Chapter 74 – The Wax Museum Story
In front of an old, weathered house.
Gideon stood across the street, eyes fixed on the building.
Vincent's confession had led him here without much difficulty.
"Trudy Wax Museum."
He murmured as his gaze fell on the worn signboard by the entrance.
The name stirred a memory. Gideon recalled that there were two films about a wax museum. The earlier one, from 1953, told the story of a struggling business: when the museum fell on hard times, a greedy partner torched the owner's prized collection for insurance money. That betrayal drove the original owner into madness, turning human bodies into wax figures.
But the people Gideon had encountered in Ambrose belonged to the newer tale—one from the early 21st century.
In that version, the museum's founders were the Sinclairs:
Trudy Sinclair, a gifted wax sculptor.
Victor Sinclair, her husband, a surgeon from the big city.
Outwardly, they claimed to have moved to Ambrose for "career opportunities."
But to anyone with sense, the story didn't add up. A big city offered more patients, better pay, and far greater recognition for an artist. Why abandon it all for a remote town with no modern equipment, where barely anyone cared for art?
No rational person would make such a choice—unless forced.
According to Vincent, there was another version of the truth. Dr. Sinclair had been caught doing illicit surgeries on the side. Exposed, his medical license was revoked. With his reputation in ruins, he had no choice but to flee to Ambrose with his wife.
For the first few years, life was peaceful enough. Waxwork enthusiasts traveled from afar to admire Trudy's art, and the couple built a quiet existence.
But everything changed when Trudy became pregnant.
When Dr. Sinclair delivered the child, his joy turned to horror—she had given birth to conjoined twins.
In those days, before modern acceptance and open-mindedness, such a birth was considered a shame upon the family name.
Driven by pride in his "Sinclair lineage" and confidence in his surgical skill, Dr. Sinclair attempted a secret separation.
The operation was, on the surface, a success. The twins were split apart, each granted a separate life. These were the brothers who would later be known as Vincent and Bo.
But the surgery was not without sacrifice. The fusion of their faces had been too severe. To save Vincent as the "whole" child, Dr. Sinclair sacrificed Bo's appearance.
That was why Bo's face was left mutilated.
What followed was tragically predictable.
As a wax artist, Trudy's obsession with perfection bordered on madness. She adored Vincent, the flawless one, while Bo endured relentless severity, discipline, and neglect.
Anyone who grew up in the East during the 1980s or 1990s would know this dynamic well—
Excessive indulgence and relentless suppression—neither is healthy for a child's growth.
Thus, it was inevitable: both Vincent and Bo grew twisted in mind and spirit.
Yet the brothers inherited Trudy's skill with waxwork. And when their parents eventually passed away, they carried on the "family legacy" in their own grotesque way—creating wax figures not from wax, but from human bodies.
The film's story barely mentioned Lester, which Gideon suspected was the director's forced addition—nothing more than a contrivance to leave a final "sequel hook" at the end of the horror.
In the original tale, the wax museum's weakness was fire.
With that in mind, Gideon quietly gathered flammable materials nearby. When he first arrived, he had already used [Ethereal Sight] to scan the entire house. The results were no surprise—resentment clung to the place like a fog. Entering rashly would be nothing short of suicide.
So Gideon chose to wait outside.
With the holy relics he had given them, Sadie and her companions should be able to resist Bo's psychic influence. And if the creature tried brute force, well… Sadie's fists were not made of dough—at least, assuming she hadn't been exaggerating her strength.
But as minutes stretched on, the house remained silent. Too silent. Something was wrong.
Gideon retrieved a monocular from his pack, picked up a few stones from the roadside, and flicked one at the window.
Crash.
The sound of shattering glass cut the night air, and the museum's interior came into view.
The first floor showed no obvious bloodstains—yet something caught his eye.
On the carpet lay an amulet. One of the holy charms he had given the three.
Carly and Wade had taken amulets, while Sadie carried a crucifix.
Seeing it, Gideon's lips twitched.
"Don't tell me… the iron law of horror films—dropping your one lifeline just before disaster strikes."
If that were true, then the three had likely run into serious trouble. Sadie might have been too sharp to make such a mistake herself, but in these kinds of cursed settings, once one person falters, the others inevitably get dragged down.
Pocketing his monocular, Gideon began setting wards around the perimeter of the house.
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Basement of the Wax Museum.
"Hah… haah…"
Sadie leaned against the wall, chest heaving. Blood streamed from a gash on her forehead, stinging her eyes. She dared not move recklessly—one hand wiped at the crimson trail, while the other clutched the crucifix tightly.
Opposite her, Carly and Wade advanced slowly, long knives in hand, eyes empty.
Not long ago, the three of them had reached the wax museum.
Thanks to Gideon's warning, they had known another enemy awaited inside. And after days of training under him, Sadie's instincts had sharpened; she hadn't rushed in. First, she mapped the building's layout. Then, only after making sure Carly and Wade wore their charms, had she led the charge.
At first, their progress went surprisingly smoothly.
Tables shifted on their own. Wax figures' eyes followed them. Doors slammed shut to split them apart. But Sadie had countered every attempt.
She had even begun to believe the mission might be easier than expected.
That illusion shattered soon after.
Sadie, inexperienced with horror's cruel logic, made her one mistake—she focused too much on the environment, and not enough on her companions.
By a twist of "chance," Wade's amulet slipped from his chest to the ground. In that instant, his mind was pierced by Bo's influence. He turned and lunged at Carly.
Sadie managed to subdue the chaos at first, but Bo pressed harder.
Using the two youths—and Sasha's life—as leverage, he forced Sadie into submission. (She had mentioned searching for someone here—the girl named Sasha.)
Sadie feigned compliance to buy time, hoping to discover Bo's true form. She even managed to find Sasha… but the victory was fleeting.
A tide of wraiths surged from the darkness, encircling her.
They were the souls of those murdered by the Sinclair brothers—slaves bound by Bo's psychic grip, condemned to serve even in death.
Against spirits, Sadie had no weapon but the crucifix Gideon had given her, its glow the last fragile barrier between her and despair.
But even that light was faltering.
Because Carly and Wade were still living humans, the amulets could not harm them. Bo twisted this fact to his advantage—his spectral thralls pinned Sadie in place, while her own allies, under his control, closed in with blades.
For the first time, hopelessness flickered in Sadie's eyes. She looked toward the basement stairs, silently begging for a certain figure to appear.
"Give up," Bo rasped. His disfigured face twisted into a mockery of a smile. "Do so, and I'll grant you a swift end."
He had lost contact with Vincent earlier. It had to be the work of these intruders.
As he prepared to break her completely, Bo suddenly froze, brow furrowing.
A vision seared through his mind—
A burning match, tossed into the wax museum.
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