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doitwrite · 10 months

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"Prompt #159: The portrait of Van Gogh stared at me wherever I sat down in the room."

Painted

The first time I noticed it was my first night on the job. My supervisor, Rusty, was explaining to me how the CCTV system worked, but I was only half-listening because I recognized the security system—it was the same one that the Stern Museum used, where I’d been transferred from. Same console, same slightly grainy footage that always seemed watered down.

“Anyway, you can change the direction of the cameras like this.” She reached over and moved the camera pointed down the Contemporary Artist exhibit. I rolled my eyes internally. Honestly, even though I’d worked as an art museum security guard for over a decade now, I still thought that modern art was pointless. Half the time they just splash some shit on a canvas and call it “art,” and the worst part is that rich assholes are just raring to buy that stuff for millions of dollars. I’d considered becoming a “modern artist” myself because the money seemed so easy, but my dignity wouldn’t let me. Besides, I enjoyed being a security guard. I love how the museum grows still and silent after closing, as the night seeps in through the huge windows. I love how my occasional rounds make me feel like the entire place is just for me, a private exhibition all to myself. I squinted at the screen as Rusty rambled on. There was a recreation of that self-portrait that Van Gogh made, only it was deep red and brown. You know how his style is all swirls and shit, and the brushstrokes make the pieces feel kind of dreamlike? This one was not like that. For one, it was massive, taking up almost the entire wall on the east side of the room, a behemoth compared to the rest of the pieces in there, none of which could have been much longer or wider than two feet. It looked like he was guarding the rest of the room, but something about the way the eyes were almost too large gave me the impression that Van Gogh wasn’t so much protecting the place as he was making sure nothing escaped. Rusty noticed the monitor I was staring at.

“Yeah, they’re still moving all the stuff in there, so just don’t go in there for now. We’ve got tighter security on that room- motion detectors, alarms, that sort of thing. Just make sure you keep an eye on it when you make your rounds, huh? I’ll be on the third floor if you need anything, just for tonight.”

***

It was 4am. I took another sip of the now-lukewarm coffee and rubbed my tired eyes. Time for another round. The swivel chair squeaked as I stood, groaning as I stretched, when I noticed it. I would have missed it if my eyes hadn't happened to pass over the screen. I rubbed my eyes, then stared hard. It was unmistakable. Van Gogh was gone. Sudden confusion and alarm woke me up better than the cold coffee could have as I seized my flashlight and keys, then snatched the walkie up. I pressed the button. A burst of static.

“Hey, uh. It’s Tim.”

I waited for a response. Nothing.

“Rusty?”

Silence.

It was almost like something out of a horror movie, only I never believed in any of that shit. I grabbed my phone, dialing Rusty’s number as I rewound the footage for the camera. The ring played faintly as I waited. Beep. Beep. None of the alarms had been tripped, that at least I was sure of. I squinted. The sped-up footage looked like it was a still picture, the only part of the screen that changed at all was the rapidly decreasing timestamp in the upper right hand corner. Still no Van Gogh. Then suddenly, he was back on the wall. I stopped the footage, the back of my neck prickling. I couldn’t believe it. One second he was on the wall, the next he wasn’t. Like the portrait had teleported. I checked the time stamp over and over—it must have glitched or something, but the numbers showed that there was no gap in the time that the painting was on the wall to the time that it suddenly wasn’t.

“Hello?” I jumped so badly that I nearly knocked the thermos over. I shoved the phone against my ear.

“Hey, uh. So you know that painting of Van Gogh in the new gallery?”

“Yeah, that big scary red thing. Kinda creepy, isn’t it?”

“Yes, well. It’s not there anymore.”

“I’m sorry, what? You mean someone came in and took it?”

“No, it’s just.” I hesitated, knowing I was about to sound crazy. “It’s just gone. I rewound the footage, and it doesn't show anyone coming in or anything. No alarms went off. It’s just not there anymore.”

“Huh. That’s pretty fuckin’ weird. You’re not messing with me, are you?”

I bristled. “Hell no. Come and look at it, I’ve got the footage right here.”

“Okay, I’m coming down there. You better not be messing with me.”

“I swear. But I’m staying right here, I don’t wanna go out there alone. I’m kinda freaking out here.” I chewed my thumbnail nervously.

A few minutes later, Rusty was rewinding through the footage herself, frowning.

“There! See?” She rewound the place where the painting disappeared, just as I did.

“You’re right. That’s…well, more than weird. We should go down there to check.”

