You are standing in a crowded room; it's full of people. They are all after different things but right at this moment several are after the same thing you are after. The Painting, it's an old vintage oil painting of a man in a suit leaning against some sort of table or bar maybe. It's not particularly attractive but it's draw sucks you in. You can hear the auctioneer speedily shouting numbers and trying to make the sale. You have been saving up for over a year to buy this painting. You finally notice the bids are slowing down.
“$2000, do I have $2100?” He shouts. You hear another holler his bid.
“$2500!” he replies back to the auctioneer. This was your opportunity, he probably just gave away his total. You take your chance to secure it.
“$2500, do I hear $2600? Going once, twice, Sol--” The auctioneer announces but you interrupt him.
“$3000!” you shout. You slowly begin to revel in excitement as he begins his finalizing of the sale.
“$3000, do I hear $3100? Going once, twice, SOLD!! To the man in the black leather jacket!” He announced. You remain quiet but inside you are ecstatic. Finally, you get it. The painting that has been haunting your dreams drawing you in.
You grab your ticket, signifying that you are to purchase the painting and walk to the requisition desk. You stare at the receptionist and hand them your card. They sort through several items looking for the art, but that's when they find it. They bring it up to the desk and place it on it. You pay for it and receive this horrid painting. You will never understand why you bought it, but that matters little now. You take it home and hang it behind your couch. It fits the spot perfectly.
Over the next several days you notice something strange. The painting seems to move when you aren't around. After the third day, you stand in front of your couch staring at it, almost hypnotized and lost in thought. The painting seems to draw you in, emanating innocence. You know you should be questioning why this painting is moving when you aren't around, but something about it keeps you wanting more, so you never question it.
A loud knock on your door snaps you out of your trance, and you leave the room. When you answer the door, it's your mother. She has a worried look on her face but seems to loosen up once you respond to the door.
“Thank heavens; you haven't answered the phone in at least three days, James Alexander!” She says in a half angry, half worried tone.
“I'm sorry mother; I've just been preoccupied is all,” You reply, trying to soothe her.
“It's okay; I'm glad you are fine.” She says relieved. You invite her in, and sit down in the kitchen to have a long boring discussion about how lazy your father is and other family dramas. You listen to her to humor her but after a couple of hours she stands up.
“Well I should really be going now, I need to see if your good for nothing father will mow the yard tomorrow or if I'll have to do it.” she says annoyed.
“Mom, why don't you just ask? I’ll be there at 8 am tomorrow to do it.” You tell her with a smile on your face.
“Jimmy, no need.” she answers.
“Alright, well I'll see you tomorrow then, right?” You ask as a smirk curls onto your lip.
“If you insist,” she replies as a smile curves onto her mouth, and she shrugs her shoulders. You lead her out of the house and return to the living room, where the painting resides.
You look at the picture but something is very wrong. The man in the piece of art is gone like completely disappeared. You stare in awe; it’s one thing for it to be moving but for it to be gone entirely is very troubling. You become lost in a trance once again, staring at the now empty painting.
You see something from the corner of your eye, and that snaps you back to reality. It was a dark figure, so you turn to face it. It's a man in a suit; it's the same man from the painting. He has a knife in his hand and bloodlust in his eyes. He remains still while we continue your stare off. You look away to look out the window and to see that it's now dark outside. You are stunned by this; your mother was just here, and it was daylight. How long did you stare at the empty painting? Only the man in front of you knows for sure.
He lunges at you, stabbing the knife through the air in your direction. You were slow to react but still barely dodged a lethal slice. He cut your shoulder, and you are bleeding, but this has now become a fight for your life. You turn around and run through your home and pick up a fire poker from the fireplace and turn around to defend yourself, but he is gone.
You stand there tensed up, waiting for him to show himself once again, but you start to feel the wind on the back of your neck. You turn around to see what it is.
“Boo!” he says and stabs his knife towards you once again. You step back and block with the fire poker you picked up. The slicing, grinding sound of the knife is all that's heard while his blade rubs against your tool.
You run away again and find your way to your room. You lock the door behind you and hide in the closet. You reach your hand into your pocket to find your cell phone but there is no service. The closest makes you claustrophobic being as it's so small but it's the best you can do while this killer is in your house. You hear the floorboards creaking outside your room, and somebody jiggles the handle.
It's him. you think as you contemplate your situation. An idea finally strikes you now that you can think clearer. You step out of the closet and go to the window, but it won't open, you check the lock, still nothing. Getting frustrated you forcefully swing your weapon at the window. Nothing happens, all you hear is a loud ping. You begin to get angry and scared at the same time. Goosebumps form on your arms. That strange wind feeling is on the back of your neck once again.
“Hello, James.” You hear behind you, but before you can turn around, you feel a sharp stabbing pain in your back and into your chest. As you look down at your chest, you see the point of the knife poking through your shirt and blood pouring out like a crimson waterfall. The blade is slowly retracted, and you turn around to see the face of the man in the painting once again.
“You are but one of few my boy.” He says as he watches you fall to your knees. Your fire poker is still tight in your grasp. You don't give up, even with death staring you in the face like you're staring into a mirror looking at the ghost of yourself. You reach up with your rod iron bar and shove it with all your might into his chest. He seems to be genuinely surprised at this.
In the next instant, he begins to howl something demonic, and his body starts to glow.
“What have you done? You ruined it all.” He shouts, His body burst into white fire and what you can only describe as white wisp’s begin to fly from his mouth but this is the last thing you see before blacking out entirely.
You wake up completely unharmed and appear to be laying down. You sit up and look around. It appears to be a therapist's office, and a man is seated at a desk filling out some paperwork, but when he hears you stand up he looks up. A feeling of utter terror fills your being as you stare at the face of the man who just killed you. You begin to panic and attack him but with your aggressive thunder, he pulls a gun from his desk before you reach him. You don't care and keep charging him but feel a piercing pain in your leg, and you hear a quiet pew in the air. Before you know it you are blacked out and on the ground once again.
You wake up from the darkness in a padded cell, and you now realize you are home. This was your room. You hear the sound of sliding metal from your door, and a voice comes from the small square opening.
“James, you have experienced no change and shall remain in solitary until our next session. That is all.” The masculine voice says.
“Fuck you, Dr. Angel.” You shout before the metal slides back, and the light disappears from your room once again.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
