The painting is alive. I swear I'm not crazy. It's the paint I got from that man. I remember he threw it at me and said "Take it. It might be cursed." Me, being the foolish idiot I was, didn't believe in curses. I couldn't get the man's warning out of my head. 'It might be cursed' . I found out how true that was when the people started screaming. The people screamed all night. I don't know how I was ever able to sleep. Oddly enough, the neighbours never complained. It's like only I could hear it. I tried to soundproof the living room, but it did nothing to stop the daily wailing. I felt as if I was going slowly insane, the safety of my inner thought receding quicker than the tides. Until I heard a knock on my door.