07-18-2023, 09:18 PM
Tom drops a brown leather overnight bag onto the passenger seat, closes the door
and rounds the front of the car to the other side. He drives away from the house - a different
house - it’s smaller and in a more residential area.
Across town, he pulls into a parking lot - EVERGREEN PSYCHIATRIC FACILTY. It’s about
half filled with various makes and models of new and older vehicles. Tom exits the 1990 Volvo
with Iowa plates. Bag in hand, he crosses the parking lot and enters the building.
He waits in the front corridor at the check-in point. Seconds later, he’s met by a pretty
brunette in her late twenties.
“Evelyn Pierce?” he requests politely.
She smiles through the half-inch of protective glass and buzzes him in. Once past the large
double doors, Tom walks the long, brightly-lit hallway that goes on for what feels like a city
block before reaching the sitting room at the end.
He stands at the opening, a lump forms in his throat - he watches for a moment. She’s facing
a window but is staring blankly off into nothing. Despondent. A squeeze of pain on his
heart - a hopeless sorrow.
Tom approaches and waits - she’s a million miles away. He gently taps her shoulder, bringing
her back to this world.
“Oh, hey. I was just thinking about you.”
He leans down, kisses her cheek and places the leather bag on her lap. Thirty-two years
married and she was still the most beautiful girl in any room. Tom sits in a chair beside her,
that lump in his throat tightening.
Evelyn sets the bag on the floor, looks around the room and then back at Tom. It was hard
seeing her like this - eyes dulled with the wear of medication and too much sleep.
They back & forth with the usual - bland food, strange people, the staff are nice but distant,
nights are pleasantly quiet except for that one older gentleman who struggles with fitful
dreams and cramping legs.
And, like with every other visit - Evelyn wants to leave. Tom then has to explain that her doctor
hasn’t cleared her for that yet.
“I don’t care. I want to go Home, Tom. Home.”
That lump, the size of a grapefruit now.
“But we most certainly have to move, we can’t stay in that house.” she says in a whisper,
scanning the room suspiciously.
Tom fights hard to remain composed but a few tears find their way to freedom. Evelyn touches
his hand in consolation. He knows he has to tell her.
“Lyn?”
Her eyes brighten, she locks onto his every word.
“You’ve been here two weeks now.”
His loving smile offset by eyes welling up - her hand clutching his.
“You remember why you’re in here, don’t you?” he asks with a quiver in his voice.
“Oh God yes, it was the house! It was terrible! All the things that were going on, it nearly killed
us! Something evil was there, I could feel it!”
Tom wipes his face and clears his throat. Hanging by a tether.
“That day, when I came home from work, I found you in the garage.”
Evelyn stares intently.
“You had cut yourself, all over - your arms - legs.”
She glances down and rubs her right forearm, feeling the stitches through her sweatshirt.
“Blood was everywhere. Your canvases were soaked and ripped to shreds.”
Now tears run down her face.
“I know, but it was that house, it made terrible things happen!”
Tom’s body fills with a writhing anguish.
“We’ll just go back home to Davenport, that’s where we belong.” she declares.
“Evelyn!” he snaps, her head perks.
“There’s something I need to say - and I need you to listen.”
She leans slightly forward, full eye contact.
“We’re in Davenport. We never moved to Oregon.”
Her expression sours with confusion.
“It didn’t work out. The house we were interested in sold so we decided to wait until next year.”
She wipes her face and shakes her head.
“No, no, no…”
“Evelyn, yes, you have to accept this! All of these stories about a - haunted house -
they’re not real.”
“They’re not stories! It happened!” she screams, shooting up from her chair.
Everyone on the floor turns to look. Evelyn stands, shaking. Tom hugs her and sits
her back down.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner - but you were in no shape before.”
Evelyn sobs quietly, covering her face. Tom sits opposite - hands on her knees.
“It’s going to be okay, Lyn.”
She gathers herself and clears her throat.
“I want to go home. I can’t be here anymore. I want to go home, Tom.”
“Soon. I promise you.” he says, voice cracking.
Visiting hours have ended. Tom kisses Evelyn on the cheek and embraces her for
several moments. They break and Tom notices her eyes have fallen empty again.
His heart wrenches.
“Don’t forget your bag.” he says, lightly brushing her cheek. She looks up at him with
such desperation, forcing a very thin and reluctant smile.
Tom walks from the sitting room - every step driving another spike into his heart.
Evelyn watches him slowly grow smaller up the long, brightly-lit hallway.
https://imgur.com/Zb28vAs
"We Must Leave Here" - Final in the five-part series 'Unseen'.
