Look at me.

Seattle , 1997

-Come on, kids, hurry up, we’ve got a long journey ahead of us! - shouted Oswald Green impatiently, eager for his children to finally be ready. His wife was already waiting in the car, trying not to panic at the thought of the long distance they had to cover—she knew all too well how this would end: pit stops by the roadside and frequent bathroom breaks, inevitable due to her lifelong struggle with motion sickness. The longer the kids delayed getting into the car, the more anxious she became about the onset of symptoms from this annoying condition. Finally, Ellen spotted Oswald approaching, along with their two wonderful children, Adele and Josh. Both were school-aged, and thus difficult to manage—but the parents were well aware that this age often brought challenges in discipline.

 -Mom, Dad, please! Do we really have to? - Adele asked, with desperation in her voice. - I don’t want to leave my friends… 

- Adele, please don’t start again. We’ve already talked about this so many times. Your dad got a great job offer in California, and we have a bright future there, so stop complaining. 

-I have a bad feeling about this,- Josh added. 

Oswald and Ellen were too tired to argue with their children’s ‘bad feelings’—they had tried many times to reason with them, but without the desired results. On the other hand, they understood their point of view - fear of starting a new life was a perfectly normal reaction. The distance to California was over 900 miles, and they were supposed to cover it in about 15 hours. However, it took them 21 hours to get there, mainly because of Ellen's motion sickness. When they finally saw their new home, everyone felt a sense of relief, exhausted as they were from the journey. The house was different from typical Californian residences - perhaps because it was located outside the wealthiest neighborhoods. Built of red brick, with a white porch, it gave off a cozy atmosphere. The children got out of the car with Ellen, while Oswald parked in the garage. As they stepped across the threshold of their new home, the children calmed down a bit - the interior looked quite decent, and the wall had a built-in nook with a fireplace. 

-What’s that painting? - Josh asked, walking toward the wall above the fireplace. - I have no idea, -Oswald replied, also approaching the painting. - It was supposed to be unfurnished…

Apparently, the previous owner hadn’t bothered to take the painting with him. Oswald had hired a company to deliver all the necessary furniture and appliances so the Green family could arrive with everything set up, but there had been no mention of any artwork. Oswald stared at the painting, mesmerized. The canvas depicted a man sitting by the edge of a grayish - blue stream. Scattered around him, almost carelessly, were stones lying on the light green grass. The work resembled the technique of a pointillist - it was created with precise, delicate strokes, and the artist had composed the entire image out of small dots. In the sky, a sun timidly shone, with birds visible in the distant background. But there was something very strange, almost unsettling, about the painting. On the man’s back, there was a figure that looked like a demon. It was bound to him, its arms wrapped around the man’s neck- but the man seemed completely indifferent to it, his face expressionless as he stared intently at the stream.

• This painting is weird,- Adele remarked. - It’s wonderful, in a post-impressionist style,- Oswald said, fascinated. 
• Maybe the owner will come back for it? - Ellen asked, having joined the group gathered around the painting. 
• But for now, let’s drop the subject - please, come unpack what we need most and, please, let’s finally get some sleep!

The strangest part this time, it was the children who listened to their mother’s request, while Oswald decided to set up a chair in front of the fireplace and persistently stare at the painting. 

-Oswald, please, just go to bed already! - Ellen, dressed in her robe, came in, clearly annoyed. 

- Have you gone mad over that painting? Ellen, please, let me just look a little longer…- Oswald responded, almost in a trance. 

-Ah, do whatever you want,- she muttered as she walked away. The next morning, when the other members of the Green family woke up, they found their husband and father still sitting in front of the fireplace, staring at the painting. - -Mom… Don’t you think Dad looks a little like the figure in the painting?- Josh asked, frightened. 

- Son, what are you talking about? He’ll snap out of it, you know your dad is a big art enthusiast. 

- He doesn’t look like he’s going to stop staring at that canvas anytime soon… -I’ll prove you wrong, son,

- Ellen said and walked toward Oswald. - Oswald, honey, come back to us. Please, help me unpack the boxes,- she said, gently cradling his head against her stomach. 

-Alright, Ellen, I’m getting up. You know how much I love art, - Oswald replied, -but I didn’t sleep well.

-Maybe you should take a nap, darling,- Ellen said with concern. 

