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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Weird-Suggestion-152 on 2024-09-20 12:09:06+00:00.
There were three of us: me, Jay, and Mike. We’d been friends since we were kids, the kind of bond you don’t break, even when life starts pulling you in different directions. College had done that to us, but now, standing on the edge of graduation, we figured there was time for one last road trip before the “real world” got its claws into us. I had the idea, just load up in Mike’s beat-up old Subaru and drive. No destination in mind, no agenda. Just go. One last adventure.
We packed light, mostly energy drinks and snacks, and left early that Saturday morning. Jay rode shotgun, messing with the radio as I sprawled out in the back, watching the landscape blur by. Mike was driving, he always drove. He was the calmest, most level-headed of the three of us. Jay was more impulsive, and was always hyped about something, whether it was the next party or his latest failed scheme. Me? I was just happy to be along for the ride. It had always been like that.
A few hours in, we left behind the more familiar towns, and the roads got lonelier. The kind of highways that stretched on forever, surrounded by flat, endless fields and the occasional abandoned house. We passed towns so small you’d miss them if you blinked. Jay kept joking about how this was the kind of place where people go missing. “Where serial killers bury the bodies,” he said, laughing. At the time, we all did.
But by the time the sun started dipping low, the excitement had faded, and boredom set in. We’d been driving for hours, and the road ahead didn’t look any more exciting than the miles behind us. Mike suggested stopping for the night. We hadn’t seen a motel or even a gas station for at least an hour, but we decided to push through the next 50 miles to the next town.
Then, we saw it. A small, weathered billboard on the side of the road. It read, “Mr. McGuire’s House of Oddities – 2 miles ahead.”
“House of Oddities?” Jay leaned forward, squinting at the sign. “What, like a Ripley’s Believe It or Not?”
“Seems like it,” Mike said. “Want to check it out?”
“Hell yeah!” Jay grinned. “I mean, this kind of stuff is why we’re out here, right?”
I shrugged. “Why not?”
A couple of miles later, we saw it. A squat, old building that looked more like a run-down farmhouse than a museum. The paint was peeling, and the yard was overgrown with weeds and odd sculptures—twisted metal things that didn’t make much sense. A faded wooden sign hung above the door: Mr. McGuire’s House of Oddities.
“Looks…interesting,” I muttered, climbing out of the car.
“Looks like a horror movie waiting to happen,” Jay added with a smirk. “But fuck it, let’s go.”
Mike chuckled, locking the car as we headed for the entrance. I slowly opened the front door, unsure of whether the place was actually still open. An old brass bell rang with the swinging of the door, and, there he was—Mr. McGuire.
He was…something else. Short, maybe five foot four, with a wild mop of silver hair that stuck out in every direction. His eyes were too wide, and his grin stretched across his face like it had been painted on. He wore a faded purple vest over a yellow shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing skinny, wiry arms. He looked like a carnival barker who had seen better days, and had one too many cups of coffee.
“Ah! Visitors!” he exclaimed, his voice high-pitched and sing-songy. “Welcome, welcome! Come in, come in! Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve had guests. You’ll love it here, yes you will, yes you will!”
We exchanged glances, half-laughing at the guy, but followed him inside. The interior was dimly lit, with a strange, musty smell that hit me the second we crossed the threshold. Shelves lined the walls, filled with bizarre knickknacks and trinkets, things I couldn’t even begin to describe. Weird animal bones, dolls with too many eyes, jars filled with murky liquids that sloshed as we passed.
Mr. McGuire danced around the room, pointing things out with an almost manic glee.
“This, oh this, is the skull of a two-headed calf born in 1912!” he chirped, holding up a bleached white skull with a grin. “And over here, ah yes, the hand of a mummified man—some say he was a sorcerer, yes indeed, yes indeed!”
Jay leaned in close to me and whispered, “This dude is insane.”
“Yeah,” I muttered back, but there was something about the place—something unsettling that I couldn’t shake. The way the shadows seemed to cling to the corners, the faint smell of decay beneath the mustiness.
“And here,” McGuire’s voice pulled me back, “oh, this is a rare find indeed! The preserved heart of a witch, still beating to this day!”
I glanced at the jar he held. Sure enough, the dark, shriveled lump inside was pulsing, faintly, but undeniably. I took a step back, my skin crawling.
