The Painting
Allan glided the paintbrush along the outer curve of the woman's smile. It turned up to show joy at her new life. He had envisioned her for three weeks. Three weeks of her tantalizing voice calling him; begging him to complete her portrait though he had never seen her before except in his minds eye. In recent days her voice grew impatient, worried. There was urgency behind the eyes. "Finish me, finish me and save me." They drew him in as he dipped his brush once more in the rouge. These last few touches would make an end to the piece and he hoped an end to the maddening allure she held for him.
It was not so. Although he owned his own gallery he could not bare the thought of parting with her. He gently mounted her frame beside his bedroom door so that he could gaze at her when he woke each morning. There she hung across from his twin size bed in his two bedroom apartment. Each morning he would go to her and ask her how she was and thrill to think that he had somehow made the smile brighter just by the asking.
This love affair lasted the better part of a month before things changed. It was a Friday morning and Allan stretched as he stumbled to his mistress. He had named her Marie. He rubbed sleep from his eyes while he asked after her sleep. She did not answer, though she never did. As he blinked back his cleared eyes to focus upon his damsel in the morning light muted by a light blue curtain, his heart stopped. Panic clenched at the organ as it labored stiffly attempting to resume its beat. It struggled with his breathing. Allan stood still for the better part of a minute as his body shuddered and fought to live despite the overwhelming chill he felt.
Marie was not smiling.
The corners of her lips strained downward nervously. Her wide eyes froze to her left where above her shoulder a smudge had appeared. Leaning in Allan scratched at the smudge. Though the area around the black mark crisscrossed from his nails cutting through the black spot resisted. Somehow it was more solid than the painting.
Each day that followed the black mass grew larger and the fright in Marie's eyes more intense. By Wednesday Marie had given up looking frightened of the shadowy mass approaching her and turned pleading sorrowful eyes upon Allan. "Take me out. Free me from here before he comes." Her face spoke this to him despite the stillness of the painting. By the following Sunday Allan could discern the figure of a man behind Marie as if in the distance and on Monday morning he was distinctly aware that the man was coming closer. He could see the whites of menacing eyes though the majority of the figures features remained yet undefined in a black film.
A single tear frozen upon Marie's cheek wrenched Allan's soul. He could not bare to see her each morning haunted by the menace that had intruded upon her portrait. He resolved to save her. He would give his life if he could set her free as she had wished.
As if his thoughts were magic, Marie disappeared. Once more an overwhelming panic seized Allan's body. Had the man taken her? No matter how many times he looked as he dressed for the day all that was in the painting was a floral backdrop with an empty chair-- and a man in black. A twisted knot poisoned Allan's stomache as he left his room to go to Mass. He felt no comfort from the ritual litany and chorus the meeting offered. With the empty sense of loss and abandonment he returned to his home and avoided his room. He lounged in a wooden chair and pulled a random book from the shelf.
He didn't feel like reading. He didn't feel up to anything but he knew he couldn't return to his room and face his lost Marie. Undeterminable time passed. When Allan had fallen asleep he could not say nor could he remember what he had dreamed. A voice had woken him, that was all his mind could manage as it grogged from its sleep. The room was dimly lit by moonlight. Nothing moved.
"Allan"
It was a sweet heart stirring voice. He knew it though he had never truly heard it before.
"Allan. You must hide the painting."
"Hide it?" He thought to himself.
"Allan. You must put it where you will never see it again. Only then will I be safe and we can be together."
It was Marie. It had to be.
Rushing to his room Allan grabbed the painting. The man was in full view now. He was smartly dressed in a brown pin striped suit. He was a still life of a man running full speed. His arms at odd angles from his body pulled the right side of his coat to reveal a similar brown vest with a gold chain draped into a pocket from one of the buttons. His brown hair was short and neatly combed despite the beaded sweat upon his brow. His blue eyes glared furiously and his silent jaws clenched in a sneer. His right hand gripped the chair Marie had sat upon as if using it to launch himself forward. The chair tipped back balanced upon it's two back legs.
Allan stashed the picture the first place he could think of; under his bed. He turned to his window and ripped the drapes down. Haphazardly he folded them into a rectangle. With his neck held tight peering across the top of his bed, he fumbled with his hands beneath the bed to feel for the picture frame. When he found it he stuffed the fabric ontop.
