06-18-2023, 07:03 PM
Day 1:
It is pleasantly cool and overcast - typical of an October autumn in the pacific northwest.
Evelyn sits reading in her favorite recliner. A light tapping burrows into her awareness.
She glances up from her book, scans the room then leaves the chair to investigate.
Out of the living room, through the hall, into the kitchen - then back down the hall into each
bedroom. Never getting any closer to the sound, but it continues.
Now a faint, high-pitched noise begins. She storms up the hall and out the front door - nothing.
Back inside, she enters the kitchen, looking out the window - again, nothing.
The tapping noise bleeds into the high-pitched sound - weaving together a fabric of fear and question.
She moves briskly to and out the back door - the sounds abruptly end. She returns to her chair, picks up
her book and immediately sets it back on the table. Her eyes catch an incongruity -
across the room, a mirror hangs crooked.
Day 2:
Evelyn dusts the generously-sized bookcase in the hall. She turns to enter the kitchen and is
frozen by a crashing sound. It was the small navy blue vase, now on the beautifully tiled floor, in pieces.
The air tweaks with a buzzing current and she notices the large hallway mirror - there’s no reflection.
It turns a clouded, sea-green color, warping and pushing itself backward into the wall. She’s paralyzed.
The front door swings open. Her body jolts - she yelps.
“What’s the matter?” Tom queries.
Evelyn’s breathing is quick and shallow, face flushed. She stares at her husband - mouth open, no words.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
She looks back into the mirror, her reflection replaces the hideous morphing.
Her breathing normalizes, panic dissolves.
“I’m fine. You gave me a start, is all.”
Tom closes the door and spots the ceramic shards at Evelyn’s feet. He touches her shoulder
and they walk into the kitchen.
Tiny black fissures, like squirming capillaries, form around the edges of the mirror - growing from the frame inward.
Day 3:
Tom and Evelyn return home after a day out. They sit in the car staring at the house, then at one another.
“What the Hell!?” Tom offers in disbelief.
“I have no idea.” Evelyn replies, equally bemused.
The paint was very badly cracked and peeling, windows covered in filth, litter strewn about -
an overall disheveled appearance. Then the lights inside flicker. They exchange looks of concern
and quickly exit the vehicle.
Tom bursts through the front door, hitting the lights - Evelyn close behind. All is quiet. They move
into the living room, a feral growling rises from underfoot. It fills the house, growing louder and more
monstrous by the tick.
“What is that? Where is it coming from??” Evelyn shouts.
Tom’s expression is one of muted terror. The beastly sound reaches its apex, then brickwalls into
silence. They stand beside each other, still as statues.
“Why is it so cold in here?” Evelyn mutters quietly, her breath a cloud of frost.
Exactly three seconds of calm - then the entire house begins shaking violently.
Windows shatter, curtains are shredded and torn down, furniture in flames, deep claw marks
rake over the hardwood floor, several inches of rusty water pools on the ceiling and cascades
down the walls. A sharp, deathly howl shoots through the room…
The lights go out.
https://imgur.com/a/z04DIqc
"Static in the Room" - First in the five-part series 'Unseen'.
Mixed media on plywood. My 121st painting.
It is pleasantly cool and overcast - typical of an October autumn in the pacific northwest.
Evelyn sits reading in her favorite recliner. A light tapping burrows into her awareness.
She glances up from her book, scans the room then leaves the chair to investigate.
Out of the living room, through the hall, into the kitchen - then back down the hall into each
bedroom. Never getting any closer to the sound, but it continues.
Now a faint, high-pitched noise begins. She storms up the hall and out the front door - nothing.
Back inside, she enters the kitchen, looking out the window - again, nothing.
The tapping noise bleeds into the high-pitched sound - weaving together a fabric of fear and question.
She moves briskly to and out the back door - the sounds abruptly end. She returns to her chair, picks up
her book and immediately sets it back on the table. Her eyes catch an incongruity -
across the room, a mirror hangs crooked.
Day 2:
Evelyn dusts the generously-sized bookcase in the hall. She turns to enter the kitchen and is
frozen by a crashing sound. It was the small navy blue vase, now on the beautifully tiled floor, in pieces.
The air tweaks with a buzzing current and she notices the large hallway mirror - there’s no reflection.
It turns a clouded, sea-green color, warping and pushing itself backward into the wall. She’s paralyzed.
The front door swings open. Her body jolts - she yelps.
“What’s the matter?” Tom queries.
Evelyn’s breathing is quick and shallow, face flushed. She stares at her husband - mouth open, no words.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
She looks back into the mirror, her reflection replaces the hideous morphing.
Her breathing normalizes, panic dissolves.
“I’m fine. You gave me a start, is all.”
Tom closes the door and spots the ceramic shards at Evelyn’s feet. He touches her shoulder
and they walk into the kitchen.
Tiny black fissures, like squirming capillaries, form around the edges of the mirror - growing from the frame inward.
Day 3:
Tom and Evelyn return home after a day out. They sit in the car staring at the house, then at one another.
“What the Hell!?” Tom offers in disbelief.
“I have no idea.” Evelyn replies, equally bemused.
The paint was very badly cracked and peeling, windows covered in filth, litter strewn about -
an overall disheveled appearance. Then the lights inside flicker. They exchange looks of concern
and quickly exit the vehicle.
Tom bursts through the front door, hitting the lights - Evelyn close behind. All is quiet. They move
into the living room, a feral growling rises from underfoot. It fills the house, growing louder and more
monstrous by the tick.
“What is that? Where is it coming from??” Evelyn shouts.
Tom’s expression is one of muted terror. The beastly sound reaches its apex, then brickwalls into
silence. They stand beside each other, still as statues.
“Why is it so cold in here?” Evelyn mutters quietly, her breath a cloud of frost.
Exactly three seconds of calm - then the entire house begins shaking violently.
Windows shatter, curtains are shredded and torn down, furniture in flames, deep claw marks
rake over the hardwood floor, several inches of rusty water pools on the ceiling and cascades
down the walls. A sharp, deathly howl shoots through the room…
The lights go out.
https://imgur.com/a/z04DIqc
"Static in the Room" - First in the five-part series 'Unseen'.
Mixed media on plywood. My 121st painting.
