The year was, 1980 and the beginning of the new decade had started off strong for young, Tracey. She had finally completed her studies at the university of Boston, and landed a stupendous job as an art distributer at a very popular museum. Around a couple months in, she had earned and saved so much money, she had the opportunity to buy her first home all on her own. Life was looking wondrous for the young lady, and nothing could make her feel like any less, its like she was unstoppable. Tracey, was living her dreams at last after all the years of hard work. Eventually, within a couple of months she was doing so good that they put her in charge of organizing the new upcoming art collections for exclusive auctions at the museum. She became more ecstatic than ever before for her new position. However, on her first day as being the executive distributer, she gets an email saying that the new collection is super exclusive and the whole collection is already bought from an international buyer, and will not be auctioned. She figured this was a little strange, something like that happening on her first day of handling that position, but she imagined that is probably how it is with very exclusive collections. And since it was her first exclusive collection, she didn’t question it.

Weeks passed by and the collection had finally arrived. Tracey, was filled with curiosity and joy as she paced herself down to the back of the museum to receive the order. She could only imagine what kind of paintings where in this exclusive collection since there were no notes on the memo about it. Finally, a large truck arrived and an older gentleman with a scruffy beard and red trucker hat pull up to the back of the museum. “Hello missy, are you Tracey Stewart? I have the collection in the truck, here’s the paper work I need you to sign saying I dropped it off. After that it’s all yours.”

“Wow, thanks I’ll get to that in a bit, I’m so excited to look at this collection and see why its so exclusive to the museum.” Tracey saw the older gentleman open the back of the truck and there they were, all wrapped up together all the way in the front of the truck, making it look like one thick giant canvas. She called the rest of the crew to come and take it out carefully and place it inside the safe-walls of the museum. The older gentleman looked at Tracey’s odd excitement and told her.

“Hey lady. Careful with these paintings, I’ve been doing this job for many years now, and this is the third time I’ve had to transport these to new owners. The paintings are really a work of art, but one of them is supposedly haunted or something. Whatever you do, don’t stare at them too long…”

“Why do you say that? Why did the past owners sell them again?” Asked Tracey, very politely.

“The last two owners died of suicide, exactly the same way shortly after owning these. You don’t want to end up like that! Do ya! Hahaha.” The old gentleman laughed drastically, holding his popped out belly and scruffy beard. He gave Tracey, a last and final wink before he got back on his truck and left. She was very confused by this last interaction and ignored the odd warnings. She proceeded to help navigate the team underground to the basement of the museum, so that they could be stored there until the buyer comes and picks them up.

Enter The Storm: Warning Signs.

Eventually, the crew members leave and now its just Tracey and the unraveled art pieces. The paintings were not that tall, in fact all three of them were about the same height as her. She noticed two of them looked very similar, almost painted entirely black with small red highlights of random swivels and shapes. She could not make a figure out the black ones, and ignored them shortly after. However the last one, looked beautiful. She in fact knew exactly the name of the painting. Christ in the Storm, by Rembrandt. She was astonished by what she saw and immediately took a closer inspection of the whole painting. She noticed the paint strokes, and almost complete shadows that reminisced about the old ancient world portraying light and darkness. The two most prolific protagonists and antagonists in the older eras. She had studied his work during her studies in college and knew that this painting was truly one of a kind. As she looked more carefully at the corners of the piece. She noticed a small slit on a bottom corner and immediately began to worry because these pieces were supposed to be in prestige conditions. She phoned over the art repair worker and he came to the basement shortly after her call.

“Hello Miss Tracey, how may I assist you— oh my goodness, is this the painting I think it is?!” Said the repair man.

“Yes it is, I was hoping you can maybe patch this up? I think it must’ve been damaged while it was on route here? I’m not sure but this needs to be fixed.” Pleaded Tracey.

“Hmm let me see… this looks more like someone tried to rip it? It doesn’t look like a typical cut? See.” The repair man pointed his old shaky finger at the rip. “The rip is very rugged, hmm I wonder why someone would try to damage it? I think I can fix this up easy, don’t worry.” Reassured the repair man.

“Thank you so much! These pieces are very important you see, they’re already bought by an international buyer.” Said Tracey.

“Really? Already bought?” Questioned the repair man as he put his hands on his waist.

“Yes, so I have to make sure it’s in perfect condition before the buyer arrives.”

“Okay, let me see the back of it…” the repair man now put on his thick glasses and looked more closely at the painting with a small flash light. He touched the painting where the slit was and then pulled his hand back immediately after, like something had burned it! “Whoa! Oh no… I’m sorry miss, I cannot fix or touch this. I am very disturbed!” The repair man backed away from the painting, grabbed this chest and began breathing profusely. “You must not touch it either! There’s something very wrong with this.” The repair man’s voice became very shaken like never before. He even rubbed his hand off on his pants like he was trying to take something off. “You should leave this painting alone, who’s trying to buy this collection?” Said the repair man.

