The center only opened on Saturdays, Sundays, and every second Thursday. During the summer, bus parties on very cheap tours would occasionally stop there. The money gained from their entry fees, along with what they spent on postcards, chocolate, and pictures of themselves dressed up in the Viking and Saxon costumes that Mr. Karloff had put together for the purpose, was just about enough to keep the center open.

But it was now winter, and only seven people had shown up that day. One of them was lost, two of them just wanted to use the bathroom, and the others were visiting Americans who asked some awkward questions about the cowboys and Indians fighting on the Saxon side. Mr. Karloff told them that they’d come over to help the Saxons when they heard about their trouble with the Vikings, and the Americans were happy enough with the answer, but it had been a hairy moment. Still, they had bought lots of postcards, and they got a kick out of dressing up as ancient warriors.

In his little office, Mr. Karloff counted up the day’s takings and put them in an envelope which he folded into his pocket. He would go to the bank with it on Monday once he had added whatever came in on Saturday and Sunday. He was about to turn off the lights when a loud knocking at the front door almost gave him a heart attack.

“We’re closed,” he shouted. “Come back on Saturday.”

He thought that he heard muttered words, and then the knocking came again.

“Oh, really!” said Mr. Karloff. “Some people have no manners.”

He popped his head round the doorframe.

“I said we’re closed. You’ll have to come back at the weekend.”

There was a full moon that night. It shone on the two small glass panels of the door, or would have if most of its light hadn’t been blocked by a huge shape holding a large stick. The figure’s head was slightly misshapen by what appeared to be a thick feather sticking out of its hair.

The knocking started a third time. It was clear from the movements of the figure that whoever was outside was using the stick to bang on the door. It was probably some young rascal making mischief. No decent, self-respecting person would go round banging on museum doors with a stick.

“He’ll have all the paint off, and I only gave it a new coat this summer!” said Mr. Karloff aloud. He spent so much time alone at the museum that he had grown used to having conversations with himself.

“Well, I won’t have it,” he continued as he marched to the door. “I simply won’t. Young people these days. There’s nothing wrong with them that a spell in the army wouldn’t cure.”

Mr. Karloff yanked open the door. His first thought was that perhaps a spell in the army wouldn’t solve this chap’s problems at all because joining the army was probably what had caused his problems to begin with. Those problems included, but were not limited to, having: