Dead Man's Canvas

## **Dead Man's Canvas** *by Bloodyspaghetti*

Three months ago, one of my best friends, Tommy, died.

It was a suicide.

Very unlike him, though, what do I know? Maybe I wasn’t the only one who got fucked up during our service. He mentioned a few times he draws whatever haunts his nightmares. I have no idea how often he drew for this reason. He used to draw a lot in general; mostly positive stuff. He was pretty damn good at it too. I remember we used to joke about how he should’ve become a comic book illustrator because of his style of drawing and his skill with the pen.

Tommy was a positive man; you could never tell something was wrong with him. Other than the usual stuff, everyone goes through. Life’s never only about the ups – obviously, there are downs too.

Then again, more often than not, you wouldn’t be able to tell if a person’s dealing with demons or not unless they were open about it.

Tom went out in the worst way imaginable.

It wasn’t like him.

Wasn’t like him at all.

He apparently sliced his arms open and bled out; to put it simply.

It wasn’t that simple; however, I’d imagine.

When I was told, I could come by his place and pick out whatever I’d like to take with me as a memento, I was told I’d better stay out of his room. For my own sake. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that statement when I first heard it. Cassie, his sister. She was the one who told me I should keep out of there.

She called it hell.

When I came by two weeks after Tom’s passing, I made it a point to check out his room. It was like this itch that I couldn’t scratch. I had to see what he left behind. I had to know what all the fuss was about. There’s no way it was as bad as Cassie was saying, right? These were the words of a grieving sister. I thought there was no way it would be too bad. Just a few blood stains here and there and a massive pool of the dried-up crimson liquid somewhere. I’ve seen worse – I’ve done worse.

Hoo boy, how fucking wrong I was… Quite frankly, Cassandra wasn’t exaggerating, not in the slightest.

The room was a total mess, I’ll say this much; I’ve never thought there’d be so much in a single human being. Thomas wasn’t even the biggest of guys. He was pretty average in terms of his overall volume, I guess, I could say.

There was blood everywhere.

It was all over the floor, on the walls, on his desk, staining his bed sheets.

The worst part was there were words written in blood all over the room; I couldn’t decipher them, which is probably for the better.

No, I’m lying, that’s not the worst part.

Even the smell wasn’t the worst part of it. I guess if the whole place didn’t make me feel so on edge, I’d find the stench incredibly sickening. The whole room reeked a mix of rotten flesh, eggs and stinging touches of iron.

Probably the worst thing I’ve ever smelled, but it wasn’t what bothered me the most.

Somehow.

For some reason, the moment I stepped through the front door, I felt myself tense up. I thought it was just the mood of it all. Being inside the house of someone you knew that ended up offing themselves. It wasn’t that; grief and a moody atmosphere do not make you feel you’re being watched.

Yeah…

I felt like I was being watched the whole time I was there.

That’s probably the reason I made sure I thoroughly checked out every last inch of the house; just to make sure there was no one in there. I guess old habits die hard.

The whole place felt as if it was out of this world. In a sense that there was no time; no flow, like it was thrown out of reality and set in a dark corner of its own. Like it was stuck in its own sort of dimension; forsake by any higher power that might exist.

It felt heavy in there; physically heavy. Like someone or something, turned up the gravitational forces inside that estate.

I felt as if I was being crushed by the apartment itself.

Like it was alive.

Like it didn’t want me there.

I couldn’t leave though, not until I’ve seen Tommy’s room. I had to see what happened; I suppose it was some sense of morbid curiosity. I’d say the animalistic part inside of me was trying to mess with my civilized part. Maybe the devil on my shoulder tried to one-up the angel on my other shoulder. I think I just wanted to see what the death of one of my best friends looked like.

Maybe somewhere deep inside I wanted to pay him my final respects like that.

I don’t know…

Anyway, I made it to his room, hardly; the apartment was sucking the life out of me. I found myself stopping and staring at a wall in every wall. It’s like I was waiting for something to crawl out and come at me. I might’ve been hoping for something like that. I guess it’d be easier to accept Tom’s death if it came at the hands of some monster as opposed to his own.

Grief is a fucked-up thing.

Thomas’ room was truly hell however, there was blood everywhere.

It was all over the floor, on the walls, on his desk, staining his bed sheets.