Thirty years passed. Allan never married. He remained in his appartment till the day he died. In all those years he never once cleaned under his bed. He was famous for his artwork. Ever since the night he had hidden the painting he only seemed to paint masterpieces. Bidding wars launched each new work into the hundred thousand dollar range before it even made it to his galla walls. Apprentices flocked to his door in steady streams wishing to learn from him, but he'd accept no one. Rumors spread about the hermit painter. One particular rumor spoke of a woman. This woman he had painted once, so they say. "She stays locked up in his home and never leaves. He keeps her all to him self and only lets people enter his living room as an attempt to throw off suspicions."
Although his land lady heard the rumors and at times thought she heard a woman's voice from her tennents quarters, she never saw anyone but Allan. He died in his sleep at the age of fifty two. How long he had been ill nobody quite knew, but fever had taken him in the night. It was the land lady that had found him after his rent being late for the first time she could remember. She called for a constable and he for a doctor though she had told them it was already too late.
The policeman stood by the door his arms folded to show authority as the doctor labored over dead Allan to determine what he could. He pried open the dead man's eyes and felt at his wrist though all knew that no pulse would be there. Kneeling beside him and sobbing quietly the land lady's knees rubbed something hard. Scooting back and pulling she discovered the painting as the faded drapes fell to the floor.
What she saw was a lady with brown silk like hair sitting confidently upon a chair. Her dress was a tight red velvet with light red trim around the bodice to emphasize her well portioned breasts. Her sparkling blue eyes were dazzling and captured the light in ways the land lady had not known a portrate could and the brilliant red lips smiled a smile of knowing how to draw men closer and keep them forever.
Rightly surmised the land lady that this was the portrait to which all the rumors had spoken. In respect to dead Allan she lifted the portrait so that his empty eyes might once more witness the vision he'd created when all through the room pierced a terrible scream. The land lady dropped the portrait on poor dead Allan and ran from the room never to enter again. The policeman, quite ruffled, searched all the appartments several times over till he was sure that nothing was wrong.
Pale yet determined the doctor lifted the painting to finish what he had begun. One look at poor Allan and he tossed the portrait to the floor and raced out the door. When all was quite settled the policeman returned to a body on a bed with his eyes closes and a tear frozen on his cheek. Surprised to find the scene alone and knowing of Allan's fame, temptation won over the policeman. He gathered up the portrait and deserted dear Allan to rot for a couple weeks more till a neighbor complained and he was again discovered.
Once home the policeman looked over the portrait still smiling at the money his future would hold. It was a portrait of a man that looked just like Allan sitting smugly upon a wooden chair. He wore a pin striped suit with a gold pocket watch in his hand and a tooth pick perched smartly from his lips.
It was not so. Although he owned his own gallery he could not bare the thought of parting with her. He gently mounted her frame beside his bedroom door so that he could gaze at her when he woke each morning. There she hung across from his twin size bed in his two bedroom apartment. Each morning he would go to her and ask her how she was and thrill to think that he had somehow made the smile brighter just by the asking.
This love affair lasted the better part of a month before things changed. It was a Friday morning and Allan stretched as he stumbled to his mistress. He had named her Marie. He rubbed sleep from his eyes while he asked after her sleep. She did not answer, though she never did. As he blinked back his cleared eyes to focus upon his damsel in the morning light muted by a light blue curtain, his heart stopped. Panic clenched at the organ as it labored stiffly attempting to resume its beat. It struggled with his breathing. Allan stood still for the better part of a minute as his body shuddered and fought to live despite the overwhelming chill he felt.
Marie was not smiling.
The corners of her lips strained downward nervously. Her wide eyes froze to her left where above her shoulder a smudge had appeared. Leaning in Allan scratched at the smudge. Though the area around the black mark crisscrossed from his nails cutting through the black spot resisted. Somehow it was more solid than the painting.
Each day that followed the black mass grew larger and the fright in Marie's eyes more intense. By Wednesday Marie had given up looking frightened of the shadowy mass approaching her and turned pleading sorrowful eyes upon Allan. "Take me out. Free me from here before he comes." Her face spoke this to him despite the stillness of the painting. By the following Sunday Allan could discern the figure of a man behind Marie as if in the distance and on Monday morning he was distinctly aware that the man was coming closer. He could see the whites of menacing eyes though the majority of the figures features remained yet undefined in a black film.
A single tear frozen upon Marie's cheek wrenched Allan's soul. He could not bare to see her each morning haunted by the menace that had intruded upon her portrait. He resolved to save her. He would give his life if he could set her free as she had wished.
