoriko was dumbfounded. Hadn’t this man been listening to her lecture and reacting to it? Was she mistaken? Had she just assumed that this man was Japanese because he was Asian?

“Ah…Um…” she stammered, trying to hide her creeping embarrassment. Her spoken English wasn’t the strongest, but perhaps she could get through to him that way. “I’m very sorry, Mister…Sir. But you…um…do not stand so close to samurai! It’s very dangerous!”

The man furrowed his brow and covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his amusement. After he cleared his throat, he finally spoke.

“Ты выглядишь как дурак.”

RUSSIAN?!

Midoriko’s brain short-circuited. Russian was the last thing she expected out of this man’s mouth. The man chuckled softly as he nodded his head and walked away from Midoriko.

She retreated to a corner of the room and watched him take his time looking over everything on display. Midoriko furrowed her brows as she saw him touch and tap the glass display cases.

He’s wearing gloves…

He was definitely pretending not to understand her before. She motioned over a museum security guard.

“Could you please keep an eye on that man? He’s very suspicious,” Midoriko said, pointing the man out to the security guard.

“Hm? Who? The foreigner?” asked the security guard.

“Foreigner…?” Midoriko looked around the room, scanning the faces of all the patrons. They all appeared to be Japanese. Once again, she pointed at the man in the three-piece suit and gloves, walking around with a cane. “I mean that weirdo.”

“Seriously?” The guard chuckled. “Sure, he’s dressed up a little fancy, but he’s just an elderly foreigner. What could he even do?”

He certainly was not elderly! He didn’t even look middle-aged! While he was taller than most Japanese people, the man had black hair and black eyes with monolids–immediately clocking him as a foreigner was a stretch.

An elderly foreigner…? Just what exactly did he look like to other people? But before Midoriko could press the security guard on his description, he walked away, shaking his head.

She looked back at the man, who was now looking over the kīla again with an expression that looked almost like longing. Midoriko got goosebumps.

This man was beyond suspicious. He was dangerous.