A sale is a sale!

Feeling wildly pleased with herself, Sara walked back to her apartment from the flea market, prize in hand. On a crisp Saturday morning, she had no idea her coffee walk would lead her to this little market. Well, it was more like a few tables on the side of the street where the Sunday Farmer's market typically was. But still! It was New York City, and a sale was a sale!  

With an overly sweetened pumpkin spiced latte in her hand, her first of the season, she glanced at the painting on the sidewalk. She was instantly mesmerized by it. Kneeling to where it rested against the table among the other few at the sale, she admired the colors and the smirk on the girl's face. The model was dressed to look like the biblical Princess, Salome. With that cheeky smile, Sara imagined she looked slightly breathless after dancing for King Herod. She was confidently seated with a knife and platter on her lap, awaiting her prize of John the baptist's head. 

She'd always loved this picture, but something about it was different than the one she'd seen at The Met museum. The Salome in this one looked a little more wicked, manic, and wild than the one she remembered. Before she could get closer, a woman popped up from behind the table.

"You know, you kinda look like her." The older woman said with her silvery voice.

Looking up at the woman, Sara stood up quickly from where she'd been, almost crawling to get a better look at the painting.

"Oh!" Sara laughed. "Sorry, you scared me!"

"It's a copy, you know." The older woman nodded at the painting. "I found it in my attic one night."

"It's lovely! It's of Regnault's Salome, right?" She looked down at it again; she could not take her eyes off it. "Do you know who painted it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it is. I think the last owner of the house painted it." The older woman's answers were becoming clipped.

"Oh, interesting? It's excellent work!" She said, still staring at the young girl in the painting, fascinated.

The older woman leaned on the table, looking at the harmless younger woman. "I got the house super cheap because the man who owned it got hauled off to the loony bin."

That snapped Sara out of the trance-like stare, bringing her gaze back to the older woman. 

"Loony bin? Why? What happened?" Stepping closer to the table.

"The Realtor said…." Leaning closer towards the younger woman over the table, speaking lower and softer;

"That his daughter killed herself, and he went absolutely nutty." Her eyes darted from Sara to the painting, almost as if she was nervous, Sara thought. She went on.

"He worked in the city as a psychiatrist but gave up his practice. Holed himself up in that house until his sister came to check up on him and found him wild and mumbling at a wall in the attic." Nodding to the younger woman when she saw her scrunch her eyebrows together in disbelief.

"Yup, guess he started painting after he gave up his practice." Standing back upright behind the table, she grabbed her cup of Joe and sipped.

"There were a ton of scraps of paper with sketches, scribbles, and colors in the attic when I moved in." Looking back to where the painting sat.

"But they all looked like practice for this painting, and I didn't see any others up there." She said, finishing her story and nodding at the painting.

Sara took a deep breath and shook off the story. She was looking back at the painting.

 "How tragic." Staring at the eyes and the smirk of princess Salome.

"But it's too lovely to pass up. How much is it?" Sara said, glancing up at the older woman.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask your name; I'm Sara." Reaching out her hand to the older woman.

Looking down at Sara's hand, she hesitated but pushed out her own.

"You can call me Harriet. And I'll give it to you for $30." Her words sounding clipped again, she quickly shook her hand and returned it to nursing her coffee.

Sara saw that the woman's demeanor had changed and shrugged it off to the cold. 

"Great! I'll take it!" Setting her coffee down, she opened her purse to grab her wallet. Not seeing Harriet sigh of relief, she went to pull out the bills. 

Harriet watched her dig in her purse; she wasn't going to tell the young girl; she'd have given her that painting for free. But, a buck was a buck here in New York City. 

Smiling, Sara handed her the money. Kneeling down and looking at the painting, she looked back at Harriet.

"Are you able to wrap it or hold it? I have a few more errands to run this morning." She said, standing back up.

