I visited the Cloisters with my aunt today; it’s her first time.
We walk into this one gallery where there’s usually the most exquisite display. I’m not sure who they are and am feeling a bit sodding lazy, so here’s a picture instead of a description:
Well, today the ladies weren’t there. Just the one. We walk through the portal and I gasp loudly and cover my mouth in shock. A guard looks at me. “Where are they? The heads? The women?”
Apparently I’m chuckle-worthy and after pointing out a perfectly visible sign letting us know that two of them are traveling (why not, were I a bust I’d still want to travel), he does a sweep of the room and returns. Turns out he used to be a night guard.
“Ooh,” I say, since he’s brought up truly the coolest job outside my own, “do people get creeped out by all this living history all around them at night?”
“Nope,” he answers, dashing what another guard elsewhere has told me. “But some people do see things.”
“One guard thought she saw…a ghost.”
“Nice. In the Langon Chapel?” And I describe what I’D imagine there.
He looks at me a moment. “How do you know?”
Because I have all too vivid an imagination, I want to say, but don’t. Shortly after he walks away again, giving me an odd look. I spend the rest of our visit trying to look remarkably unsuspicious. 🙂