Read The Painting for Free Online Page A

supernatural world, blurring the lines between fact and fiction.
    And Sara. Sara would be so proud. They could get that house together. She’d have faith in him. No more uncertain looks, no more ‘you’re living in a dream world’ expressions or confidence votes of pity. Just him, her, and his writing. He could do this.
    He keyed her number into his phone, noticing a lone signal bar. He’d told her he’d be the one to ring her. Writer’s distraction code demanded that the writer was not interrupted during his work. He bit his lip as the dial tone kicked in.
    One ring.
    He wouldn’t tell her about the painting. He wouldn’t tell her about the boys or the room. He’d just tell her what she needed to hear. She’d be so proud.
    Two rings.
    “Hel— Donn—?”
    The static crackled through her voice on the other end of the line.
    “Honey, it’s me,” Donny said. “I don’t know how well you can hear me. You’re breaking up—”
    “You —kay?”
    “I’m okay. I’m really good. The book is going really well.”
    Muffled voices and more crackling static.
    “Hun, I’ll text you,” Donny shouted, elongating his words for clarity. “I should be ready to come back tomorrow.”
    White noise on the other end of the line. A low crackling, like a voice somewhere in the distance calling out.
    “Hun, are you—”
    “WE’REWATCHINGWE’REWATCHINGWE’REWATCHING.”
    Donny threw the phone out of his hand towards the other side of the room.
    The figures were huge. The trees were gone—just darkness. Filthy darkness and eyes—piercing eyes.
    TAPTAPTAP .
    A woman’s voice: YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STAY AWAY! It was crying, screaming out in the back of his mind.
    Donny pulled the red bed sheets over his head and squeezed his eyes shut, his heart racing and breathing rapid. Please. Please. Please.
    A beautiful singing. Choir voices. He heard them in the room—out of the room—inside the bed and inside his head and they were so soft and beautiful as they worked their way up and down his body.
    And then they were gone and everything was silent.
    He tried to breathe deeply. He tried to think but he couldn’t get the images out of his head. His entire body shook as he clenched the bed sheets, his untrimmed nails cutting through the cotton.
    Deep breaths. Keep it cool. All over now. All over—just get up and go. Get up, get your phone, and go.
    He pulled the bedding out the way of his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The room was completely silent again. Somewhere at the other side of the room, he could hear Sara’s voice coming from his phone, so far away.
    “Donny? You there?”
    So clear. So far away.
    If he could just talk to her. It’s okay. It’s okay.
    When he lifted himself up from his bed, he froze.
    They were in the room, tapping the thin air. The painting behind them was completely covered in bubbling black ink and bleeding out down the walls. Three boys and three dark, blurry silhouetted figures, right in front of him.
    Tap, tap, tap.
    He let out a scream and tried to run towards the door. The last thing he remembered seeing was their glowing, beaming eyes as the painting exploded and sent a torrent of thick, black slime into the room.
    Then the soft singing, the melody drowning his body…
    Then sleep.

II

    “Mister? You okay, mister?”
    He felt the cold air brushing against his skin as he opened his eyes. What had…?
    A man stood above him. He had a balding head with long strands of hair growing behind his ears and a bushy moustache sitting atop his upper lip. He stared down at Donny with concerned eyes. “You okay, mate?”
    Donny lifted himself up and looked around. He was outside, lying down by the side of the road. There were no cars in either direction—just the chubby man and his walking stick. He lifted himself to his feet and winced as a sharp pain shot down his back.
    “How… what?” Donny said, looking around and trying to orientate himself. Why was he out here?
    “I think I should