The Painting

Andy was wandering about an art museum. He had been going on a tour – he wasn’t entirely sure why, he just made the decision on impulse – but he found the tour guide boring and the other visitors somewhat annoying. So, he separated from the group and started wandering by himself.

He wound up in a room with only one painting in it. There was open space on the walls all around the room, and only the one painting hung on the wall. The painting stretched nearly floor to ceiling, and depicted a sole man in casual clothes against a black background.

There was nothing particularly special about the painting, the man in it was unremarkable, and other than the fact that it looked incredibly lifelike – like it could have been a photo – Andy could see no reason why it would be featured in a museum. And yet, the painting caught his attention immediately, and even drew him towards it. It took Andy a couple moments to realize that he was the only person in the room.

Andy spent five minutes, alone in the room, doing nothing but examining the painting. When he was finally able to break his attention away from it, he turned around, only to discover that the doorway into the room had disappeared. “No way,” he said as he ran to the newly appeared wall and started banging on it. He pounded on the wall and screamed for help, but heard no answer.

A chill went up Andy’s spine as the lights dimmed and he heard a creaking sound behind him. He turned to see the man in the painting walking towards him. Despite his horror, Andy once again felt drawn to the painting. The man shuffled forward until he reached what should have been the room, and started banging on his side of the canvas, as if it were a window. Andy couldn’t stop himself from walking towards the man.

The man in the painting started moaning – an inhuman voice, echoing through the entire room, saying “Free me” – while his flesh started rotting and decaying. His form grew gaunt, and skinny, and then he was just skin attached to bones. His eyes sunk into his skull, and his hair fell out. Still the moaning echoed throughout the room, and still Andy walked toward the painting.

Just before Andy reached the painting, the man inside ripped out. There was an inhuman screech from inside the painting that wouldn’t stop, and the man crumbled into dust, leaving behind only the blank, screaming canvas and the scent of decay. Andy, unable to control his own body, stepped into the painting and took the man’s spot. As the canvas closed itself again, the screeching stopped and the smell dissipated. With the room cleaned up, the wall opened again, ready for its next visitor.