"No!" Realizing her abruptness, she smiled back at Sara. "Sorry, I just mean…." Looking around and stopping at the painting. "You're my last sale of the day, I need to get home, and I don't have anything to wrap it in."

Frowning but shrugging it off to Harriet just being an awkward person, she smiled back at her.

"Not a problem; I'll grab it and take it back home now. Thank you so much!" Sara said as she picked it up; looking at it, she swore the smile was just a little more of a grimace than the playful one before. Must be the light, she thought. 

"Have a great day, and thanks for the story!" She said, seeing Harriet was already hurriedly packing up her sparse table of knick-knacks. Harriet curtly smiled and nodded at Sara.

Pausing her clean up, Harriet watched Sara walk off with the painting down the street, holding it to her side. Feeling a bit guilty, she muttered under her breath.

 "And God keep you safe." Taking one last look at the innocent and unknowing woman, she said a silent prayer. Praying for the young woman, but also herself. Praying that she'd be free of the constant torment she believed came from that painting. Shaking it off, she continued to pack up.

--

The other errands were pushed to another day as Sara sat at home with a glass of wine on her couch, reading the latest romance novel her mom had sent her. Saturday morning's blue sky quickly turned into a cloudy, cold afternoon and a rainy evening. 

Sara rarely had a night to herself, so after hanging up her new favorite piece on the empty wall space next to her TV in the living room, she decided to have a cozy night in.

Between the formulaic pros of the romance novel, an intelligent, realistic woman, to a fault, falls for a dangerous free-willed, mature bad boy; she looked up at the painting. Smiling to herself, she did like it in there, she mused. The colors suited her other art, copies, and prints of whatever suited her fancy. She wanted powerful women on her walls; she felt it helped amplify her confidence. The copy of Salome was a great addition to her favorites; Klimt's Judith and some unknown artist's Medusa.

Getting back to her book, she took a sip of the red wine and settled in as the storm got louder. Sara didn't notice the slight movement in the new painting. 

Turning the book's page, lightning flashed, quickly followed by thunder. Sara jolted and looked around the living room. She glanced at her mantle and made sure she had candles and a lighter just in case this storm got a little nastier. She looked at the new addition to her wall and frowned at the painting.

Wasn't she looking the other way? Towards the kitchen? She thought.

Blinking again and shaking her head, she looked back up, and sure enough, Salome was looking towards her fridge.

"Ok, maybe I should make some dinner." She said, looking down at her wine. She did have a few glasses before sitting down, she likely just had a bit too much, and the scare from the thunder just made her jumpy.

Setting the book down, she got up and walked to her kitchen. It was a small apartment, but she loved it—a steal on the upper west side by central park. The kitchen was just an extension of the living room, but she made it work and was happy with the look. She turned on her Spotify through the TV and put on her go-to swing jazz cooking playlist. Leaning down to look into the fridge, she opened it and grabbed the salmon she'd been marinating along with the fresh vegetables. Turning towards the cabinets to grab the rice, she heard a quick succession of multiple bangs.

Spinning around, she saw the entire top shelf of books under the Salome painting had fallen. Clutching the rice to her chest, she looked around, back to the bookcase, and without thinking, she looked up at the picture.

Salome's foot was extended slightly out more than what she remembered.

Get it together, girl. You likely just knocked it when you hung the painting. You aren't exactly a great builder, especially when it comes to putting your furniture together. She looked at the wobbly bookshelf she'd made a few years ago.

Tossing it off to poor manufacturing and the fact that every floor in New York City was warped, she set her unmade dinner down and picked up books. 

Just as she'd placed the last book back on the shelf, she heard the rice topple off the counter, followed by a girlish giggle. 

She looked to her kitchen, and sure enough, the rice was everywhere on the floor. Looking to the other side of her apartment, she looked out the window and saw a mother and young daughter splashing in the rain on their stoop.

Jesus, calm down! She said to herself. You just tossed the rice on the edge of the counter. Of course, it was going to fall. And the window is open to the little girl playing. 

