My grand uncle was a painter, he was a pretty famous artist in his town, he could draw anything from fruits, to flowers, even people, and he was very skilled at it, there was nothing he couldn’t paint, still he often called his skill a talent and a curse.
But my grand uncle was a very antisocial man, he never spoke to the family, never married after his wife left him, he lived alone with his paintings, so when his funeral came, no one from the family wanted to attend, but I couldn’t do that, he was simply an introvert, just like me, so I alone went to his burial.
It was a very small gathering, mostly people interested in buying his work, which obviously, me being the only attending relative, had the “honor” of deciding what would be done of the drawings, truly I didn’t care, but the way the funeral attorney handed them to me, it seemed though they were a lot more valuable than I knew, plus maybe with some research they could be sold at a much higher price than I was being offered.
Once home after a six hour drive, I decided to take a look at his painting, all wrapped in old fancy yellow covers, each with an odd yet fascinating title, metal horse, cold fire, color less hearts, and so on and so on, one by one I critiqued them with great detail, I could surely make at least $10,000 of them, I thought while gathering the wrappings, I picked up the package they came in and another canvas hiding at the bottom made its way out, falling on the carpet face down, and “Do not open” written all over it in red tint.
Intriguing I thought, this must be my uncle’s most precious painting, and probably the one I’ll get more money for, dropping everything to the side, I quickly picked up the canvas ready to view this man’s greatest work of art, when a deafening knock on the door chilled me to the bones, who could be knocking this late at night? I asked myself, placing the painting next to the others.
I opened the door to find nothing, nobody, no sign of life, strange I thought, maybe it was just the wind or the sound of the television in the background, I walked back inside intrigued and anxious to view the painting, but it was gone, I had just placed it above the table, where could it have gone? I search frantically all around the living room, only to find it hiding under the couch, and the words facing up as if repeatedly warning me.
It’s very late at night and my mind surely was playing tricks on me, all I needed was a good night’s rest and I’d feel better in the morning, or so I thought. I took the picture with me back upstairs to my bed room, placing it under a watch in the night stand, assuring myself it was just an accident, it was just the funeral still in my mind, I closed my eyes and finally fell sleep.
It was three in the morning when I awoke again by the sound of someone knocking at my door, drowsy I made my way downstairs turning on every light as I go, I opened the door with my right hand clinching my phone on the left, again, nothing, I felt a cold breeze blowing through my robes, almost as if pushing me back inside, quickly I made my way back upstairs and instantly fall asleep.
In my dreams, or better, nightmares, I saw my grandfather drawing another painting on the corner next to the window where he always placed his canvas, yet I couldn’t see which painting it was, all I could see was the window quickly changing from day to night, day after day, night after night, but he wouldn’t move, it was as if the painting controlled him, I could hear the phone ringing in the background, then sent to voicemail, the voices of family members worried for him, the same family members who refused to attend his funeral, but he was so concentrated on his work he wouldn’t even break concentration, not even when I screamed at him to wake up.
But it was I who woke up, I could swear I heard a voice screaming at me, just as I screamed at my grandfather to wake up, I reached for the flashlight inside the nightstand but it wouldn’t turn on, I tried inspecting my room with only the light from the moon, but it was still too dark, I blindly reached for the painting, and instead found my watch with nothing under it, fear finally shocked me when I began hearing a scream in my great uncle’s voice, Don’t open it! Don’t open it! Return it to me! It’s the only way! My body began to shake and shiver, sweat dropped from my head, I fell back to my bed stunned with fright, not being able to move until my body fell asleep on its own.
I woke up in my living room couch, the wall clock marking 11:30, the paintings still on the table, I picked up the package and a picture fell, it read “Do not open”, I thought to myself maybe it was all just a horrible dream, when suddenly a loud knock brought me back to reality, who could be knocking this late at night?...
I have the painting that inspired this but can't seem to add the picture of it...