“Are you okay?! I’m sorry, I don’t know yet, I don’t understand, what are you talking about; what happened?” Tracey began to reach for the painting and the old man quickly grabbed her hand.

“No! Don’t touch it! I said there’s something wrong with it!” Pleaded the repair man.

Tracey pulled her back back in confusion, “What’s wrong with it! I don’t understand? So you can’t fix it then???” Tracey now began to get irritated and crosses her arms frustrated.

“No I cannot, you must find someone else. There are paintings from the old world that were supposed to be left alone. This is one of them. There’s something very dark about this work.” Said the repair man as he grabbed his head in worry. “I must leave now.”

“But there isn’t anyone else but you that can fix a paintings like this? Please help me; this is my first exclusive art collection I’m in charge of. I really need this to go perfect!” Begged Tracey.

“No, do as you wish with it..” The repair man began walking away to the exit.  “But I cannot fix it. Forgive me, Tracey.” said the old man.

Drifting To Land: Signs It’s Coming Back.

Tracey was left in astonishment with the way everyone reacted to this painting. She thought it strange, how such a beautiful historic painting made everyone so fearful. Was there something about this painting that she didn’t know about that everyone else did? Perhaps there was, however she didn’t want to dwell on this painting forever. She just wanted it to look perfect for the person that bought it, forget it, and move on to the next. And since she had just gotten this new position at the museum, she didn’t want to have any mistakes. So she wrapped it up and decided to take it home with her to stitch up the painting herself. Later that day, she took it home with her after work and carefully placed it in her living room that night.

Once she got to her home, she felt all the stress slowly start to ease away. Her home was big, something that some might even marvel. It had beautiful vintage designs that shunned upon the modern minimal architecture. The shadows highlighted the beauty of an old home. At night time however, is when it looked its best. The inside of the home was covered with large works of art all over the walls in different shapes and sizes that were beautifully lit by the natural light of the moon. Everything inside her home was made out of wood too; polished and oiled to always look in its prime.

Tracey, looked around for her sowing kit, and began planning how she would start the stitches so they looked minimal, and less obvious. Although everyone had warned her not to touch it or even look at it for long. She couldn’t help but admire the beautiful art work; and proceeded to grab a small sitting stool, and pondered the mysterious painting. The painting itself is a depiction of Jesus Christ and his disciples on a wooden boat struggling to stay at sea. Everyone in the painting was relevant, even the painter, painted himself in it. Everyone except one character. An old man facing back behind the painter himself. Who could it be?

She stayed staring at the back of the older man and began to feel a sweltering boil on the back of her neck. Tracey, quickly retreated her hand to her neck to feel what was making her skin burn so much, but she didn’t feel anything there. The sweltering went away as soon as she touched where it was. She looked back at the painting and now the old man had his head turned facing her? Tracey looked confused at the painting and rubbed her eyes to see it better. The old man was actually facing her, but now he was doing something else too. He was starting to smile, and his teeth began to show. Tracey, reached her hand out slowly to touch the old man in the painting, wondering if this was really happening. As soon as she touched it, suddenly, the lights shut down in her entire house, and she felt a huge shock of screaming ice cold fill her entire arm. She immediately pulled her arm back and took a couple steps back, she grabbed her arm in distress. The large windows behind her kept illuminating the painting however, it was the only thing shining with light. Like if it was creating its own aura with the moonlight. And the old man kept smiling in the picture, like a warning sign, like something strange. Tracey stared at it in horror, and for the first time began to feel fear, crawling inside the skin in her arm, like if it was numbing off by itself. Her eyes widened as she’d never felt anything like that before. Now the entire home felt ice cold, as if the temperature went down 30 degrees. She turned to look at the walls and even they looked different now too. She saw small black lines forming, falling down the walls. She looked closer, it was blood dripping down. Her walls were bleeding. Suddenly, the lights shot back on. She looked at the painting again, but now the old man was gone. “What the fu—”.

Echos Of The Screams: Enter Miss McMay.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

“Hello!! Is anyone home? I am Miss McMay your neighbor!” Tracey, jumped in fright and turned to the door, wondering who the hell was, “Miss McMay”? She shook her goosebumps off and began whispering curse words under her breath while she marched to the door. She opened her front door and there was a very nice short older lady waiting outside with a pie in her hands. She had short grey curly hair, a modest yellow dress with black outlined stitching, everything looked made out of wool; she also had beautiful pearl earrings. “Hello, dear. My name is Evelyn McMay, I’m your next door neighbor, I saw you just moved in recently and I’ve been wanting to say hello and introduce myself.”

“Oh hi, hello thank you very much, wow you really caught me by surprise! I wasn’t expecting anyone to come to my door so late.”