Mixed media on plywood. My 125th painting.
and rounds the front of the car to the other side. He drives away from the house - a different
house - it’s smaller and in a more residential area.
Across town, he pulls into a parking lot - EVERGREEN PSYCHIATRIC FACILTY. It’s about
half filled with various makes and models of new and older vehicles. Tom exits the 1990 Volvo
with Iowa plates. Bag in hand, he crosses the parking lot and enters the building.
He waits in the front corridor at the check-in point. Seconds later, he’s met by a pretty
brunette in her late twenties.
“Evelyn Pierce?” he requests politely.
She smiles through the half-inch of protective glass and buzzes him in. Once past the large
double doors, Tom walks the long, brightly-lit hallway that goes on for what feels like a city
block before reaching the sitting room at the end.
He stands at the opening, a lump forms in his throat - he watches for a moment. She’s facing
a window but is staring blankly off into nothing. Despondent. A squeeze of pain on his
heart - a hopeless sorrow.
Tom approaches and waits - she’s a million miles away. He gently taps her shoulder, bringing
her back to this world.
“Oh, hey. I was just thinking about you.”
He leans down, kisses her cheek and places the leather bag on her lap. Thirty-two years
married and she was still the most beautiful girl in any room. Tom sits in a chair beside her,
that lump in his throat tightening.
Evelyn sets the bag on the floor, looks around the room and then back at Tom. It was hard
seeing her like this - eyes dulled with the wear of medication and too much sleep.
They back & forth with the usual - bland food, strange people, the staff are nice but distant,
nights are pleasantly quiet except for that one older gentleman who struggles with fitful
dreams and cramping legs.
And, like with every other visit - Evelyn wants to leave. Tom then has to explain that her doctor
hasn’t cleared her for that yet.
“I don’t care. I want to go Home, Tom. Home.”
That lump, the size of a grapefruit now.
“But we most certainly have to move, we can’t stay in that house.” she says in a whisper,
scanning the room suspiciously.
Tom fights hard to remain composed but a few tears find their way to freedom. Evelyn touches
his hand in consolation. He knows he has to tell her.
“Lyn?”
Her eyes brighten, she locks onto his every word.
“You’ve been here two weeks now.”
His loving smile offset by eyes welling up - her hand clutching his.
“You remember why you’re in here, don’t you?” he asks with a quiver in his voice.
“Oh God yes, it was the house! It was terrible! All the things that were going on, it nearly killed
us! Something evil was there, I could feel it!”
Tom wipes his face and clears his throat. Hanging by a tether.
“That day, when I came home from work, I found you in the garage.”
Evelyn stares intently.
“You had cut yourself, all over - your arms - legs.”
She glances down and rubs her right forearm, feeling the stitches through her sweatshirt.
“Blood was everywhere. Your canvases were soaked and ripped to shreds.”
Now tears run down her face.
“I know, but it was that house, it made terrible things happen!”
Tom’s body fills with a writhing anguish.
“We’ll just go back home to Davenport, that’s where we belong.” she declares.
“Evelyn!” he snaps, her head perks.
“There’s something I need to say - and I need you to listen.”
She leans slightly forward, full eye contact.
“We’re in Davenport. We never moved to Oregon.”
Her expression sours with confusion.
“It didn’t work out. The house we were interested in sold so we decided to wait until next year.”
She wipes her face and shakes her head.
“No, no, no…”
“Evelyn, yes, you have to accept this! All of these stories about a - haunted house -
they’re not real.”
“They’re not stories! It happened!” she screams, shooting up from her chair.
Everyone on the floor turns to look. Evelyn stands, shaking. Tom hugs her and sits
her back down.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner - but you were in no shape before.”
Evelyn sobs quietly, covering her face. Tom sits opposite - hands on her knees.
“It’s going to be okay, Lyn.”
She gathers herself and clears her throat.
“I want to go home. I can’t be here anymore. I want to go home, Tom.”
“Soon. I promise you.” he says, voice cracking.
Visiting hours have ended. Tom kisses Evelyn on the cheek and embraces her for
several moments. They break and Tom notices her eyes have fallen empty again.
His heart wrenches.
“Don’t forget your bag.” he says, lightly brushing her cheek. She looks up at him with
such desperation, forcing a very thin and reluctant smile.
Tom walks from the sitting room - every step driving another spike into his heart.
Evelyn watches him slowly grow smaller up the long, brightly-lit hallway.
https://imgur.com/Zb28vAs
"We Must Leave Here" - Final in the five-part series 'Unseen'.
Mixed media on plywood. My 125th painting.