- In that case, please wait with the unpacking until I wake up,- he kissed his wife on the forehead and headed to the bedroom. Ellen ignored her husband's suggestion and decided to unpack with the children - she wanted to feel normal, like they were in a regular home where everything had its place. She bustled about, cleaning and giving the kids directions on what to do next. When she approached the painting to dust it, Oswald suddenly burst out of the bedroom in a fury, shouting: 

- Leave that painting alone! Don’t touch it!

- But darling, I just wanted to dust it…

 - Leave it! Don’t touch it!- he screamed, saliva flying, as he pressed his back against the wall to block her from getting near it. Ellen didn’t know how to react-this was the first time she had ever seen her husband behave this way; he had never acted like this before. She obeyed his demand and decided not to go near the painting again. 

-Still think everything is fine?- Josh asked his mother. 

-Don’t worry, Josh, this will pass…- Ellen replied, returning to her tasks. 

- I seriously doubt that…- Josh muttered under his breath. Oswald sat down in front of the painting once again, staring at it as though under some kind of hypnosis. 

-I hope he snaps out of it by tomorrow,- Ellen thought, rubbing cream into her hands, dried out from cleaning. 

-He has to go to work, after all.- She decided to check on Oswald and tried to convince him to lie down. “Leave me alone, Ellen. I’m a grown man, I know what I’m doing,” Oswald responded angrily. She walked away, defeated, unsure of what to do or how to bring him back to reason. She went to bed but couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, only managing to drift off in the early morning hours. When she woke up at 8, she found Oswald already in his suit, making scrambled eggs. Milk and cereal were on the table, and the whole house smelled of coffee. She was surprised, convinced her husband had spent the entire night in front of the painting - but he looked fresh and well-rested. 

-Good morning, darling. I’m sorry about yesterday,- Oswald said, kissing his wife on the cheek. 

- Please wake the kids for breakfast, I want to take them to school. It wouldn’t be good for them to be late on their first day.

 After breakfast, Ellen watched through the window as her family drove away. She felt utterly drained by the situation with the painting. She hoped it was just the shock from the move, and that her husband would soon regain his senses. She decided to find out who lived in the neighborhood.

Ellen needed a moment to gather her thoughts.

 “A walk will improve my mood,” she thought.

 She grabbed a sweater and stepped outside. The nearest house was about 200 meters away. When she rang the bell, she heard a woman's voice from the intercom. 

• Yes?- the woman asked.
• Good morning, I’m your new neighbor. Perhaps we could talk for a moment? I’d like to get to know the people living nearby.
• Great, come on in. Where do you live?- the woman asked. 
• At number 120.
• Goodbye!- Ellen heard the terrified voice through the intercom, and then silence fell. 

‘’What’s going on here?" Ellen wondered, confused. "I won’t be brushed off that easily.

 She rang the bell again, but there was no response. 

"I’ll try with other neighbors," she decided. 

She walked further, looking around. Finally, she came across a house that wasn’t surrounded by a tall fence, so it wouldn’t be easy for the occupant to avoid her. She knocked on the door, which almost immediately creaked open. In the doorway stood an elderly woman with gray hair, her face lined with wrinkles. She was dressed in a very bright dress that didn’t quite match her age. At first glance, she seemed a bit eccentric, and the smell of cats wafting from inside the house only added to that impression. - Hello, sweetheart, what brings you here?- she asked in a high-pitched voice. 

• Good day to you, I’m your new neighbor,- Ellen replied, nervously, fearing she would be turned away again. 
• Oh... Let me think... You’re from number 120?- the woman asked, intrigued. 
• Yes... 
• Come in, dear, I’m sure you want to know the truth.
• What is the truth?- Ellen asked, terrified as she stepped inside.
• What’s happening in that house,- the old woman answered. - Would you like some tea, dear?
• Yes, please…
•  Sit comfortably, just wait a moment.

As the woman went to make the tea, Ellen looked around the living room. The bright red throws on the couches and the countless cat figurines and pictures covering every wall and shelf were impossible to miss. 

-She’s definitely not all there,- Ellen thought. The woman soon returned with the tea, placing it on a wooden table in front of Ellen, and sat down. 

- I’m sure you came to ask about the painting? 

- How do you..

- How do I know? Everyone knows that seven previous owners became obsessed with that painting. And all of them ended up in the madhouse. 

- What?- Ellen screamed in shock. - The obsession always affects the husbands and fathers. And if there’s no husband or father, then it falls on the son, because every man is someone’s son. The story began in the Smith family in the 19th century. The son rebelled against his father—there are even stories that he contributed to his father's death.

- How did the father die?

- He drowned in the river.

- What?- Ellen gasped. 

