Don’t Tell Anyone

The lights in the museum flickered, casting long shadows over the exhibits, as Ellen descended the marble staircase. It was after hours, and the faint hum of the emergency lights was the only sound that filled the empty halls. Her footsteps echoed through the grand atrium, and she felt the weight of the silence pressing in around her.

She was supposed to be in bed hours ago, but a call from her boss at midnight had demanded otherwise. Ellen, an assistant curator for the gallery, was used to odd requests, but this time something felt different. There had been no explanation, only a terse command- “Come quickly. We have a problem.” She hadn’t even questioned it; she’d just thrown on her coat and hurried over, not entirely sure what was going on.

When she finally reached the gallery at the back, her boss, Mr. Atout, was waiting for her. His usual easygoing demeanor was nowhere to be seen. He looked… haunted. His eyes darted around the room like a hunted animal, and his hands fidgeted as he beckoned her closer.

“Ellen,” he whispered, “I need you to see something.”

He led her to a small alcove where a centuries-old painting of an unknown woman hung, swathed in shadows. The painting had always been an oddity in the collection; no one knew much about its origins, and it had rarely garnered attention. But tonight, it was the center of Atout's anxiety.

He motioned for her to lean in, his voice barely audible. “Look closely, but… don’t tell anyone.” His words settled heavily in the air, and a chill ran down Ellen's spine.

She leaned in, inspecting the dark swirls of paint that formed the figure of the woman. Her face was pale, almost ghostly, with eyes that seemed to follow you no matter where you stood. But something was different now. Ellen blinked, unsure if her eyes were playing tricks on her. The woman’s face appeared to have shifted slightly, her mouth opening into the barest hint of a smile — a smile that hadn't been there before.

She stepped back, her heartbeat quickening. “What… what is this?” she whispered, glancing at Atout.

His face was grim, his fingers tapping nervously against his arm. “I don’t know. But it’s not… normal.”

“Are you telling me that a painting — this painting — moved?” She wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but the fear in Atout's eyes silenced her.

“I’ve been watching it all night, Ellen. She moves. Slowly, but… it’s like she’s… alive.” His voice cracked, and he looked away, ashamed at his own words.

Ellen felt a strange sensation crawl over her skin, a tingling that was equal parts dread and disbelief. She shook her head. “Maybe it’s a trick of the light,” she said, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew they sounded hollow.

“Listen to me, Ellen. Don’t tell anyone.” His eyes burned with intensity as he said it, as if something terrible would happen if she spoke of it. “Promise me.”

She nodded, barely processing his words. “Okay, I promise.”

But that promise would be harder to keep than she could have ever imagined.

÷!÷!÷!÷!

Over the next week, the painting continued to haunt her thoughts. She’d sneak back to the gallery every night, drawn by an inexplicable urge to see the woman again. Each time, she’d find that her expression had changed ever so slightly — a raised eyebrow, a twisted smile, even an almost imperceptible tear forming at the corner of one eye. It was as though the woman was trying to tell her something, trapped behind the painted surface of the canvas.

One night, Ellen found herself standing before the painting long past midnight. Her flashlight cast an eerie glow over the woman’s face, illuminating her unsettlingly lifelike features. She took a step closer, reaching out as if she could touch her.

Then, just as her fingertips brushed the edge of the frame, the woman blinked.

Ellen jerked back, her breath catching in her throat. Her heart thundered in her chest as the woman’s mouth moved, forming silent words. Help me.

Ellen blinked again, her hand clutching her chest as she forced herself to breathe. Her mind raced, every rational thought colliding with the creeping terror taking over her senses. It couldn’t have happened, she thought. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the lack of sleep catching up with her in a terrible way.

She rubbed her eyes, stepping back to steady herself, and forced herself to look again. The woman’s expression was still, calm… like nothing had changed. “I need to sleep,” she muttered to herself, half-laughing to break the silence. “I’m losing it. It’s just paint on canvas. I’m… I’m hallucinating.”

But her laughter faded when she looked at the woman’s mouth again. This time, her lips weren’t moving, but her eyes… there was something unmistakably desperate about them. The feeling of her gaze bored into Ellen, and even when she looked away, she could feel it like the heat of a spotlight.

No, she thought, shivering as the plea echoed in her mind, seeming to reach out even though the gallery was utterly silent. Help me.

÷!÷!÷!÷!

The next day, she cornered Mr. Atout in his office. “We need to talk about the painting,” she said, her voice trembling.

He looked up, the color draining from his face. “I told you not to tell anyone,” he hissed, his eyes wide with fear. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Mr. Atout, that woman… she spoke to me. She asked for help. We can’t just ignore this.” Ellen’s hands shook as she spoke, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

Atout slumped in his chair, rubbing his temples. “You don’t understand, Ellen. That painting… it’s not just a painting. It’s a prison.”

“A prison?” she repeated, her mind reeling.

He nodded, his eyes clouded with regret. “That woman… she’s been trapped there for centuries. She’s part of a curse, a punishment that bound her to the canvas. The more people who know, the stronger the curse becomes. That’s why I told you not to tell anyone. The fewer people who know about her, the safer we all are.”

Ellen sat down, feeling as though the floor had been ripped out from under her. She glanced back toward the gallery, the weight of the curse pressing heavily on her. She wanted to help the woman, but the fear of unleashing something far darker held her back.

But every night, she returned to the painting, feeling that strange pull tugging her closer and closer. She couldn’t abandon the woman, even if it meant putting herself at risk. She would find a way to break the curse — no matter the cost.

÷!÷!÷!÷!

From there, Ellen’s determination only grew, and even as she uncovered the dark history of those who had come before her, each of whom vanished without a trace, she pushed on. But she couldn’t shake the memory of that desperate gaze, the soundless “Help me” that resonated in her mind.

In the final ritual, she poured every bit of courage into breaking the curse. But as her last words died away and the room fell silent, she heard the woman’s voice, clearer than ever, its words chilling her to the core- “Don’t tell anyone.”

Ellen barely had a moment to understand before darkness closed in, and the silence in the gallery fell once more — a silent warning, left only to echo in memory.