A vibrantly colored octagon shaped room, one door every other side. The paint appeared to be fresh. Chuck gawked in amazement, and bumped into, what appeared to be a gurney splattered with vibrant blue paint. Then he noticed a short, hobbled creature in one of the corners. It appeared to be a human, only wrinkly and shriveled looking, with few long grey strands of hair. It wore a suit, and sat crouched with it's arms resting on it's knees. He awkwardly turned around, it's eyes were shiny black with the faintest white trim.
"Hi." it croaked. "I'm The Painter." the misshapen said, with a rainbow colored liquid running down from it's mouth. Was it even human? Then Chuck noticed his three elongated fingers, that appeared to contort forward and back in ungodly ways, and his three toes resembling that of a frog's.
"The Painter?" Chuck puzzled.
"Yes," the thing wheezed. "I enjoy painting in my spare time, hence the nickname. I will be attending any needs you may have."
"So, like room service."
"Precisely." The Painter chimed.
"Well, don't you have other tenants to deal with? This is an exceptionally large facility." the hallways appeared endless in the other three doors.
"Sadly no." the creature frowned. "We don't get too much business any more."
"I wonder why, seems like a wonderful place." Chuck said kidding himself. Everything about the place was fine except for Him. The Painter. 'What and off character he was.' 'What even was he?' All were thoughts running through Chuck's head.
"Come now, we musn't doddle." The Painter chimed. "I'll show you to your room and you'll get a good rest." he or, whatever it was, hobbled over the the door on Chuck's right, opening it for him. Chuck politely nodded as he entered.
The door squeaked behind as The Painter closed it. Chuck looked back startled to see The Painter facing away from him making sure it was shut.
"Is there a problem, master Chuck?" he politely inquired. Smiling awkward and almost fake looking. Though for a wrinkly creature with no teeth, there wasn't a way he could contort his face naturally.
"Just waiting for you to show me the way." Chuck answered, being falsely cheerful.
"Blast door, has the tendency to stay open causing a nasty draft. Come now, we must get the master to his room."
'Why is he talking like that? Is it just a British thing?' Chuck asked himself. "Eherm, why do you walk like that?"
He turned around, "Walk like what, master Chuck?" The Painter asked with a smile, that same fake looking smile.
"In that fetal position."
"Oh, well I don't like to talk about it too much but, it's a rare genetic disorder, it's also why my skin and hair are in the condition they're in." The Painter said, almost sad looking. "Anyway, here is your room." He opened the door for Chuck.
YOU ARE READING
The Painter
HorrorChuck was just an average waiter, working at a restaurant. Until one of his patron's slipped a black card into his tip... But of course that's a story for another day.