With a worried look, she glanced up at the Salome painting; she looked….smug. Her smile was a little deeper, and he eyes were a little wider.

"You're being ridiculous." Turning the music up louder, she cleaned up the rice and made dinner.

Sitting on her couch, she flipped through Netflix as her dinner steamed on her coffee table.

Something silly. She thought and flicked through her option. Bingo. She smiled and clicked play on The New Girl. Sitting back, she started eating her dinner, feeling more relaxed and calm. Losing herself in the show's slapstick, she didn't notice the storm getting stronger. 

With another flash of lightning followed by the crack of thunder, she jumped, and just then, all of the burners on her stove flamed up. 

"Jesus!" Sara said, dropping her plate and running over to the stove. With shaking hands, she frantically turned the burners off.

"What the fuck was that?" She said, staring down at the stove. Then came that little girlish giggle again. Looking around, she saw nothing. 

Before Sara could get her bearings and calm down, another flash of lightning and a boom of thunder came. This time, her lights went out.

Running to the faux fireplace under her TV in the living room, she shakily found the lighter and started lighting the little tea lights she'd set up just in case this happened. She took deep breaths and put them around the living room, then the kitchen. She grabbed a few and went into the bathroom.

Lighting them and placing them on the bathroom sink, she felt a tug on her hair. And that giggle again. This time it was much closer.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she screamed as she saw the shadow of something behind her and dropped the tea light in the sink. Grabbing the lighter and flicking it to life, she looked back at the mirror. 

There, behind her, she saw a young girl. With curly brown hair, glassy brown eyes, a pert little nose, and that smile. The smile of that young girl in the painting. With her head tilted, her smile grew, and her mouth opened.

"Hello, Sara." The young girl stepped closer to Sara's back, still seeing this all through the mirror. Frozen. Unable to speak. Unable to move. 

"It was so nice of Harriet to find me a new plaything." Tilting her head to the other side.

"She was no fun, and father…." She trailed off, looking past Sara as if remembering something.

"Well," looking back at Sara in the mirror. "He got boring once his mind cracked." Almost touching, Sara could feel her right behind her. She could feel her small breasts graze her back as she breathed.

"We're going to have so much fun together." She said, smiling, leaning closer. Sara felt the puff of air as Salome blew out the lighter and giggled lower against her ear.

Just then, another flash and crack from the storm had all the lights turning back on. Still staring in the mirror, the young girl was gone. She gathered her courage to turn around. Nothing. 

Grabbing her plunger, she slowly walked into the living room. No one was there. The TV was flickering the Netflix logo. Her dinner plate was on the floor with the remainder of the food scattered around it. Ready to strike, she looked up at the painting and saw the young girl just as she had remembered her. She was sitting patiently and smiling.

"Nope, fuck this shit!" She said, dropping the plunger and grabbing the painting from the wall. She tossed on her Birkenstocks and went outside into the rain. Armed with only her keys and the picture, she walked around a few blocks muttering to herself. 

Sara couldn't stand to hold the painting any longer. She looked up and down the street. Seeing no one, Sara placed it on the first step of a brownstone. As she walked away, she chanced one last glance at the painting and swore she saw Salome frown up at her. 

Running home, Sara sat on her couch the whole night. Lights blazing, TV blaring, the bat from under her bed next to her all night. She was staring at the blank spot on her wall where the painting had hung.

__

Early Sunday morning, a runner returning from her daily jog in the park stopped at a brownstone on W 82nd St. She picked up the painting that had caught her eye resting on the first step up to the building. Smiling back at the sassy brunette dressed as an ancient princess, she chuckled. 

This would look great in Steve's office. She thought to herself. 

She looked around, and not seeing anyone else on the street, she tucked it under her arm and walked away.

She heard a young girl giggle behind her. Looking back and seeing nothing, she shrugged and headed home. She was excited to show her husband the painting she had found as if it were waiting for her.