The art in the storm

Ann stood by the window and stared out over the lake. There was a storm brewing. One for the record books if the radio hadn’t been exaggerating.

The greyness outside matched her mood but this was not what she needed right now. With a heavy sigh she turned away from those depressingly dark clouds and picked up her paints. The only thing she could do now was to pray that the electricity would hold up against the storm so she could finish her painting. She had to finish it. Not because of any pressing deadline but for her own sanity.

That damned painting kept calling for her. Beckoning her to keep going and Ann knew from experience that the tug wouldn’t go away until the piece was finished and hanging in the gallery with the others.

Dave’s old digital camera was already up and running. A precaution she had put in place after losing consciousness, or falling into a trance, when painting the last two paintings. The feeling of not knowing how, or why, the paintings turned down twisted paths had been too difficult for her. She had to know about every brushstroke that went into the piece. Not just waking up and seeing the changes. Not that the knowledge had eased her mind one bit. It just made things worse.

Ann had always been a talented painter who excelled in nature paintings. They were her bread and butter. Art critics even went as far as to describe them as windows into the real world. Looking at them could give you a sense of really being there.

Every painting so bright and cheerful.

Until they weren’t.

It had happened two times now, not counting the one she was working on.

The first one had started out perfect. Bright blue sky with puffy clouds over a forest clearing straight out of a fairytale. Ann even had a buyer in mind after the first painting session.

But after a brief nap she woke up to a different painting. The sky was darker, the trees were tangled up and, in the foreground, there was suddenly a campfire where she had planned to put some flowers. She couldn’t remember making any of those changes.

For a moment she thought that someone had broken in but why would they have messed with her painting. All windows and doors were locked so the most logical conclusion was that she had somehow done it herself. And that was just as scary of a thought.

Fully intent on changing it back she grabbed some paint and brushes. It shouldn’t be all that hard to fix. Just lighten the sky back up with some pale blue, lighter green colour for the trees. She even had a vague plan to use the campfire for a cozy camping scene.

To her distress none of that happened. Ann could clearly remember sitting down, lifting the brush and then… nothing…

It was like she blinked and found herself standing in front of the easel.

A truly horrible experience.

The scene on the canvas had grown even darker. It was clearly closer to dusk now. The trees were woven in and out of shadows and the campfire was so bright that it could just as well have been real.

As she leaned closer, she saw a dark orange tent a bit further in the back. With it’s opening positioned towards the viewer.

Ann herself felt completely exhausted, like she had been painting a part of her own soul into it. In a way that she had never done before.

She felt like she was losing her mind.

It was her friend Dave that gave her a possible solution.

Babe, just put up a camera wherever you are painting, shouldn’t matter if you are doing it at home or in the gallery. I have one that you can borrow. If this memory-laps-thing happens again you just watch the recording, and all your questions will be answered.

Just like him to think up an easy solution on the fly. He gave her the camera and Ann positioned it the same evening. Which had been a blessing because in the morning the painting was complete. Apparently, she had worked on it feverishly for five hours without knowing, which was another blow to her sanity. Who paints for five hours without knowing about it.  

And the painting… it was like no other she had ever painted before. It was so intense.

The fire burned brightly. So brightly that you could see it dance around the wood. It didn’t take much of imagination to really feel the heat and smell the smoke that wafted up into the sky. The tent wasn’t empty anymore. You could see the silhouettes of two persons lying in there.

The painting could almost pass as peaceful in an eerie kind of way but looking closer you started to see little, licking flames spreading in a thin line from the campfire over to the tent.

Ann had felt like she was watching an accident happening in slow motion and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She had seriously thought about destroying it, but Dave stopped her.

Ann. This is a masterpiece! Even I can see that. Just hang it up in the gallery and someone will give you a pile of money for it. I would stake my life on it. And well… if not you can give it to me.

That damned painting was now hanging in the darkest corner of the gallery waiting for someone to want it. Poor Dave wouldn’t be saving her from it. He had gone camping, feeling inspired to find this mysterious place and seeing it for himself. He went with a group of his buddies. They all got drunk, didn’t think about anything as basic as fire safety, and almost burned the whole forest down along with themselves.

Just like what seemed to be happening the painting.

The booming sounds of thunder close by brought Ann back to herself. The stiffness in her hand was a tell-tale sign that it had happened again. Although, for the first time she hadn’t fallen into a trance as much as gotten lost in her memories.

A quick glance at the canvas confirmed it. No need to check the camera this time. The painting was turning out just like the last two. Colourful intentions that got twisted into something more sinister and foreboding.

Ann gently rolled her shoulders and arched her back to ease some of the tension from sitting to long and really looked at what she had been painting. The once serene “cabin by the lake” moment she had been trying to capture was starting to reflect the reality of the moment. A massive storm was clearly brewing overhead and distant flashes of lightnings could be seen far in the background.

She could only hope that this was as bad as it would get. A beautiful picture of horrible weather that, in the real world, would blow over in a couple of hours. That would be it. If anything, she was owed a bit of luck after everything those paintings had put her through.

A strange feeling of dissociation washed over Ann, and she could feel herself slipping away again. This time Susan dominated her thoughts. Her best friend and the second cursed painting that ruined what she had left of her old self.

