The Backlit Butcher

His apron hung like a leather sheet over his swollen rounded belly.

Pasty white skin and thinning black oily hair framed his faced in the shadows of the canvas.

A small light hung on a broken chain from a dirty drop ceiling, its faint glow illuminated its surroundings.

Yet the butchers face remained in the shadows.

He leaned over his cuts of meat, thick arms with chunky fingers held a large cleaver.

Blood ran down a hard stainless steel table off a dark stained wooden chopping block and pooled on a hard tile floor.

The pool of blood was bright red as if blood itself was applied to the canvas.

The painting appeared almost sticky and wet.

Edward was fascinated by this new piece.

He had seen many new pieces of art come and go from this gallery,

But none of them had drawn him in like 

“The Backlit Butcher” 

Two unrecognizable cuts of meat looked fresh and carefully cut despite the slovenly character attending to them.

Edward examined the painting carefully through his dark rimmed glasses.

He had never seen that shade of red so well captured.

A strange metallic scent seemed to linger in the air.

“That is odd” he thought.

The museum had been under some recent renovations so he chalked it up to that.

Edward who always found himself a bit of a loner loved to come to the museum.  He admired the art that adorned the gallery walls.

He had seen all the paintings multiple times but there was always something new to discover each time.

He felt the art drew him in and time would stand still.

Time was something Edward had a lot of.

He was an only child with little to no family to speak of.

Edward had always struggled to hold down a job.

He struggled with Agoraphobia.

The museum was one of the only places he could bear to be around people.

An announcement came over a loud speaker…

“The museum will be closing in 30 minutes” 

Edward suddenly came to and thought “I haven’t even seen the rest I better hurry”.

He grabbed his coat and methodically 

walked the gallery as he had done multiple times before.

Edward hadn’t an artistic bone in his body yet he deeply respected and appreciated the talent surrounding him.

As the crowds gradually dispersed and left Edward found himself lingering with his coat in hand and got ready to leave.

Suddenly he caught a whiff of the metallic odour he had come across earlier.

He wondered if anyone else had caught the bizarre scent.  How could they not?

His stomach began to turn a bit and he realized he felt a bit nauseous.

As the odour grew more and more pungent he realized he needed to find the restroom, and quickly!

He ran towards the men’s room and pushed open the door and raced into the stall.

As his stomach churned he knew he was going to be sick.

Edward dropped to his knees on the cold tile floor and pushed up the toilet seat and vomited violently.

Sweat beaded on his brow and his glasses fogged up.

He felt very weak and light headed

What is happening to me?  He thought.

There was a muffled voice over a speaker in the background but Edward was too preoccupied to hear it.

He sat in a crumpled heap on the floor and tried to collect his thoughts.

For what seemed like 15 min he just sat there.

Slowly he regained his composure and brought himself to his knees and braced himself on the toilet and stood up.

He pushed open the stall door and walked over to the sink and ran the water on cold.

He starred in the mirror at his gaunt face.

Edward bent his face over the sink and splashed cold water on his face.

The cool water seemed to revive him.

He collected his things and pushed open the bathroom door.

Darkness.

It was then and there that Edward realized he was alone.

The only glow was the buzzing exit signs and the lights that hung over the gallery paintings.

He was utterly alone.

The museum was closed.

Edward had completely lost track of time.

In fact after looking at his watch he became suddenly aware of how much time in fact.

Edward had been in the bathroom for over an hour.

He could have sworn it was 15 minutes but it was clear to him that this was impossible.

How come no one checked the washrooms?

How come he didn’t hear the final announcement?

As much as he loved the museum things appeared very different in the dark.

Eerily different.

There was no security which surprised him.

How could they have possibly missed him?

But then again Edward was used to being missed.  He was used to feeling invisible.

He hurriedly walked towards the entrance tightly gripping his coat to his chest.

That’s when he caught the scent again.

It got stronger and stronger the closer he got towards the door.

He put his coat up to his face, it was almost all consuming.

As he passed all the paintings he stopped and turned.

A strange buzzing…

It was the “Backlit Butcher”

And the light was flickering.

The museum opened as usual at 9 am the next day, Angie was looking forward to today.  Her art class had a field trip to the gallery.

The art class gathered in the lobby as her teacher spoke to the staff prior to commencing the tour.

Angie who was quite the artist herself followed her classmates as they went painting to painting.

Suddenly the tour stopped.

She pushed through her group to get a better view.

A flash of red caught her eye.

At closer look she saw a figure standing over a wooden board, cleaver in hand.

Blood dripping off a cold stainless surface.

He appeared to be cutting a strange single piece of meat.

On the edge of the table.

A black rimmed set of glasses.