The Masterpiece #FridayFlash

Here is another piece that I put together for #Fridayflash. Please let me know what you think, and as always, feel free to be extra stabby with your critiques. It's the only way to help both of us grow.

Leonard slung a brown blazer over his shoulders and fumbled with his buttons. His warehouse studio with cold, tan bricks and a tall ceiling supported by iron rafters of a bygone era became chilly when the wind picked up; he shivered. Affixing his name badge to his lapel, his eye wandered towards the far wall, where the giant masterpiece he and his wife created nearly five years ago hung above the spot he created his own work.

The dark reds, whites, and brown leathery patches hung off the canvas she herself planned for many months. It was amazing how it slowly changed over the years; the colors fading and bringing themselves closer to the final black of decay. Still, the thought of that day put a subtle shake in Leonard's legs.

He put his hand on the door handle when a voice called out to him, “Don’t leave just yet, honey.”

Leonard stopped immediately and turned back towards the painting, taking a couple steps towards it. “Who is that?”

“Don’t you recognize the voice of your own wife?”

“Is that--” He took one more step forward. “Cathy?”

“I’ve been watching you these last five years, ever since you told the police I went missing.”

“But how?”

“When I planned this work, I told you that it was my attempt at immortality. You didn’t think I had gone crazy, did you?” Her laugh echoed off the solid walls and the browned blood stains on the canvas seemed to revert back to their original red, liquid state.

“It was your idea. All yours. You begged me.”

“I did.” The voice said. “And for that I thank you. You performed your work admirably, oh loyal husband.”

“What...what do you want then?”

“What I want, Leonard, is for you to join me.” From the kitchen, a knife slid across the floor, stopping at his feet. “Join me up here and reveal us to the world!”

Behind him, the deadbolt to his studio door suddenly locked itself. He tried to undo it, but the mechanism was stuck. “Where do you think you’re going?” the voice said.

“I’m going to be late for the opening.”

“Ah yes. I was surprised you finally came around to putting your work out there in public without me there to guide you.” Again, her laugh filled the studio. “Is that what you really want, Leonard? A couple curious college students and a single elderly couple taking a two minute stroll past your paintings?”

“It’s just a start. In a year or two I will have my career back--”

“Nonsense. You need me. You always have. Only I can make you great.”

He picked up the knife, tossing it back and forth between his hands. “Are you asking me to…”

“No, I want you to carve up a Thanksgiving turkey for me.” The window to the studio flung open and a gust of chilly wind burst through, knocking over a couple pieces of stretched canvas that leaned against the far wall. The only one to remain standing was the large seven by seven foot blank square of white. “I want you beside me.”

Leonard took a couple more steps towards the painting. “I’ll never do it. You were crazy back—”

“Shut up. You couldn’t comprehend my genius at the time; nobody could. But if you ascend with me, we could be famous the world over. People will speak our names for hundreds of years--”

“They’ll remember us as that crazy couple who killed themselves.”

“Enough!” she shouted. The power in the studio flickered and the girders ground against their masonry bases. “You were always such a loyal husband, don’t let me down now.” Small bits of mortar dropped onto Leonard’s head. “You will join me, one way or another. I just hope you make the right decision and become immortal as I have.”

He approached the base of his wife’s masterpiece with his knife in hand. “My loyalty ended the day your turned yourself into that.” Leonard stabbed the painting, tearing it down the middle. A river of warm blood gushed from the canvas, soaking his entire body. Ringing throughout the studio, his wife’s screams lasted longer than any mortal's, but they too faded until nothing but an echo remained.

The Ones

I had written a lighter comedy piece...but I was unsatisfied with it and wasn't going to be posting anything this week. But then I listened to this song and I got inspired, writing what I would say is probably my first horror piece. Hope you enjoy.

    I watched from my perch on the tree outside Mr. Jennings' window as he reached towards his mouth. He spit out a wad of blood as he frantically searched for his missing bicuspid. He looked around his room then screamed.
    This was the first time I've visited Mr. Jennings. I rather liked the way his bedroom was arranged as it had a certain feng shui quality to it that made what I did more enjoyable. I made a mental note to myself that I must come back as  I huffed on the tooth and wiped it off on my shirt, giving it a polish that allowed it to brilliantly reflect the moonlight.
    I took off from the tree and flew across the city, giving a shout out to my buddy Pat as he prepared to enter a high-rise apartment. He had been hitting that entire complex for over a year now. His game was all about creating community-wide panic. Me, I liked to single people out.
    Alighting on the windowsill of Mr. Adams, I looked down at the new ADT security sign pounded into the front lawn and laughed. Companies like that make so much money playing on the fears of people, convincing them that they are only seconds away from getting robbed. But in reality, we are the ones you should be fearing.
    On Mr. Adams' dresser were a couple empty bottles of whiskey. It always made me smile when I brought somebody to this point, when even alcohol couldn't get them peace of mind when they went to sleep. I watched him lie there in bed, counting his teeth with his tongue. "Are they all there?" I whispered into the breeze.
    Mr. Adams closed his eyes and I passed through his window. I watched as his breathing slowed to a pause and the blinking colon on his alarm clock froze in place. Pulling a rusty pair of pliers from my pouch, I got to work and and found a nice molar. I squeezed hard as I yanked it out of his mouth. Little droplets of blood burst out from his empty socket, hovering in the air as I passed back through the window. Once outside, I took my pliers and broke the glass next to the alarm sensor and watched.
    He shot up from his bed screaming almost as loud as the alarm system that screeched and announced to the world that I had been there. I took it all in, every night, as they screamed. It never got old. I polished off the tooth and put it with the others before I left for my next stop.
    It was the last house of the night and probably one of my all-time favorites, Herr Schultz. An engineer on a temporary work visa from Germany, I had visited him twelve times in the last four months. He was fun because he tried the hardest to stop me, and even if I wasn't going to take any of his teeth, I would stop by from time to time to see what he was doing that night to thwart me. He tried staying up all night, sleeping during the day, hotels on the other side of the country, salt rings around his bed, garlic, and he even had a priest spend a night with him. I got him every time.
    Tonight as I peered into the bedroom, there was something different. I couldn't quite make out what he had done. Then I saw the bloody needle and thread on his nightstand. When I looked to Herr Schultz I saw that he had sewn his mouth shut. He then turned towards the window as if he knew I was there. With the string pulling tight, digging into the dozens of amateur lip piercings, he smiled in my direction.
    You can't escape me. Don't even try.