I used to know the girl who lived there, Catherine. After we left school, we lost touch, she moved away.I used to pass the house on my way to work, us...ally at around four in the morning. It was always dark, and spooky, but I would always think of my friend as I passed.I like music, and listen to my ipod as often as I can. One morning, however, the battery failed, and I had to plod on in silence. It was dark, cold and had been raining all night. As I wearily trudged on, I passed Catherines old. The museum's curator was a Kenneth Hill and Major Ployer "Pete" Hill was his great grand uncle. A cell phone call reached him in his office. I signed the guest register at the vacant reception desk—the museum wasn't open yet and the receptionist hadn't arrived—and Ken met me in the lobby. Television monitors were blank, most of the interior lights were off. Ken led me through the double wooden doors marked "authorized personnel only" and into his office."You mentioned something about making. More

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