Milo Quinn had three rules.

Never steal.

Never lie to Grandma.

And absolutely never enter a building that appears overnight.

Unfortunately, on Tuesday morning, a giant purple museum appeared directly across from his school.

Yesterday, there had been an empty parking lot.

Today, there was a magnificent building with golden windows, crooked towers, floating staircases, and a giant clock shaped like an eye.

Above the entrance was a strange sign:

THE MIDNIGHT MUSEUM OF MISSING THINGS

Milo stared at it.

His best friend, Poppy Reed, stared too.

Poppy adjusted her oversized red glasses.

“Did you see this yesterday?”

“No.”

“Then either we’re dreaming…”

She pointed at the building.

“…or somebody built a museum really fast.”

Milo narrowed his eyes.

“Look at the clock.”

The giant eye-shaped clock suddenly blinked.

Poppy screamed.

Milo jumped.

The clock displayed:

11:59

Then it changed.

12:00

The museum doors opened.

A tiny man wearing a purple suit stepped outside.

He had a mustache much larger than his face.

He looked at Milo.

Then Poppy.

Then Milo again.

“You’re late.”

Milo pointed at himself.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

The little man checked a golden pocket watch.

“For solving a murder.”

Poppy’s eyes widened.

“There’s a murder?”

The man smiled.

“Not yet.”

Milo blinked.

“Not yet?”

“It’s scheduled for midnight.”

Poppy whispered:

“I really like this place.”

Milo whispered back:

“I really don’t.”

The little man bowed.

“My name is Professor Wizzlewick, curator of this museum.”

He opened the door wider.

“Inside, you will find everything humanity has ever lost.”

Milo looked inside.

He saw shelves filled with strange objects.

A red umbrella labeled:

LOST DURING A THUNDERSTORM, 1987.

A single blue sock.

A child’s first tooth.

A missing wedding ring.

A broken toy robot.

A violin string.

A golden key.

Even a pirate’s wooden leg.

Poppy pointed.

“That’s fascinating.”

Milo pointed at a glass case.

Inside was a sandwich.

“Why is there a sandwich in a museum?”

Professor Wizzlewick looked offended.

“That sandwich was lost for thirty-seven years.”

“So?”

“It was found in a pirate ship.”

Poppy nodded seriously.

“That makes sense.”

Milo sighed.

Nothing about this made sense.

Then a loud bell rang.

DONG!

Professor Wizzlewick’s smile disappeared.

“Oh dear.”

“What?” Milo asked.

The professor looked toward the upper floor.

“One of the exhibits is missing.”

Poppy raised her hand.

“Which one?”

The professor whispered:

“The Moon’s reflection.”

Milo stared.

“The moon’s what?”

“The Moon’s reflection.”

Poppy frowned.

“How do you steal a reflection?”

Professor Wizzlewick looked at them.

“That’s what you must discover.”

Milo stepped backward.

“Wait. Why us?”

The professor pointed toward the museum’s entrance.

A strange blue symbol had appeared on the floor.

It looked exactly like the symbol on Milo’s old silver pocket watch.

Milo stared at it.

“My grandfather had that symbol.”

Professor Wizzlewick’s expression changed.

“Your grandfather?”

“Yes.”

“What was his name?”

“Arthur Quinn.”

The professor dropped his pocket watch.

It hit the floor.

CLINK.

He looked terrified.

“Impossible.”

Milo picked it up.

“What?”

Professor Wizzlewick looked toward the dark hallway.

“Arthur Quinn disappeared twenty years ago.”

Milo’s face became serious.

“My family was told he died.”

The professor shook his head.

“He didn’t.”

A cold wind moved through the museum.

Every exhibit began shaking.

The giant clock above them started ticking backward.

11:58.

11:57.

Poppy stared at it.

“Wasn’t it midnight?”

Professor Wizzlewick nodded.

“Yes.”

“Then why is it going backward?”

The professor looked at Milo.

“Because someone has changed the rules.”

A shadow moved behind the glass cases.

Milo turned.

Nothing.

Then a small black cat jumped onto a table.

It wore a tiny detective hat.

Poppy smiled.

“Aww.”

The cat stared at Milo.

Then it spoke.

“You’re Arthur’s grandson.”

Milo froze.

Poppy screamed.

The professor covered his face.

“Oh no.”

The cat jumped down.

“My name is Inspector Whiskers.”

Milo stared.

“You’re a talking cat.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Bad childhood.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The cat walked toward the hallway.

“The missing reflection was only the beginning.”

Milo followed.

“What happens at midnight?”

Inspector Whiskers stopped.

He looked back.

“Something that was lost a long time ago is coming back.”

“What?”

The cat’s eyes narrowed.

“Your grandfather.”

The museum doors slammed shut.

Every light went out.

Then a voice whispered from the darkness:

“Milo…”

He froze.

The voice came again.

Older.

Familiar.

Impossible.

“If you can hear me, don’t trust the cat.”

Milo slowly looked down.

Inspector Whiskers was smiling.

But his shadow wasn’t shaped like a cat.

It was shaped like a man.

And in the darkness above them…

the missing reflection of the Moon opened its eyes.