When the Museum of Mysteries opened up in our town, we were very excited. True to its name, not much was known about the project, nobody knew who was behind it or what it would house. But one day someone anonymously purchased the plot, and hired contractors (who each claimed to know nothing about the people behind the project), and in just a year a huge sprawling complex opened up.
The first day there was a line out the door, around the block, over a bridge, and through a local cemetery. Everyone wanted to see what mysteries were housed in the Museum of Mysteries. And when we went through, our every dream was fulfilled. Every mystery we had ever been faced with – lost things, lost friendship, lost cities and fountains and ships and presidents – had been answered. But when we left the gates of the museum, when we collected our coats and walked through the turnstiles, we found that everything we’d learned stayed behind. The mysteries would need to stay in the museum.
The museum was open for exactly one day, before a “closed” sign was placed over the entrance and thick padlocks placed over the door handles. Then three days later it burned to the ground in a quick growing fire, leaving a blacked crater in the middle of our city and all of our mysteries plus one intact.
Written on 2/27/16 at the Museum of Play for a boy who wanted a mystery.