 I never knew my mother. I was only eight months old when she died. Well, when she was murdered. I don't know much else about it. In fact, I didn't even know she was murdered until about two years ago when I was fifteen. You see, my dad doesn't like to talk about her at all. And so he never discussed why she was no longer with us. I've seen photos of her and so I know what she looks like, but I wasn't told much about her. I always thought that she died of a sickness or maybe in a freak accident, so I was very surprised when I found out that she'd been murdered. I wish that my father would talk about it more, though, because I want to know how it happened. I've heard a few rumors at school about how she died. I overheard one kid say that she was kidnapped and held for ransom before being killed when my dad didn't pay. Another kid told me that she was decapitated and her head was never found. So I really didn't know what to believe and I couldn't ask my dad to fill in the details. Ever since I found out about my mother's fate, however, I've become overly interested in true crime and I especially enjoy learning about unsolved mysteries. That's how I found out about the strange museum that suddenly appeared in my town. My friend Ellie had first told me about it. Have you seen that museum that opened in the old library? She asked me one day at lunchtime. I replied that I hadn't seen it and that I didn't know anything about it, so she went on to explain what it was. I heard that it was a museum that's all about famous murder cases and has a lot of exhibits that feature real crime scene photos and even a few items that were taken from murder sites. She explained, I'm going to go there on Saturday. Did you want to come? I thought about it for a moment, but then remember that I had planned to spend the day with my dad, so I had to tell her that I couldn't make it, which she seemed disappointed about. I thought about this museum for the rest of the school day, though, and I began to wonder what crimes would have exhibits. Maybe they'll have an exhibit for my mom, I thought. Maybe I could find out more about her murder. I thought long and hard about whether or not I should try and go to the museum. And finally, I decided I would go on Sunday. My dad was going out of town that day for work, so it was the perfect time. I spent the rest of the week leading up to Sunday, both excited and nervous. I was excited because I knew that I would find the museum very interesting, but nervous because I didn't know exactly what to expect. When Sunday finally rolled around, I was more excited than nervous. My dad left early on Sunday morning, so I knew I had most of the day to explore the mysterious museum without him seeing me there. I got up around 8.30, got dressed, and ready for the day. I then walked across town to where the library used to be. I soon arrived and saw that instead of the sign that used to read town library, there was now a sign that was freshly painted with the words, the murder museum. There was already a couple of people in line when I arrived, and so I stood behind them and waited my turn to enter the museum. In front of me was a large man that had a small tattoo of a bird on his cheek. He appeared to also be by himself, and it looked like he was quite excited to go in. He made it to the front of the line and bought a ticket and entered through the front door. It was now my turn, so I walked up to the little booth that had been set up and I approached the younger man sitting inside. The man selling the tickets was around 25, had long black hair, and a large smile that was filled with crooked yellow teeth. A ticket for one, please. I said to the young man and handed over a $10 note that I had gotten from my part-time job. The man took my money without saying anything and handed me a small paper ticket that read Admit One. He then pointed me to the direction of the front door and said, Enter at your own risk. I walked over to the main door, pushed it open, and stepped inside, not knowing what to expect. What I found inside was mostly old newspaper articles of old murders and old fading photos of what appeared to be crime scenes. They were all in glass displays, and the displays lined up in a row that led to another door. I looked through each newspaper article searching for any mention of my mother. Unfortunately, I couldn't find anything about her. Not even a mention of her name was present in any of the newspaper articles. I was disappointed, but I still found it fascinating reading about all the true crimes that had been committed. I read about Kevin Fuller, the killer who would hide his victim's bodies inside his own private jet, and I read about Terry Sturt, the man who murdered both of his closest friends. I probably spent an hour or so walking down the long line of displays that featured the newspaper articles. I finally made it to the end of the row of newspaper cuttings, and I found myself standing in front of a small black door. It was shut, but I had no other way to go but through it. I opened the door, which creaked, and I stepped through into the next room. This room had a lot more interesting