“Please forgive me, I would have come earlier but I noticed your not in your home much, so as soon as I saw you pull your car into the driveway, I started to heat up the pie I made you. This is for you, a delicious apple pie. Welcome to the neighborhood… and your name is?”

“Oh yes sorry, I’m Tracey Smith. It’s very nice to meet you Evelyn, thank you for the pie!”

“Oh please, call me Miss McMay, it's a real pleasure to finally meet you, so can I  come in?” Asked Miss McMay.

“Yes of course! Please, please come inside.” Tracey took a step back and let her inside. Miss McMay, stepped inside with the pie in her hands, but did it dramatically slow. Almost like she was feeling the house for something. Miss McMay closed her eyes and said very slowly.

“It’s here, isn’t it” Miss McMay spoke in a deep unsettling voice.

“What’s here?” Asked Tracey. “Are you okay?” She wondered what she was talking about, and hoping that it wasn’t what she thought it was about. Tracey, squinted her eyes to better focus on what Miss McMay.

Finally, Miss McMay opened her eyes with a bright smile and said to Tracey, “The whipped cream! I forgot to bring mine, but you must certainly have some here in this big house right!” The older woman raced deeper into Tracey’s house almost like if she owned too. As she walked inside, she slid her hands against the walls, with a marching pace, looking around at every doorway swaying her head back and forth.

“Um excuse me, you can’t go there the kitchen is this way! And I don’t have whipped cream!” Tracey raced to catch up with Miss McMay angrily to try to stop her. At this point she was very upset and whispered curse words under her breath again. Finally, she found the older woman in the living room. The pie was dropped to the floor, she was dead still, looking at the painting. “Hey! Lady you can’t be barging into other people’s houses like that! It’s very rude; thank you for the pie, but you need to leave I’m very busy wor—”

“Shut up!” Miss McMay interrupted, Tracey mid-sentence.

“Wow. I can’t believe this is happening right now.” Tracey had finally had enough. “Hey! Miss McMay, you need to get out of my fucking house right now! Or I’m going to call the police!”

“I think it’s talking to me…” Miss McMay’s voice sounded shaky, scared, and possessed. “I know my husband died… but it wasn’t my fault? It was an accident!”Tracey’s heart dropped, and shivers struck her like lighting inside. She froze in complete fear. “No, no, no, no, no! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Miss McMay, screamed and the echos where heard through out all of Tracey’s hallways. The old lady dropped to her knees and squeezed her hands to her ears, pressing as hard as she could. She looked in actual visible pain. She fell to her side on the floor and let out a horrific scream, so loud that the lights in Tracey’s house began flickering again. Tracey, still frozen in fear didn’t know what to do, she looked at her phone on the table and reached to dial 911.

Rembrandt Has Landed: The Sailer That Never Was.

Tracey, suddenly heard running footsteps coming at her from behind. She thought it was for real this time. She was going to die. She squeezed her eyes closed, hugged herself tightly and fell to the ground. She let out a final scream, “Stop!”

“Miss McMay! Wait!” A new voice appears out of nowhere, and a stranger runs past Tracey. She hugs and hovers over Miss McMay in desperate help. “I’m here! I’m here! Evelyn, it’s me! Martha!”. Tracey shaken by everything that has been going on took a deep shaky breath and begins to cry on her beautiful wooden floors with subtle relief. The feeling of complete loss of control defeated her soul, but the relief that she was not dead revives her. Tracey, picked herself up from the floor and looked at the young woman picking up, Miss McMay from a distance, the old frightened woman finally began calming down. The young lady turned to look at Tracey and apologized. “I’m so so sorry, my name is, Martha. I’m, Miss McMay’s caregiver and she wondered off from her house while I was in the restroom. I’m so so sorry to disturb you in your home like this. This is very incredibly rude of us. Please forgive us, she has dementia, this is my fault I should’ve been more careful!” The young woman had dark brown hair, she looked like she was in her late 20s, maybe early 30s. She was wearing all light blue scrubs and looked like a nurse as well.

Tracey, felt a huge wave of relief, at last everything made sense. Tracey, wiped off the tears from her checks and took another deep breath. “It’s okay, I had no idea. She seemed totally fine until… she completely wasn’t. You guys really scared me to death right now.”

“I’m so sorry to have to come into your home like this, she mentioned earlier today that she has a new neighbor, and she really wanted to deliver a pie to you. I told her we can do it together but she left while I wasn’t looking. Again, I apologize, we will leave right now and won’t disturb you any longer. Come on, Evelyn we must go now, we shouldn’t be here right now.” Martha, grabbed Miss McMay gently by shoulders and arms, Miss McMay’s face suddenly turned scared again and she began asking questions about where her husband was and where she was at. Both women walked themselves out Tracey’s front door, just as fast as they came in.