So much blood.

I was afraid.

I could feel my heart trying to escape my cage with anxiety.

I was having another fit.

I needed a moment. I knew it was just another fit. I haven’t been good with stress those last few years.

I know I’ve a problem; and well, I can’t fix it just yet. I refuse to dig deep inside the pit that is my soul and pull out all the shit to the surface and deal with it as I should.

I just can’t.

I had to sit down and give myself a moment of respite.

I ended up sitting down on Tommy’s bed, and for a moment I thought I could see him standing next to his desk, next to a covered canvas. I was sure for about a second. I saw my friend standing there. Talking to me.

My mind went blank for a moment.

It wasn’t a hallucination, or anything of that sort. I was just trying to deal with the loss, my mind making up bullshit to cope better.

It hurt so much… I felt the tears roll down my cheeks.

I felt kind of good for about a millisecond.

Then a knock came from the window. It quite literally made me jump. I have been so zoned out a soft knock on the window jolted me upright. I could feel my muscles petrify with tension. I turned towards the window facing me from across the room and I was sure I’m going to piss myself.

She was just standing there, knocking on the window whilst staring at me…

From the inside…

Seeing her felt like taking a knife to the chest.

She just stood there; knocking gently and smiling.

That fucking smile.

That wasn’t a human smile…

Too wide, way too wide…

And her eyes; aloof, dead empty… Yet so sharp, like daggers.

I felt as if she was digging at my insides with her eyes…

I just stood there frozen, like a scared child, I had every right to be a scared child at that moment.

She seemed so real and yet almost ethereal; and no, she wasn’t transparent or anything.

Solid.

She was solid.

I could see the withering of the edges of her cloak, it’s like it was made up of pitch-black tentacles.

I couldn’t even utter a sound in her presence.

She just pointed her finger at the covered canvas, and I involuntarily shifted my gaze towards it. My body moved on its own, ignoring my internal screams.

As I looked at it; the cover slipped down and fell to the floor; revealing a drawing, a crude representation of hers. Draw in a disgusting reddish brown, nearly black color.

I was mesmerized by the artistic abomination.

My eyes were locked on that thing.

Suddenly, the knocking stopped, and the uneasiness began to wash away.

I turned back to the window, and the bitch was gone.

I was alone again.

Not willing to risk it, I grabbed the canvas and bolted out of the estate.

I had no idea why I took the damned thing; I just did.

It’s like something inside snapped and I knew I had to take it with me.

A sort of primal call or something, I don’t know.

I was pretty sure I had a fit so bad I was hallucinating, but no, the painting is real; it’s still disgusting to look at from a distance. I feel like I’m being punched in the guts if I look at it for longer than few seconds. Can’t even stand close to that thing. It makes me sick to my stomach because of the awful smell. I’ve an awful idea of what it’s made of. The dye, that is.

I would rather not think about it…

I really hope I’m wrong about this thing, but...

I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind ever since I’ve gotten this thing; I can keep hearing someone walking around the house when I’m alone. Heck, I’ve even seen my dog randomly wiggling her tail as if someone’s approaching her when there’s no one there.

I keep hearing someone audibly breathe from time to time.

I live alone.

I keep having nightmares about people opening themselves up and using their own blood to paint all these awful images of indescribable terrors.

I don't even want to think about that shit.

I even woke up the other night seeing something stand in the corner of my room. It was this short, rather humanoid shadow, but it was withering at the edges. I couldn’t move, I was frozen with fear. I was fully awake, seated up, facing that shadow thing.

I think it noticed me, and then expanded itself. I was sure I’m having another nightmare, but then the thing enveloped my whole bedroom. For a quick moment everything turned black, and I felt a wave of frozen air rush through me. I was drowning in the cold sensation; I couldn’t breathe.

My lungs just froze.

A second later, everything returned to normal.

Couldn’t sleep for the rest of that night or the following night.

I’m always on edge…

Anxious more often than not.

Everyone around me thinks I’m losing it.

They’re probably right.

I feel like there’s a crushing atmospheric force trying to crack my fucking body open whenever I step into the garage where the bloody canvas stands.

Everything started with that thing.

I’ve to get rid of it.

I think I’m going to throw the bloody canvas.

I’m going to get rid of that thing once the feeling of someone standing behind me goes away.