Campfire Horror Stories (Vol. 1)

Hey Picture, Be Quiet!

"So tell me dad, what kind of picture are you painting today?" I asked.

"Well, Ronaldo, I plan on bringing a dream I had last night to life. The dream was oh so strange. There was a deep, green forest filled with all sorts of magical creatures, and wild life. There was even a hybrid beast that had the head of crow, the body of a crocodile, legs of a lion, and wings from an eagle!" my dad answered enthusiastically.

My dad loves to paint. It's his job, but he tends to think of it more as a hobby. I never followed in his footsteps. I tend be more geared towards reading, and fiddling around with tools to make anything. I didn't care. Although I don't share in the same passion as my dad does in painting, it's not like I don't enjoy listening to his stories, and seeing what kinds of paintings he brings to the canvas.

When I graduate from high school, I'll probably go to college to become an engineer.

In the meantime, I'm just going to go outside, and chill in my clubhouse. I won't be able to hang in it for much longer, so might as well take advantage of the time I have left with it. As I walked around my house to my backyard, my friend Terrence peered over the fence with a big grin on his face.

"Sup dude. Planning on doing anything today?" Terrence asked.

"Nah, I'm just going to go up to have a chill session," I answered back.

"Alright, I'll come join you. My mom has been having me do all kinds of chores today. I am definitely in need of a chill session," he said. He casually meandered over to my treehouse while, sipping on a straw out of a cranberry juicebox.

We listened to some music, talked about the crushes we had on certain girls and guys at school, and made some guesses about who would win the world cup this year. It was a hot summer day though, so we went inside to get some drinks from the kitchen. That's when we got to meet one of dad's customers.

"Excellent! The picture will come out great!" The customer exclaimed. He paused when he saw us, and went back to being cherry. "Hello! You must be Ronaldo. It's nice to meet you and your friend. You can call me Sal, by the way." He greeted us both with a fast handshake.

Terrence and I stood by as we watched Sal take a picture of Dad with his painting of a gargoyle chasing a young man through an older version of England's streets. The painting was kind of scary. Made me wonder why such an upbeat guy would buy such a thing. Eh, more money in my dad's pocket. Sal gave the picture to my dad before leaving the house with the painting, waving good-bye to all of us as he left through the front door.

"Has anyone ever given you pictures of your paintings before?" I asked my father.

"Nope. Only Sal does this. I don't mind though, he is a nice guy that truly appreciates my art after all," my father replied.

Later that day, it started to get dark out and I asked Terrence if he wanted to sleepover. He did his usual shrug, which meant that he would be sleeping over. Today was going to be a nice, casual day of fun. Snacks, drinks, scary games, and comedy movies were all going to be enjoyed in the attic, our usual spot for sleepovers.

A small bang went off downstairs. Terrence freaked out a bit, probably because we were in the middle of playing a scary game. I simply shrugged, and kept watching a ghost of Layla chase my best friend around a mansion. It wasn't until I heard unfamiliar voices coming from downstairs that I started to freak out.

Terrence and I opened up the hatch, and climbed down the stairs that lead to a storage room on the second floor. I nearly tripped over a box, and stubbed my toe on an old stool before reaching the switch. A few bad words escaped my mouth as I wished death upon the stool.

Terrence opened up the door. We both saw my dad, looking quite sleepy, in the hallway.

"Ronaldo, I thought you and friend were downstairs talking about whatever," my dad said.

"Same. We should stay cautious then," I said in return.

"I'll call the cops," said Terrence, already dialing 9-1-1 on his mobile.

My dad and I crept against the hallway walls to take a peek out whoever was downstairs. Meanwhile, Terrence was talking with a cop over the phone. It was a pretty dangerous move to make but, sometimes curiosity just gets the best of anyone who stands in it's way.

As we continued to tip toe down the hallway, the mysterious chattering got louder. It was as if this stranger did not care about being heard. Gosh, I really hoped that it wasn't a crazy person; they are way too unpredictable.

"La-Si-Ray-Tashi-Tae-Mi-Fray-No-Ko-Ki-Pash," the strange intruder sang out.

The intruder really was nuts.

"Ticki-May-Kuu-Froh-Zi-Ahti-Ken," the intruder continued to sing. Except, at that time I could hear brush strokes against a palette.

My father slowly crept down stairs to see who could possibly be painting inside our home. I followed after him.

I was stunned for brief moment when I saw the picture of dad's painting singing. Not only that but, the paint brush was moving on it's own. The hell was going on here?

The picture seemed to be magically painting a mean version of my dad's gargoyle onto a large sheet of paper. It was almost done. Should we stop it from finishing the painting? Or should we leave it alone?

"Intriguing." That was the only word my father uttered out.

The painting was finished. My father and I just stood there in awe.

"Rem-Tok-Fri-Sat-Lok-Maya-Yun-Rej," the picture continued to sing. This time, the picture seemed to be singing the gargoyle to life. The black skin became more and more scaly and muscular. It's yellow eyes were becoming brighter. All of the gargoyle's features were becoming more realistic by the second.

"We have to stop it!" My father shouted.

I rushed leapt over the railing, ran to the center of the living room, and clamped my hands around the picture. Did I successfully stop it? I could feel the picture wriggling around in my hands; what an odd sensation to be going through.

"Good job Ronaldo! Now quickly, toss into the trash disposal in the sink," my father shouted.

I ran to the kitchen. The wriggling in my hands stopped. Weird. Nevertheless, I turned on the trash disposal, and through the picture into the hole, watching it get torn to shreds brought me joy.

"Mar-Tyo-Kim-Gar-Jin-Zeg-Kif."

No way! I destroyed the picture! How could there still be singing!?

I ran back to the living room, and saw the painting singing itself to life. Fuck.

"Not on my watch," my father said. He rushed over to a nearby drawer, and pulled out a lighter. "Hope you enjoy fire!" The lighter was lit. So was the painting, except it was covered in green flames instead of red-orange flames.

Out of the green flames came a muscular, black arm. Mission failed. The gargoyle let out a deafening roar. At the same time, the doorbell sounded off.

"Do you think the cops can kill a magical gargoyle?"