I would say approximately 40% of the Wayside’s museums are really just warehouses full of highly specific junk. I suppose that’s probably true of museums in general, but your Smithsonians and your state museums put some effort into proper displays. I can be fooled into caring about half a ceramic bowl with a bronze placard and careful lighting. ‘The Museum of Retired Mascots’ is clearly uninterested in such frivolities. It’s dimly lit and dirty and something moves in my peripheries every time I lean in to read a sign.
‘Earlier editions of ‘Autumn by the Wayside’ neglected to include details regarding ‘The Museum of Retired Mascots’’ haunting. This is a regretful error. ‘The Museum of Retired Mascots,’ by its natural attributes, already very much met and exceeded the qualities necessary for inclusion in a guide such as this- it being a little known and highly niche collection of unique ephemera located off the interstate (so close, in fact, that the sound of semis on pavement is a constant inside). For this reason, it was the author’s decision to champion the spirit of ‘The Museum’ (and not the spirit, if you’ll pardon the humor).
But, the haunting of ‘The Museum of Retired Mascots,’ though incidental, is no less a part of the experience. And it has recently come to the attention of the author that there is no clear evidence that anybody has perished inside ‘The Museum’ (or on the surrounding property), suggesting that the ghost is not haunting ‘The Museum’ so much as it is haunting one of the costumes (inside of which, many deaths have occurred). It is with these considerations in mind, that the author, again, extends a heartfelt apology to those owners of previous editions who may have been, ah, taken by surprise.’
People like to speculate about which of the old mascot costumes is haunted. There are seven confirmed deaths within the costumes, all before they arrived at ‘The Museum’ (and nearly all of these deaths were the specific reason for mascot retirement). Four of the deaths occurred from heat stroke. One was an accident in a parade. One a shooting and one a stroke. That’s not to say there haven’t been others- the mascot costumes have been pulled from just about everywhere: high school and college football, local restaurant chains, failed children’s television shows.
It doesn’t help that ‘The Museum’ is not a pleasant place to be, even on a base level. There’s no climate control and it becomes an oven under even light sun. It smells like the sweat of the people who wore the costumes. Moths flutter out of eyeholes, ignoring sticky traps that are already furry with their dead.
And when, inevitably, one of the costumes shudders in the corner and begins to stalk toward me, I’ve already located the nearest exits and determined optimal escape routes- optimal, here, meaning those that won’t be pushing through more creepy costumes that may come alive at a moment’s notice. The ghost has chosen to mobilize some sort of mermaid thing with an unwieldy clam where its head should be and the stuttering movement makes the clam’s jaw clack open and closed. It hisses and whines and the air feels cooler moving around it which is, frankly, a relief from the heat.
With all the forewarning, I find myself in an awkward position: neither scared enough to run or confident enough to hold my ground. I consider that I might try to reason with the ghost- to convince it to cross over or at least become less hostile, but then I’ve always tried to take a ‘leave no trace’ philosophy into my work, and the ghost is a part of the ecosystem now, invasive or not.
When I do run, it feels a little like I’m putting on a show and the costume collapses behind me before I even reach the door. I worry that it knew my heart wasn’t really in it and immediately make it worse by faking a scream.
Outside, I breathe dust from the interstate and wonder if there’s any salvaging the situation. When I decide there isn’t, I get another call from the pit.
“How much longer do you have to keep doing this?”
-traveler