As if his thoughts were magic, Marie disappeared. Once more an overwhelming panic seized Allan's body. Had the man taken her? No matter how many times he looked as he dressed for the day all that was in the painting was a floral backdrop with an empty chair-- and a man in black. A twisted knot poisoned Allan's stomache as he left his room to go to Mass. He felt no comfort from the ritual litany and chorus the meeting offered. With the empty sense of loss and abandonment he returned to his home and avoided his room. He lounged in a wooden chair and pulled a random book from the shelf.
He didn't feel like reading. He didn't feel up to anything but he knew he couldn't return to his room and face his lost Marie. Undeterminable time passed. When Allan had fallen asleep he could not say nor could he remember what he had dreamed. A voice had woken him, that was all his mind could manage as it grogged from its sleep. The room was dimly lit by moonlight. Nothing moved.
"Allan"
It was a sweet heart stirring voice. He knew it though he had never truly heard it before.
"Allan. You must hide the painting."
"Hide it?" He thought to himself.
"Allan. You must put it where you will never see it again. Only then will I be safe and we can be together."
It was Marie. It had to be.
Rushing to his room Allan grabbed the painting. The man was in full view now. He was smartly dressed in a brown pin striped suit. He was a still life of a man running full speed. His arms at odd angles from his body pulled the right side of his coat to reveal a similar brown vest with a gold chain draped into a pocket from one of the buttons. His brown hair was short and neatly combed despite the beaded sweat upon his brow. His blue eyes glared furiously and his silent jaws clenched in a sneer. His right hand gripped the chair Marie had sat upon as if using it to launch himself forward. The chair tipped back balanced upon it's two back legs.
Allan stashed the picture the first place he could think of; under his bed. He turned to his window and ripped the drapes down. Haphazardly he folded them into a rectangle. With his neck held tight peering across the top of his bed, he fumbled with his hands beneath the bed to feel for the picture frame. When he found it he stuffed the fabric ontop.
Thirty years passed. Allan never married. He remained in his appartment till the day he died. In all those years he never once cleaned under his bed. He was famous for his artwork. Ever since the night he had hidden the painting he only seemed to paint masterpieces. Bidding wars launched each new work into the hundred thousand dollar range before it even made it to his galla walls. Apprentices flocked to his door in steady streams wishing to learn from him, but he'd accept no one. Rumors spread about the hermit painter. One particular rumor spoke of a woman. This woman he had painted once, so they say. "She stays locked up in his home and never leaves. He keeps her all to him self and only lets people enter his living room as an attempt to throw off suspicions."
Although his land lady heard the rumors and at times thought she heard a woman's voice from her tennents quarters, she never saw anyone but Allan. He died in his sleep at the age of fifty two. How long he had been ill nobody quite knew, but fever had taken him in the night. It was the land lady that had found him after his rent being late for the first time she could remember. She called for a constable and he for a doctor though she had told them it was already too late.
The policeman stood by the door his arms folded to show authority as the doctor labored over dead Allan to determine what he could. He pried open the dead man's eyes and felt at his wrist though all knew that no pulse would be there. Kneeling beside him and sobbing quietly the land lady's knees rubbed something hard. Scooting back and pulling she discovered the painting as the faded drapes fell to the floor.
What she saw was a lady with brown silk like hair sitting confidently upon a chair. Her dress was a tight red velvet with light red trim around the bodice to emphasize her well portioned breasts. Her sparkling blue eyes were dazzling and captured the light in ways the land lady had not known a portrate could and the brilliant red lips smiled a smile of knowing how to draw men closer and keep them forever.
Rightly surmised the land lady that this was the portrait to which all the rumors had spoken. In respect to dead Allan she lifted the portrait so that his empty eyes might once more witness the vision he'd created when all through the room pierced a terrible scream. The land lady dropped the portrait on poor dead Allan and ran from the room never to enter again. The policeman, quite ruffled, searched all the appartments several times over till he was sure that nothing was wrong.
Pale yet determined the doctor lifted the painting to finish what he had begun. One look at poor Allan and he tossed the portrait to the floor and raced out the door. When all was quite settled the policeman returned to a body on a bed with his eyes closes and a tear frozen on his cheek. Surprised to find the scene alone and knowing of Allan's fame, temptation won over the policeman. He gathered up the portrait and deserted dear Allan to rot for a couple weeks more till a neighbor complained and he was again discovered.
Once home the policeman looked over the portrait still smiling at the money his future would hold. It was a portrait of a man that looked just like Allan sitting smugly upon a wooden chair. He wore a pin striped suit with a gold pocket watch in his hand and a tooth pick perched smartly from his lips.