We're Not Strangers Anymore

Chapter Twenty Three - The Painting On The Landing

Kicking an empty bottle of Cola down the long and winding street, Charlie sighed and looked up to the dark night sky. A cold breeze struck him as he tilted his head, provoking a mass stand-up of the entirety of his forearm hair.
Tonight seemed a relatively good time to go and see his friend, and the thought of seeing Jamie Manley's face, one that had been unseen for weeks now, brought both joy and comfort to Charlie during this brisk evening walk.
He was getting closer and closer to the house in question, his heart beating out of his chest.
If a heart could beat at one thousand BPM whilst still keeping you alive, that'd be my heart rate right now.
At last, he was there. An inch away from the rusty, wooden door that separated him from the seemingly mysterious Manley family. After two thick knocks, the door swung open. It was Mr Manley.
'Ah, hello Charlie. Come for Jamie, have you?'
Charlie remained still, his pulse hitting the skin of his wrist several times a second.
'Yes, that's right. Is he in?'
Mr Manley smiled.
'He is indeed. Jamie, your little friend has come to see you!'
No answer. There was a pause, and then the unexpected suddenly arrived.
'Charlie, would you like to.. come in?'
Contemplation passed over him for a good twenty seconds before finally giving an answer.
'Yes please, if that's okay,' Charlie said.
Mr Manley's eyes slowly widened. 'Yes, of course. Come on in, make yourself at home. You'll find Jamie in the first room on your left as you go upstairs. You'll have to excuse him if he seems a little giddy, he is still a little.. unwell. I have just given him some medicine, and I've got hot soup on the go. Please, go on up.'
Charlie nodded and began to follow Mr Manley's instructions, wiping his feet on the beige doormat and beginning to walk the stairs that led to the top of the landing. The wooden steps made a low creaking sound as he moved forward, grabbing on to the bannister for more support. As he reached the top step, several old looking paintings came into sight. He stopped to look at them, making minute observations about each individual one.
The first painting that came into his eye-line was coated in dust, but Charlie could just about make it out. It was of a man, no younger than around seventy years old, peacefully sat on a rocking chair. On the table next to him was a glass vase filled with flowers, a fresh set of roses by the looks of it, and a pack of unopened cigarettes beside it. The second painting however, was slightly more eerie. It was of a little boy, around six or seven years of age. A single tear rolled elegantly down his cheek, and Charlie observed that the little boy was frowning, as if he had just received a bout of upsetting news. His eyebrows were thin, as if they had been scratched on to his pale forehead using a nail covered with ink. Confused, he looked around, desperately trying to shake the image of the second disturbing painting. He shot a glance at a different picture, a picture that consisted of two young boys riding horses. This image seemed nicer, almost less sinister. The two boys were beaming, staring at each other with toothy grins. He looked back at the second painting now, hoping to God that it had somehow become less creepy since he had last looked- but the image in the canvas had changed completely.
Charlie jumped back, scared and bewildered. The original painting, which had previously depicted a crying boy, now showed a different boy altogether - altered and distorted. The boy was grinning, a look of hostile aggression present in his eyes. The newest child was no more than four years old, and Charlie deducted this from one simple observation; the saliva that dribbled from the corners of his curled lips.
This can't be right, he thought.
He fixed his eyes onto the other painting, the picture that showed two young boys riding horses - but even that painting had changed. The painting, which had once created an impression of peace and ultimately comfort, now depicted two decapitated equestrians, lying on the muddy ground in a pool of their own fresh blood.
Charlie took two steps back, stumbling in an uncareful manner, nearly tripping and falling onto the rough red carpet that lay directly in front the staircase.
Suddenly, an excited voice announced itself from the first room on the left.
'Charlie.. is that you?'
Jamie! I can't believe it!
Charlie didn't exactly know why he was so shocked to hear his friend's voice in his own house, but nevertheless he was.
'I'm not going to tell him about the paintings,' he muttered quietly, running his hand through his hair and making a clear mental promise to himself as he walked into his friend's bedroom.
Jamie Manley sat up; his bedroom was exactly how Charlie had imagined it to be. In the corner of the room stood a new-looking record player, multiple vinyls sitting beside it. The various faces of Bowie, Iggy Pop and Shakin' Stevens stared back at him. On the bedside table was a book about insects and reptiles, various little creatures swarming the cover of it. The book's dust jacket was covered in - you guessed it, dust - and for a minute Charlie's obsessive tendencies took over.
How can you let your books get that dirty? How?
Charlie took a deep breath, sending a wide smile over to his friend.
'Jamie! I can't believe it man, how are you?'
He adjusted his pillow, slapping it forcefully several times. 'I'm good mate, feeling much better. How about you?'
'Yeah, I'm all right,' said Charlie, scratching his head. 'What was wrong with you?'
Jamie looked confused, and as a result so did Charlie. 'What do you mean?'
'Well, you've just had two weeks off due to ill health, what was the matter?'
He looked away before answering. 'My Dad said that I probably had the flu, so he kept me off for a bit. I didn't feel that bad, really.'
'A bit?' Charlie asked, his tone of voice totally rhetorical, 'dude, I haven't seen you in forever.'
Jamie smiled broadly. 'I know. It's good to finally see you. Take a seat.'
'You've become suddenly very formal,' Charlie joked, sitting down on a lime green beanbag. 'Good to see you.'
'I know. Been catching up on a bit of fine literature.'
As he said this, he reached over and pulled the Insect and Reptile 1984 bumper annual from the bedside table. Charlie shuddered, shaking his head.
'Well, it's not exactly William Shakespeare, but as you've been unwell I'll let you off. So, what have you been up to? How you been?'
'Been all right,' Jamie answered, fiddling with the book. 'Just been listening to some records, so same old for me I guess.'
'Yeah,' Charlie agreed, 'I know what you mean. So you're all good then, yeah?'
'I'm fine,' said Jamie, blunt and cold-toned. He looked up at the stained ceiling, smiling.
'Jamie? Are you.. drunk?'
Jamie frowned, looking both amused and bewildered. 'No? Whatever makes you say that?'
Jamie began to snigger.
'Well, you seem more giggly than usual, and a lot more relaxed too. Is everything alright at home?'
'At home? We're at my home now. Everything's fine, Charlie. You've got to chill out, dude. I'm okay, I promise.'
Downstairs, Mr and Mrs Manley began to argue.
Charlie rolled his eyes. 'If you say so.'