It was a beautiful water scene, requested by a new client. The subject was an old lake, located in the middle of a small town 2 hours away. That lake was the pride and joy of the townspeople who had made a whole tourism industry around it. In the summer people could come and rent colourful boats to sail in and over the winter months, when the lake had frozen over, they would host ice skating competitions.

Her client wanted it painted in a full summer glory so she would need to go there as soon as possible to get a feel for it herself.

Susan had demanded to accompany her. There’s no way that I’m letting you drive over there by yourself. Ann you would get hopelessly lost. You are beyond horrible with directions.

Ann had just laughed and accepted the offer. It was a perfect opportunity for them to spend a little time together. This whole thing was supposed to be so easy. Some rough sketching on site and lots of pictures from all possible angles for reference later on. Susan even offered to cover the pictures so Ann could focus entirely on the sketches. Susan had helped before so Ann knew that she would get her everything she could possibly need.

The trip had been lovely and first painting session at home had been such a joy. Every stroke of the brush falling perfectly in place.  

Two days later she woke up on the couch feeling exhausted with dry paint all over her hands.

Oh God no!

 Panicked Ann jumped up, ran over to the easel an forced herself to look closely at the painting. To really take in every last detail of it.

The overall feeling of happiness was still in it but there was something off about it. She just couldn’t put her finger on what it was. A small red boat was now sailing in the middle of the lake with a petite woman sitting in it with her back facing forwards. Something shimmering deep down in the water had caught the woman’s attention, so she was leaning over the side for a closer look.  

Ann instantly relaxed. There wasn’t anything bad in there. Only a new character that made it even better and more personal.

Excitedly she worked on the painting for the rest of the day and by the evening it was finished. Her client would love it. It was everything she had been asked for and then a little bit more. The only thing left was for it to dry properly and it would be ready for its new owner.

A few days later she wrapped it up and sent it to the client, only to have it quickly returned.

This is NOT what we agreed on. Why on earth would you send me something like this!

Thoroughly confused Ann opened it up in the gallery and felt her heart sink. This was not the painting she had finished, although looking back over the recordings she could see all the alterations happening.

The haunting feeling from the campsite painting had manifested in this one as well. The sky was a darker shade of blue, closer to fall then summer. Out on the lake the boat was starting to tilt dangerously to the side. The woman was barely keeping her balance gazing into the water. The shimmer from below was more golden, more beckoning, luring her in, and if that wasn’t bad enough a pale, skeleton thin hand was rising up from the waves, clasping on to the boat as if trying to capsize it.

Just looking at it made Ann sick to her stomach. And when Susan drowned in that same lake a month later, she nearly lost her sanity completely.

A mixture of pain and intense sorrow had Ann blinking. Slowly looking down she saw that the paintbrush had broken apart in her hand, stabbing through the flesh. The minutes ticked by as she just sat there in a haze watching the blood pool in her palm, forming small streams that dripped down into her lap.

Those damned haunted paintings had cost her two dear friends and a whole year of being unable to pick up anything close to drawing or painting. A whole year of creating nothing. Just staring at the blank canvas deadly afraid of manifesting some horror that would strip her of more friends, or even her family members.

And then out of the blue she had been scrolling on the internet and seen a picture of this cabin. A random ad that stuck with her. A picture forming deep in her psyche demanding to be made real. The need to paint was so strong and urgent that she had booked the cabin, bought all the supplies needed and even packed up the car without a second thought. It was only after parking in the driveway that her common sense, and the dread, had returned. But that was a little to late. There was no turning back now. That tug she felt, the need to finish what her mind had already started wouldn’t be denied. Even the fleeting thought of quickly sketching and then returning home to do the actual work had been instantly dismissed.

Outside the cabin the storm seemed to be reaching its climax. Each gust of wind sounded stronger than the last one. The lights flickered and that finally pushed her to stand up, bandage her wounded hand and find some candles. It wouldn’t really help her to be stuck here in the dark.

It wasn’t until she returned into the living room that she finally noticed the calm. Her mind was suddenly at ease. There was no tug. No need to keep going. Just peace. Something she hadn’t felt since before Dave died. Before she had seen that damned clearing in the woods and wanted to see how it would come out on the canvas.

Whatever had taken a hold of her was gone.

In that wonderful moment of relief, the power went out. The only illuminations came from a single candle, and flashes from the lightnings that danced around outside.

What did I paint? 

Do I want to see it?

I have to see it!

Ann grasped the candle and brought it slowly with her over to the painting. Only a small peak at it and then I’ll go and liven this place up with more candles. I might even try to light the fireplace.

She would make a cozy night of it. Drink that bottle of wine she had mindlessly brought with her. She could celebrate that newfound calm and freedom.

The painting was dark. Just as stormy as it was outside. Her little cabin was illuminated by dozens of lightnings, all to close for comfort. Ann could see the flicker of a candle through one of the tiny windows and peering closer a silhouette of the person holding it. For a moment she had the uncanny feeling of looking through a window. She could feel a hint of the wind blowing on her face. The lightnings were glowing and the biggest of them came down from the sky and struck a tree right beside the cabin.

Ann watched as the trunk seemed to shatter from the impact in real time. The tree starting to fall down ever so slowly, pulled down by gravity, straight onto the roof.