The sign was hard to miss; there wasn't much to look at for miles around, and the sign, though ugly and rusted, was a small reprieve from the monotony of the landscape. **BERNER'S WAX MUSEUM OF HORRORS**, it read in square black letters. **ONE MILE AHEAD.** *Why not?* I thought to myself. It was one in the afternoon, and even with the windows rolled down, the car was unbearably hot. I hated this drive—my annual migration down to my mother's house was never a treat, and now with a busted AC, I d..