Spooky Short Stories Collection

Still As A Statue

“You look like you could be a work of art.” I turned and saw a man approaching me. He smiled and held out a hand as he reached me. I shook it. “Karl Rogue.”
     “Wendy Porter,” I replied, dropping his hand. I returned his grin, “I'm sorry, what did you say before?”
     “Oh I just said that you could be a work of art.” He gestured at the statues and plinths surrounding us, “for a moment, I thought you were one.”

I chuckled.
     “Well, I assure you I'm not,” I said, shaking my arms and moving my head. He laughed, swinging his head back dramatically. I turned back to the statues, glancing at them each in turn.
     “They look so lifelike, don't they?” He stood close behind me. A little too close.
     “They do,” I whispered. My eyes landed on one of a woman. She was tall and slender and had long flowing hair. Her posture was reminiscent of that of a figure skater, graceful and entrancing. As I stared intently, taking in all the features and crinkles on her face, I thought I saw movement in the eyes.

I exhaled sharply in surprise.
     "What is it?" the stranger asked.
     "Oh nothing," I said, nervously. I could feel his breath on my neck. Warm and uncomfortable. A few moments of uneasy silence passed.
     "Well," he said suddenly, clasping his hands together. It startled me, making my heart skip a beat, "I'd best be off." He turned to leave, but not before extending his hand to me once more. "Was very nice to meet you. Wendy." The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine and I shuck his hand reluctantly.
     "Likewise," I managed to choke out. The intonation in his voice echoed in my mind, rattling like a lone penny in a glass jar. I chalked it up to the nervousness of the recent disappearances. Nothing more. But there was something… strange, about that man. I just couldn't shake the feeling.

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I continued through the gallery, taking notes as inspiration and sighing at the fact that photography was prohibited. The small crowds began to dissipate and soon I and a lonely security guard were the only remainders. He approached me, keys jangling on his belt.
     "Sorry, ma'am," he began, "but's time for mi to lock up na." I bid him farewell and headed for the exit, chuckling to myself at his accent. Definitely a Yorkshire man, I thought, a smile spreading across my face. A smile that was quickly snatched as I opened the door. He stood there. Waiting for me. His eyes bore into me, much like the statues I had been looking at all day. For a moment I thought I had imagined him, but he took a step towards me, making me step back slightly on instinct. Except I tripped on my loose shoe-lace and fell backwards. The man swooped in and caught me, arm wrapped around my back. A little too tightly. It felt wrong. Like he was going to snap his fingers and make me disappear. Like the others. Don't be ridiculous, Wendy, I told myself, he's just a guy that, although a little unsettling, stopped you from getting a concussion. But I couldn't drown out the thoughts. He towered over me, his face half shrouded in the shadows cast by the setting sun. He held me there for a moment, refusing to help me stand. I tried my best to look anywhere but at his eyes but his face filled most of my vision. I shoved him slightly, righting myself and straightening out my dishevelled skirt.
     "Little cold to be wearing something like that, isn't it?" he commented. I ignored him. "Hey, I thought we were friends." Friends? Why on Earth would he think that?
     "We only met this morning," I muttered.
     "And yet here we are again," he replied dramatically, "it's like fate." His eyes glinted. Fate? This wasn't fate. It was borderline stalking.
     "What are you even still doing here?" I pressed, a little anger rising in my tone, "you left hours ago."
     "I wanted to see you again." There was that glint again. "You're as beautiful as the artwork here," he continued, "wouldn't you wanna be like one of them?" Like one of them? What did he mean by that? "You know, admired. Marvelled at." He began to walk towards me, his steps rhythmic.
     "I really must be going," I countered, avoiding his question. I turned to leave but I felt his hand grasp my wrist.
     "Why not come with me," he hissed, "I could stare at you forever." I tried to loosen his grip on me but to no avail. His hand only tightened, his knuckles turning white and his nails digging into my skin.
     "Let me go," my voice wavered, panic setting in.
     "Now why would I do that?" he snarled.
     "Please," I begged, "please just let me go." He dragged me closer, holding me to his chest. His hand never leaving my wrist but he raised his other to my mouth, covering my face with a cloth. My panicked breaths drew in the sweet smelling liquid and my vision began to blur. The street span as my legs gave way beneath me. Unconsciousness coming soon after.

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I woke, drowsy, to the sound of chipping stone. As I gauged my bearings, I noticed that I was stood. My limbs posed in abnormal positions. I glanced down and saw that half my body was encased in rock. Holding me in place. Paralysed. The man ceased his carving and looked up at me.
     "Oh, you're awake." He stood and mopped his brow. Oh my gosh oh my gosh, my thoughts spiralled. Overwhelming and threatening to push me back onto unconsciousness out of fear.
     "I guess I didn't use enough this time," he said more to himself than to me. This time?! Is he the one making those people disappear? Am I going to disappear? My head began to spin and he continued chipping away at my feet.

As the hours passed, he made his way up my body, encasing it as he went. I wanted to scream in the hopes that someone was nearby to hear me, but I couldn't make a noise. Only whispered breaths escaped my lips.
     "Ah yes," he commented upon noticing my attempt, "well you see, I couldn't exactly have you crying out for help, now could I? You get it." He went back to work. Soon he was finished, my body made stiff and motionless. All I could do was move my eyes. Conveying my worry and fear.

Exhaustion was setting in and I drifted into a deep, unwanted sleep. By the time I awoke again, we were back at the gallery. Right by where we first met. Freedom so close and yet so far. I was much higher, on a pedestal of sorts. He stood below me, holding my gaze.
     "Do you remember her?" he asked, pointing to my left. From the very edge of my vision I could see a familiar posture. The figure skater. "She tried to run too. They all tried to run. And look what happened." He looked proud. Proud of what he'd created. Such fear and anguish.

He was right though. I could be a work of art. And now, he had made me one of his.