- No one was ever able to prove the younger Smith’s guilt, but he himself painted that picture… of his father sitting by the river. For many, it was a silent confession, a boast of his wicked deed. It happened because the father didn’t want to leave him the house in his will. We all believe the painting is cursed, and that the poor, lost soul of old Mr. Smith seeks peace. Or- there’s another version- it’s the son’s damned soul that’s responsible for all this madness. Personally, I lean towards the second story because I’ve heard that old Smith was a naturally good man, but his son was pure evil. So, it’s him behind all of this. Thankfully, not everyone who looks at that canvas is affected. It works selectively, somehow.

 - What should I do now?- Ellen asked, trembling. 

- My dear, my advice is simple: take your kids and run. Forget about your husband. He’s already gone. 

- Maybe an exorcist? Should I just throw that painting out of my house?- she asked, sobbing. 

-mJust try, and he’ll come running back like a dog to its master. You’ll see, I’m not making this up. This is serious.

 Soon, Ellen left the old woman’s house, her head hanging low, tears streaming down her face as she walked back to her own home. “Cursed house,” she thought, despair filling her. "Wait, why did I even believe that woman? I need to find out for myself." She approached the painting, took it down from the wall, left the house, and after a 15-minute walk, she abandoned it in the woods. 

"He won’t find it here." When she got back home, it didn’t even take 15 minutes before her husband stormed in, his eyes wide and his face twisted with anger. Ellen began to truly fear for her life. 

-Where is the painting? Oswald asked with forced calm. "I don’t know, dear…" "Don’t lie!" he spat, rage bubbling from him. "Get out of here." 

- What?" Ellen asked, stunned. 

- Get out! Take your things and never come back!

- Oswald, I beg you…

-You have a week. I’m going to get my painting. Ellen couldn’t believe what had just happened. The painting had been found, as if some invisible, magical bond connected them. She couldn’t sleep that night, and Oswald remained in his chair, staring at the cursed painting. 

-Mom,- began Adelle, entering her mother’s bedroom, - 

I’m scared to live here… Last night, when I was going to the bathroom, the eyes of that demon were glowing red

A few hours earlier, Ellen would have dismissed her daughter’s words as nonsense, but now she could easily believe it. 

-Don’t worry, sweetheart,- she replied, resigned. We’ll be leaving soon. And so they did. Ellen and the children left, stealing Oswald’s car. He had stopped going to work anyway, spending most of his time sitting in the chair in front of the cursed painting. It wasn’t easy for her to drive with her motion sickness, but the situation demanded it. They returned to Seattle, to Ellen’s parents, as their old house had already been sold.

California 1997, Psychiatric Hospital

Clement was sitting in the common room, as instructed, waiting for them to prepare his room. The décor resembled more of a school cafeteria than a hospital- thanks to the green walls and the green chairs and tables. On the walls hung boards with patients’ drawings, and despite this being an adult hospital, the artwork looked as though it had been made by children. He had plenty of time to think.

“Oh, now I won’t have to do anything but think, while being high and surrounded by all these lunatics,” he smiled to himself. He noticed someone watching him - a man sitting to his right, against the wall. When Clement looked at him and gave an encouraging smile, the man decided to move closer.

• Hello,- said the stranger. - Which room are you staying in?
• They said it’ll be 107.
• "Oh no, oh no, oh no,- the stranger stood up and began pacing in circles, repeating the same phrase over and over. - Not 107, oh no, oh no.

He walked around like that for a moment longer and then left. Clement was left alone, feeling uneasy- while he had expected strange behavior in a place like this, the encounter genuinely scared him.

• Clement! Let’s go to your room!- A nurse in a blue uniform entered. - Follow me, please.

Clement followed her down a long corridor; the room was on the same floor as the common area.

• You’ll be sharing the room with Oswald. He’s very calm, but there’s just one condition - you can’t touch his painting.

She pressed the handle and opened the door. Clement saw a not-so-spacious room with two beds on opposite sides. The window was quite large, but covered by a blind.

• Can I open the window?- Clement asked.
• If you want peace, you’d better not.- After saying that, she simply left.
• What the hell, I’m crazy too,- he thought and opened the blinds. And then a scream rang out.
• I can’t see the painting! Close the window, I can’t see the painting!- Oswald began to foam at the mouth.
• Alright, alright, calm down.- Clement was frightened by his reaction. - I’ll look with you then.

He lay down on his bed, looked at the painting, and felt as though demon hands were tightening around his neck, while a whisper hissed in his ear:

• You’ll never escape. Look at me.