My studio was what I had always wanted. Big windows letting in light to feed my plants on the sill. The panes looked into the pasture, skylight giving the impression of being outside, even when the windows weren’t open. Three different easels, a workbench, and a minifridge by the door. My little niece even had a corner where she worked on her loom quietly, feeling
important for toiling alongside me.
Tonight it was dark. Dusk had fallen, and the shadows seemed somehow ominous in this place usually so full of life. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, the only thing I wanted to do was leave this room, but there had to be a reason I felt like this. If there was an intruder or something then I had to know – it would not remain in my workroom for long.
I grabbed up the walking stick by the door and moved carefully inside. There weren’t a lot of hiding places – I almost hoped there was an intruder, because somehow an unexplained shiver down my back was worse than a dangerous explained shiver. The studio was empty. I turned around and around with the stick, at a loss. I started at movement in my peripheral vision. Jerking toward it, I looked with heart racing to no avail. That is – until I saw that the movement was coming from the canvas on my easel.
It was just a splattering of different colors of paint, practice during a time of little inspiration, but somehow it had sprouted a mouth, and pools of darkness I recognized as eyes. I crept closer, drawn in as though by a car wreck.
“Do you know me?” it said in a voice like tearing paper.
I swallowed, wondering if I was going crazy. “I’ve seen you before. In the lake.”
“So you haven’t blocked me out of your mind, I see. Haven’t convinced yourself it was all in your head.”
“What are you?”
“An old friend,” it said. “Or – will be. Just give it a few years. We’re trapped in the same realm, you and I. I’m just…checking in on you.”
“What do you- what does that mean?”
Its voice faded out as the eyes filled in with canvas. “You’ll see…”
I was alone once more. After a moment of blind fear I snatched the canvas up and ran out into the yard. The wood chipper was still there. I switched it on, the roar of the blades doing their best to drown out the blood pounding in my ears. I threw the canvas inside and it rent just like one would expect it to. I stood there for a moment, the motor running, feeling somewhat silly now.
I jumped when someone yelled my name. Turning, it was my sister, bleary-eyed and wrapped tight in her nightgown.
“What are you doing?” she yelled to be heard.
I flipped the switch and the machinery wound down. “I had something I needed to get rid of,” I said.
“In the middle of the night?”
I furrowed my brows. “But it only just got…” The position of the stars in the sky, the dew on the grass… “Dark,” I said finally.
“It’s three in the morning, dumbass,” she said. “Go to bed.”
She trudged back toward the house, leaving me to look between her and the wood chipper. There was nothing else to be done tonight. I went to bed.