items. They were displays of old clothing that, according to the small plaques underneath displays, were clothes that the victims were wearing when they were killed. There were also a few murder weapons that were there in small glass cases. There were a few knives, a couple handguns, and even a machete that apparently were used in various murders. I did find this interesting, but I found myself becoming a little bit overwhelmed. Thinking about all of the victims got me thinking about my own mother. I didn't spend too much longer in this room because I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I moved through the large number of display cases, trying to avoid looking at what was contained inside, and I moved to another door. This one was a bit larger than the previous, and it was painted a dark red color. I opened the door and stepped into the next room, worried about what I might find. I walked in, and the first thing I noticed was the large glass case that stood in front of me. Inside was a small car, a Volkswagen Golf, I think it was. I quickly read that this car was used to lure victims and then they would be killed inside of the car. I felt a chill run down my spine when I realized people were killed inside this car. I turned away, and that's when I saw it. The shrunken head. It was sitting in a small glass case across the other side of the room. I'd heard of shrunken heads before, and I'd seen a few photos of them, but I'd never seen one in real life. I excitedly walked over to it and had a look at the small shriveled head that was staring back at me. I looked at the head and had a sudden sense that I recognized it. I looked closer, and even though the head was a lot smaller than usual, shriveled and it was hard to make out any facial features, I could still tell exactly who this used to be. It was Ellie, my friend from school, who told me about the museum. I knew that she'd come here yesterday, and I hadn't spoken to her since, and I suddenly knew that something terrible had happened. I stood there frozen for a minute. I didn't know what to do. What had happened to Ellie yesterday at this museum? The same thing happened to me. I didn't even want to think about it. All I knew was that I had to get out of there. I began to run back the way I came and tried to open the dark red-colored door that I'd entered through. It was locked from this side. It was only open to people coming through, but you couldn't go back through it once you'd already entered. All I could do was keep on going through the museum. No one else was around, and I hadn't seen anyone for quite a while, which was strange, because there were definitely people lining up behind me. I knew that I had to continue, so I ran to the next door that was on the other side of the room, past the shrunken head. I didn't look at it as I ran past. I made it to the next door, a small green door. I opened it and went through. I could see that this room was empty, apart from rows of pots, all sitting on top of small portable gas stoves. I cautiously approached the first pot, and I had a look inside. I just had to know what was in there, and once I knew I really wish I hadn't, inside the pot, looking back at me, was another head that was boiling inside of it. I could already see that this head was slightly smaller than when I'd seen it last. It was the small bird tattoo on the head's face that made me realize who I was looking at. I knew that this man entered before me, and somehow his head was now getting boiled inside a pot, getting shrunk inside of a pot. Suddenly there was a noise behind me, and I saw a masked man walk out of the door that was hidden in the corner of this room. He was heading straight towards me, and he was holding a machete. I knew that it was now my turn to become just a head, just a shrunken head. I felt adrenaline racing through my body, and I began to sprint in the opposite direction of the man who was approaching me. I managed to run to the other side of the room, past the row of boiling pots. I saw that there was a small door on this side. But the man with the machete was close to reaching me now. I quickly turned the door knob and, luckily, it opened. I felt sunlight hit my face. I was outside. I started to run, and I kept running, trying to get back to the front of the library and then as far away as possible. I was still expecting the door I'd come through to swing open and the masked man to run out, but it never did. When I got back to the front, I saw that there was no lineup of people waiting to enter. I probably wouldn't have stopped to warn them, even if there was a line. I just knew that I needed to get as far away from this place as possible, and that's exactly what I did. I did go to the police about what I experienced, and they rushed down to the museum, just in case what I was saying was true. When the police arrived, the library was empty, everything was gone, the newspaper cuttings, the weapons, the car, and the shrunken head. I do not know where they all went, but all I know is that they have left my town. Ellie is still classified as missing, and the police say that no one knows what's happened to her.