Paintings of Nightmares

Chapter Two

Everywhere I looked there was water. I didn’t see a light, or a door, or anything. The black arm that once held my shirt had moved and now held tightly to my ankle, dragging me deeper into the water. I held my breath, not sure if this was an illusion or not. After a few moments, it was harder to hold that breath and soon I was struggling. The arm had disappeared and I just bobbed there in the water, trying my best not to panic, but my best wasn’t enough. My mouth shot open, as if to take in breath, but it took in nothing and I slipped into darkness of unconsciousness.

I don’t know how long I was under or when I emerged from the water, but when I awoke I found myself lying on the ground and completely dry. Sitting up, I took in my surroundings. Somehow I had ended up in the middle of a hallway; I could not more forward or back, I could only go left or right. Above me where two Guertena paints: on the left, red, and on the right, blue. In a way they kind of looked like water and lava flowing in between rock.

            “Where the hell am I?” I asked aloud as I stood up and brushed myself off.

I was completely alone as far as I could tell. Deciding to look around, I went down the ‘blue’ side of the hall. On the walls was the work ‘come’ written several times. The hall came to an end at a door with a small table in front of it. Sitting on the table was a vase of water with a single red rose in it. I looked at the rose closely. It wasn’t a sculpture, but a real rose. On the wall next to the door was a piece of paper that had something written on it.

            “’You and the rose are unified’,” I read aloud, “’know the weight of your ‘own’ life’. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

I touched the flower and accidentally pricked my finger on one of the thorns. Pulling back quickly to stop the bleeding, I noticed a faint light coming from the water inside the vase. The rose that was once slightly wilted was now in full bloom and healthy. I picked it up gently this time, minding the thorns. Knowing that this was no ordinary rose, I gently stuck the stem in the waistband of my skirt for safe keeping.

Walking back down the hall, down the ‘red’ side, I found another door. Trying the handle, I found it locked but there was absolutely no key to be found. Walking back over to the ‘blue’ side, I opened the door that was once blocked by the small table. Inside was a painting of a smiling woman. She looked young but had silver hair and wore a white shirt. Underneath her frame was a small description plaque.

            When the rose rots, so to will you rot away.

This was seriously getting ridiculous. There had to be a way out of here, I just knew it. Kicking the ground, I noticed a small blue key on the ground. I picked it up and the atmosphere in the room instantly changed. Looking up, I saw that the woman’s facial expression had changed. It had become sinister, with cat like eyes that bore into my skin and the grin of a serial killer. Some of her silver hair had somehow come out of the painting and was resting just over the description plaque.

This had to be a dream. Paintings don’t change or come to life or whatever that one had just done. Not wanted to take the chance that she would move again, I ran out of the room and slammed the door shut behind me. Replacing the words that were previously on the wall, in what was either blood or red paint, was the word ‘thief’ written over and over again. How could I be a thief? I didn’t take anything! I mean, I kind of took the rose without permission and the same with the key, but they seemed to have been placed there, as if they were meant to be taken. I took a few steps forward and in front of me, following five loud bangs, the word ‘thief’ was written on the ground.

Fear soon engulfed me and I began to cry. I wanted all this to stop; I wanted to go home. Running over the words, I ran to the other end of the hall and shoved the key into the keyhole, unlocking the blue door. On the other side was a green room filled with paintings of bugs. Luckily none of them were moving. To my right was a long stretch of wall that had seven paintings on it: a ladybug, a bee, a butterfly, a spider, and what looked like the different life stages of a butterfly. In front of me was a small column that had a description plaque on it.