Mike, though, seemed fascinated. “How do you do that? I mean, it’s got to be a trick, right?”
Mr. McGuire’s grin widened. “Oh, there are many tricks here, my boy. Many secrets. Some things are best left a mystery, wouldn’t you agree?”
Mike nodded, but I could see the uncertainty creeping into his expression. Jay, on the other hand, was already bored. “Alright, cool stuff, man. What else you got?”
“Oh, there’s so much more!” McGuire practically bounced on his feet. “Follow me, follow me, this is just the beginning!”
He led us deeper into the museum, through narrow hallways lined with grotesque taxidermy—creatures that looked like they’d been stitched together from nightmares. A fox with human eyes, a bird with too many wings, a snake with the head of a cat. Jay laughed it off, but I could tell even he was getting creeped out.
Jay stayed close to McGuire, asking questions about the exhibits, fascinated by every macabre detail. I hung back, keeping my distance. Something about the air felt thick, oppressive. I started to feel like we shouldn’t have come here.
We rounded a corner into another room, and that’s when I noticed something strange—Mike wasn’t with us anymore.
“Where’s Mike?” I asked, glancing around.
Jay frowned. “I don’t know man, he was just behind us.”
McGuire’s grin didn’t falter. “Oh, don’t worry! He must have wandered off to explore. Happens all the time. People get lost in the wonders of this place.”
“Yeah, but—” I started, but McGuire was already moving again, leading Jay deeper into the labyrinth.
My gut twisted. Something wasn’t right. I turned back, calling Mike’s name. No response. I retraced my steps, walking back through the narrow halls, past the grotesque creatures and jars of preserved organs, but Mike was nowhere to be found.
“Mike?!” I called louder, panic creeping into my voice. The air felt thicker now, harder to breathe, the musty smell started to make me feel sick. I stumbled back into the room with the heart in the jar, and my stomach lurched—the heart wasn’t beating anymore. It was still, lifeless.
I bolted back to Jay and McGuire, who were now in some kind of workshop. The walls were lined with tools—saws, scalpels, things I didn’t want to think about. Jay was staring at something on the table - “what the hell is that freakin’ thing”, Jay asked McGuire as I approached.
“Jay, we need to go,” I said, grabbing his arm.
He didn’t move. Just stood there, eyes growing wide, staring at what I now saw was a human skull. But it wasn’t just any skull—it looked fresh. Too fresh. The flesh still clung to the bone in some places, and the eyes… God, the eyes were still in their sockets, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
“Jay, we need to go, now!” I pulled harder, and he finally snapped out of it, nodding quickly.
“Y-yeah, yeah, let’s go.”
But as we turned to leave, Mr. McGuire was standing in the doorway, his grin wider than ever.
“Oh, you can’t leave yet boys,” he said, his voice sickly sweet. “The tour’s not over.”
I glanced at Jay, who was trembling now. “What did you do with Mike?” I demanded.
McGuire’s smile faltered, just for a second. “He’s…around. Everyone finds their place here eventually.”
I didn’t wait for him to say more. I shoved past him, dragging Jay behind me, and bolted for the front door. The museum felt like it had grown, the hallways twisting in ways I didn’t remember. Every corner led to another room, another grotesque display. I could hear McGuire behind us, his footsteps light but relentless, his voice echoing through the halls, singing some twisted, cheerful tune.
We ran faster, my heart pounding in my chest, lungs burning. But every door we found was locked, every window barred. The walls seemed to close in around us, and the whole place felt suffocating.
And then, we saw it—the exit. The door we’d come through. I threw myself at it, turning the knob, praying it wasn’t locked. It wasn’t.
We burst through, gasping for air as we stumbled outside. It was completely dark outside now, and the twisted sculptures in the yard seemed to loom over us, their shapes looking even more menacing in the moonlight.
We didn’t stop. We ran to the car, and I glanced back at the house. The door was still open, and I could see McGuire standing there, his grin visible even from a distance. “Fuck! Jay… Mike... has the keys!” We didn’t hesitate. We ran until our legs were spaghetti and our lungs screamed. I’m not sure how long we ran. When we were sure we were safe, we collapsed, exhausted. It felt like a miracle when a truck stopped, and let us hitch a ride to the next town over.
We spent the next few hours in silence, neither of us knowing what to say, not making sense of...
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