And suddenly just like that, the front door shut loudly and silence filled the house again. Tracey walked to the front door, and saw both women through her window, walking back inside the house right next to hers. She heard, Miss McMay faintly say through the window, “But he was talking to me! I swear! I swear!” Boom. Her front door shut. Tracey looked at her door and locked it with both locks too.

Dark Treasures: There Is No Escape Now.

The next day, Tracey woke up early, put on her slippers and half asleep headed straight to her kitchen to grab a knife to to see if the painting was still there. It was frozen, still untouched like a monument, but even more scary to look at now. It gave her the creeps. She wanted to find out who was buying it, and more importantly she needed to bring it back to the museum. However she also knew it still needed to be fixed before returning it. She showered quickly and got changed; as she was finishing up in her room and putting on her shoes she heard a loud, BANG from downstairs. Icy quivers rolled through her neck again, she massaged her neck to calm down but now she felt a weird bump there. It wasn’t there this entire morning because she would’ve felt it in the shower?

BANG. BANG.

She whispered to herself, “What’s going on, not again!” She quickly tied her shoes and grabbed the knife she took from the kitchen. She opened her bedroom door slowly to see if anyone was in the hallways. But no one was there, she carefully walked down the stairs, but saw that no one was also in the kitchen either. Tracey was in her kitchen now, next to her living room. She looked out the window to see if anyone was outside but nobody was there either.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Tracey let out a scream and held the knife closer to her body. The banging was coming from the living room. This time they where super loud and she felt the bass of the bangs through her body. Her breaths where quivering, and she was shaking uncontrollably. She finally made it to the edge of the kitchen to see her living room. The painting was still there. But the painting looked different, there were red streaks all over it in bloodshot red, fresh, they were still dripping. Tracey, crying out of fear ran back upstairs as fast as she could to her room to get her phone to call 911.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Now she was in her room, she locked the door behind her, and desperately looked for her phone. She had difficultly seeing where it might be because of all the tears that kept running from her eyes. Suddenly, she heard a ring…it was her phone, on her bed under all the sheets. It was an unknown number, it kept ringing. She finally, answered. “Hello? Who’s this?”

“You have something of mine, I need it back.” The voice sounded ominous.

“Who are you! Tell me who you are, what do you want!” Cried Tracey.

“You took my art, you ruined it, now you need to fix it.” Demanded the voice.

“Are you fucking kidding me! Take it back, I don’t want it! I tried to fix it! Please leave me alone!” Cried Tracey.

“There is only one way, with your life.” The call ended. Tracey looked at her phone in horror, and began to feel a blistering burn on her back of her neck again. She grabbed her neck and felt the bump got bigger. The burn became so unbearable, so fast that she collapsed on her knees. She grabbed the foot of her bed to get back up to see what’s on her neck. At last she reached her vanity mirror, pulled her hair back, and saw the face of the old man smiling in the painting. It was burning and bleeding right through her neck. It starts to laugh.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Tracey turns around quickly to face her door with absolute fear. Tears, sweat, and blood are dripping down her face, neck, and body. The banging just came from right outside her bedroom door now. Tracey is lost for words to safe herself. Fear, pain, and defeat are overtaking her body now; she knows she’s about to die. The burning on her neck now feels like something is stretching it out. She let’s out one final scream, “Stop!”

The pain recedes, it completely goes away and it is dead silent again. The only sound there is, is Tracey panting uncontrollably. She checks out her neck on her vanity again. Nothing… except. Now she hears the door behind her open. It creeks slowly, she turns to look at the door. There’s, Miss McMay. Holding Martha’s head on one hand, and holding a kitchen knife on the other. She was still wearing the same yellow dress, but now it looked like the painting. She was all covered in blood, from her face, to her feet. Miss McMay, sticks out Martha’s head and slams it on the door.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Miss McMay, turns her head to Tracey and smiles with her teeth, blood slowly drips from her mouth. “I told you it was an accident, I promise you I didn’t kill her…it was never me, he made me do it…now its your turn.” Miss McMay throws Martha’s head at Tracey’s arm, it knocks the knife out of Tracey’s hand. She grabs,Tracey’s hair and pulls it up.

“Please, please don’t do this! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please let me free, I didn’t do anything!” Begged Tracey. Miss McMay looks at Tracey, makes a sad face, and slashes her throat. Tracey dies instantly. Miss McMay, then cuts off her head too and takes it downstairs to the painting along with Martha’s. She whispers to the painting, “I did it. Take them, I want to see my husband now.” The painting rips from the bottom and opens a dark mysterious portal, it sucks up all the blood from both heads, as Miss McMay held them up together. Within seconds the rip returns to its small original size and turned, entirely, like black dried up blood with small red streaks. Miss McMay drops the empty heads now, grabs the final knife again, bloodied all over her face and old body, she smiles on last time, say’s thank you to the painting and slices her own throat.

THE END.