Author's Note: Hey everybody. First story I'm posting here. Thanks for looking and please review if you have the time.
Of course, Night at the Museum and everything affiliated (except this story's plot) does not belong to me.
His dark eyes burned, twin stars of swirling rage. "None of ya," he shouted, raising his Tommy Gun, "are gonna scar the face of my museum any longer!" A grayscale finger slipped toward the trigger.
Then dawn broke.
The employees who came to the Smithsonian that morning were horrifically astonished. Their beautiful museum was in wreckage. The stained glass window in the Castle was shattered. Priceless artifacts were thrown everywhere. The exhibits even looked as though they had moved, and changed expression. Oddly enough, nothing appeared to be missing, save for the New York exhibits that had arrived yesterday.
For one of the first times in history other than a national holiday, the Smithsonian Institute closed completely to the public and most of its workers. The only ones on the premises were the directors, some repairmen, and the police. The latter were having an extremely difficult time finding any evidence whatsoever. The only things they had been able to find were giant footprints that led, eerily, to the base of the Lincoln Monument. Everyone who knew about the incident was scared out of their collective wits. This was not the work of college pranksters or vandals. This wasn't deliberate. This wasn't . . . right. The media was left uninformed to prevent mass hysteria. Even so, the chief of police wanted to conduct a stakeout that night, and assigned a few of his best men to the job. But he cancelled the plan when they threatened to quit. Heck, he couldn't blame them. There was certainly no way he was going out there at night. Everyone involved decided to keep 'The Incident' under wraps.
Things took an unexpected (but very welcome) turn for the better later that day when a representative from the Museum of Natural History called and asked if the Smith happened to have any spare exhibits they would be willing to part with- particularly those of famous pilots. The director, wanting as much of this off his hands as he could, ignored the coincidence and replied that yes, they would be glad to. The representative on the phone was near ecstatic.
"Great!", he said, sounding as if he was a kid who had just gotten a Wii. "I'll have a man down in the morning."
"Hey, is there any way I can get you to borrow some more? We're feeling a bit... crowded here." No use letting more freaky things stay than necessary.
"Well, uh, that's... OK. Yeah, that's cool. In fact, I have a few more suggestions..."
The Smithsonian's director felt it might be necessary to ignore some coincidences for the greater good, and so didn't argue as he listened to the MNH guy rattle off the name of nearly every one of the 'freaky' exhibits. They'd be out of his hair, at any rate.
And so the figures of Amelia Earhart, Napoleon Bonaparte, the Tuskegee airmen, and a few others were promptly loaded into a UPS van and driven off.
Through it all, the cardboard replica of Al Capone stood in the middle of the mess, its machine gun's barrel level with a line of apparently terrified French soldiers, teeth bared, finger on the trigger, looking for all the world like it wanted to blow somebody's head off.
He was the last exhibit to be moved.