I shivered. I didn’t want to seem like a coward, but this shit was getting way too weird for me. Plus, that portrait of Van Gogh was scary as hell.

“Well…okay. As long as we don’t have to split up.”

“What are you, a baby?”

“Are you kidding? Did you not see that picture just disappear?”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“I don’t know, maybe the camera’s malfunctioning or something. But we’ll never know if we stay here yapping.”

I shook my head in disbelief, but Rusty just rolled her eyes.

We stepped out of the surveillance booth, and Rusty locked the door. I kept a hand on my baton, but I wasn’t even sure what I would be fighting with it. A ghost? I shook my head. There’s no such thing, dammit. But my heart was thrumming in my throat anyway.

The new art gallery was on the first floor, so we took the elevator down. The doors dinged open, revealing the doors at the end of the hall. The art gallery lay just beyond, waiting. I gulped nervously, but Rusty seemed completely fine, marching briskly toward the doors. I hung back a little.

“Aren’t you at least a little nervous?”

“No one’s going to be causing trouble in my museum, not on my watch. If it’s some people playing a joke, they’re gonna be real sorry.”

She shoved the doors open, unceremoniously. We stared at the east wall. Van Gogh was back, and in person it was twice as awful as on the monitor. The huge red eyes, the nightmarish background of violent reds and ragged streaks of black. What made it worse was its immensity: it was at least twice as tall as me and four times as wide, and I’m a big guy.

“Huh. Well, that’s odd, isn’t it?” She walked right next to the painting, where she’d be in frame of the surveillance camera. Rusty peered up at the security cam as I looked around behind us. I couldn’t hear or see anything odd, though. She waved her arms.

“Hey, check the camera.”

I pulled out the surveillance tablet. Sure enough, Rusty and the painting were both in frame, looking perfectly normal. Well, as normal as a terrifying painting can be, anyway. I shook my head in disbelief.

“Well, you’re both there.” I started to rewind the footage as I spoke. When did the painting get replaced? Just like when it disappeared, the footage seemed to show the painting suddenly reappearing. A few seconds later, Rusty came into frame.

“Hey, I-” I looked up. I was alone. Rusty and Van Gogh were both gone. Cold fear sank its teeth into the back of my neck. No fucking way. I considered, then immediately dismissed the idea that she was somehow playing a prank on me. That painting was gigantic, even I’d have a hard time lifting it, and Rusty was about twice as small as me. I was suddenly very aware of how alone I was. I snapped my head around, looking for movement, straining my ears for sound. The rest of the exhibit lay quiet and unassuming, the only thing audible was the sound of my nervous breaths. Okay. I took a shaky breath in. There were only three exits to this room. The one we came in from, and one to the left and right of the Van Gogh painting. I would have noticed Rusty is she’d ducked around me, so I ruled out the door behind me. I whipped around nervously again. I couldn’t see anything, but I hated the unpleasant feeling of not being able to see behind me. I sprinted over to the wall and turned, so my back was to it. There. Now nothing should be able to sneak up on me. I looked down at the surveillance screen in my slightly shaking hands. I was hesitant to rewind the footage…I didn’t know what I would see.

And then the lights went out.

My stomach plummeted as the suffocating darkness suddenly enveloped me, the only source of light the soft glow of the surveillance footage as Rusty speed-walked backward. My hand, already in motion, pressed the play button. I swallowed, staring at the screen as if transfixed. Rusty walked into frame again, then turned to face me.

And suddenly, that awful, bloody painting filled the frame, leering up into the camera. I screamed and dropped the tablet, and it clattered onto the ground. My eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness, and I couldn’t see anything except for the faint glow of the screen on the ground. Fear was prickling its way all over my screen. What the hell was going on? I made a wild grab for the tablet, but it skittered away, out of my reach. Like someone had kicked it, only I didn’t see anything. I gasped and pulled back, cowering against the wall. It was suddenly suffocatingly cold, like someone pressing ice into my nose, my eyes—

***

The portrait of the security guard stared at me whenever I sat down in the room. Interesting choice for a painting, I guess, but whatever. I squinted at the grainy screen of the surveillance camera in the modern art gallery. It was pretty scary, I’ll give it that. The person in the portrait looked absolutely terrified, mouth stretched open in a scream.

They say that the last guard and supervisor disappeared, which is why I’ve got such a good paycheck coming in: no one wanted the job after that. I snorted.

I’d be more scared if I believed in that kinda shit, which I don’t.

#not my prompt #writing #writing exercise #was digging around my writing journal and found this from last November lol #throwback Thursday ig #cw: swearing

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