Some exhibits don’t need feeding. They just need you.Some exhibits don’t need feeding. They just need you.
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By all accounts, Eli Lim loved his new job as head groundskeeper of the Whispering Pines Zoological Reserve. It suited him to perfection –there were no questions. No voices.No witnesses. Just cages and animals
But something felt—off. The security cameras around the zoo clicked. Clicked again. Buzzed. Buzzed and buzzed. Then spat static, vigourosly. They seemed to resist, then release.
He kept an eye on the cages. They watched him.
Exhibit E? Off limits.
The management told him never to feed the exhibit, but never told him what it was.
The enclosure lay under Darkness’ cloak–one that shrouded curses and beings which only appeared then. Eli never stepped into it–he had no reason to.
Until the sounds began. He patrolled the grounds dutifully each night, with the ravenous animals looking forward to his rounds—and their feeds. Then came the scratching. Then, odd screeching.
Then, dissonant howling.
Meat deliveries that he received each week weren’t…in sync. They came at the wrong time, on the wrong day.
Eli had more than a few burning questions for his manager. She looked up at him as he walked through the door, greeting him with her usual friendly aplomb.
“Eli! What brings you to the catacombs?” She sounded the first syllable with relish.
Eli demurred—he didn’t need his colleagues to think of him as quirky. “Hi Rita. I was hoping that you’ll be able to tell me what’s happening with Exhibit E.”
Her smile slowly faded. “Oh. That doesn’t need feeding–it feeds itself. Do you need help with the other animals?”‘
An adroit change of subject. The other archive staff judiciously avoided eye contact. The shelves leaned forward, listening keenly.
Well, The Lord helps those who help themselves, he thought. He browsed the archive shelves for a few much-needed answers.
Until he came across a door. A sentry. Bolted.
A faint knock. Faint. Rhythmic. Patient.
The sounds increased in capacity—more murmuring, more twittering–and volume. The river of cacophony drove the usually stoic Eli to finally break protocol.
It drew him in on one of his routine patrols.
And he unlocked the exhibit.
All was quiet and dark. Then the murmuring began again–and rose to become a tsunami of noises that flooded the mind.
Covering his ears, he stumbled through the exhibit, almost crashing to the floor.
In front of a pale figure. With a name tag–Night Keeper Miguel S. In a tattered zoo keeper’s attire
He raised his lowered head to meet Eli’s gaze–one with dried blood that had once streamed down its sides.
He was what happened to keepers who asked too many questions–no longer a keeper.
He stared at Eli with pleading hollows–not eyes.
“The keys….cages…”
Its bloodshot gaze fell on Eli, shifting —not from fear, but to tell Eli something.
To warn.
Eli turned to run–but a hail of lights greeted him. The other keepers had arrived.
Calm. Ready.
But Eli—Eli was ready too.
And this time, he wasn’t just holding keys.
He gripped them harder. The cages answered.
Eli roamed the enclosures, shepherding monkeys that refused to return to their places in the treetops.
The zoo had new exhibits–Exhibit A wasn’t off limits, but always growled:
“I won’t entertain!”
Exhibit B would greet the hoards of tourists who came in tattered pants and a torn shirt, peeking from the trees.
No longer nightkeepers–but on show.
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Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui- Lin AI tags are coincidental.
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