Cold-Blooded

A Work of Art

With the moonlight cutting through the gaps in the clouds and the soothing sound of ocean waves in the background, it was easy to romanticize the landmarks I walked past every night. The warm air was chilled by a slight breeze as I walked past the docks. I breathed deeply, it was if nothing could possibly go wrong tonight. I slowed my pace momentarily when something caught my eye. I turned and found myself staring at an ancient wooden boat. I had walked past the docks earlier today, and there certainly wasn't a boat like that. I approached the boat cautiously almost afraid if I moved too quickly it would disappear. I stood, just watching, jumping when the three sails dropped down unexpectedly. I could have sworn there was not a single soul on that boat. That fact alone sparked a burning flame of curiosity. I had to know what was on that ship.

The gangway was already down and I tried to peer through the darkness to see what awaited me. My feet seemed to move themselves as I looked around me observing the meticulous detail put into the boat. There was a mark that stood out on the door to what I assumed was the captain's quarters. I ran my fingers across the door, and realized they were scratch marks. I peered closer at them and turned on my flashlight to make sure I wasn't seeing things. Sure enough, there were scratch marks running down the oak panels and if I was seeing them correctly, they looked like they came from fingernails.

"What on earth happened here?" I pulled my hand away suddenly once I saw dark red smudges staining some of the marks. I still wanted to investigate though and when I tried to reach for the doorknob I discovered there wasn't one. I turned away from the door, seriously confused, and noticed dense fog coming in from every direction. It was thick and swirled in the air as if being controlled by an unseen stranger. I ran to the railing and saw nothing but open water. How could I have gotten away from the dock? The anchor and gangway were down the last time I checked. There is no way the ship could have moved. Unless... It was a prospect that made a chill run down my spine. Unless I wasn't alone.

The fog continued to grow and darken making it harder and harder to see; which certainly did not help my frazzled nerves. What I could see was the fog seemed to be dissipating around a grate looking trapdoor in the floor. Knowing I wasn't going to get off this boat anytime soon, I decided to check it out. For how old the boat looked, the hinges were well oiled and didn't make a sound. I padded down the stairs and turned to look at my surroundings. All along the wall were paintings. At first they didn't seem strange, but as I walked closer I noticed they were all of different people. But it wasn't what made them the different that was odd. It was that they all had looks of absolute terror etched into their faces.

I stood there a moment longer, looking at portrait after portrait until I found a blank space on the wall. It was as if there was a missing piece to the collection. I turned back to inspect one of the frames when I heard footsteps behind me. I whirled around and much to my chagrin, I found nothing. There was someone, or something, down here with me. I backed into a corner darting my flashlight beam around nervously hoping to find whatever it was, but then also in the deepest corner of my mind, hoping I didn't.

"Show yourself!"After pausing my frantic searching to listen for a reply, I heard something clatter to the ground under the stairs. I slowly approached the noise and to my dismay my flashlight began to flicker. Don't do this to me! Not now! I shook and smacked the flashlight until the light stayed constant. Breathing a sigh of relief I began to start heading towards the sound again, but froze when I felt a slight breeze on the back of my neck. If it weren't for the fact it was sickeningly warm I could have played it off as wind. I was too paralyzed with fear move or speak. I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself just enough to turn around, but it appeared whatever was with me didn't want to wait.

----------One week later----------

Sometimes I wish Josh wouldn't pick such weird places to meet up. Last time it was the museum, this time the docks. Where does he even come up with this stuff? And of course he is late, he is always la... My thought was cut off when I saw the boat. Where the heck did that thing come from? I felt a weird sensation, almost like I was being pulled towards it. I didn't understand where it had come from, but for the moment I didn't care. In a daze, I found myself moving up the gangway and approaching the open trapdoor on the deck. I pulled out my cell phone to have more light and headed down. Once I had reached the bottom stair I noticed a bunch of paintings on the wall, one right after another completely circling the room. I poked around, and eventually found a oil lamp with a match next to it. The lamp gave off much more light and I finally gathered the courage to look at the paintings closer. The faces in each one put me on edge, until I saw one that looked fairly recent. It was a familiar looking teenage boy with his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open wide, as if he was screaming in terror.

I shuddered and attempted to take a step back, almost tripping on something. I knelt down and found myself looking at a flashlight. I picked it up and turned it on, but no luck. Peering closer I saw a name engraved on the side. Taylor Marks. I jumped back and dropped the flashlight. That was the missing boy! He had been gone almost a week now. That painting must be of him then! He was the tenth person to disappear this year. What was he doing in this old boat? Could that mean the other portraits are of the other missing people? Could I be next? Frightened at the prospect of really understanding what happened to Taylor I spun around immediately turning to leave finding myself nose to nose with a menacing old man.

"Where do ya think you're going missy." He grinned wide with crooked teeth while pulling a paintbrush from his back pocket. "I just want to paint your picture." I had a bad feeling about this guy. He stepped closer and I stepped back. "It will be quick I promise. Well, maybe. I'll at least try to keep the mess to a minimum." The smirk on his face was sickening. I just wanted to throw something at him. I looked down at my hands and realized I was still holding the oil lamp. Without letting myself think further I chucked the lamp at his head and darted out of the way intending to head for the stairs. The glass lamp shattered spilling oil everywhere that quickly ignited as the fire spread. I stood still mesmerized while the man screamed and clawed at his face trying to put the fire out. The fire soon spread to the portraits on the wall and I could have sworn that they were screaming. I had had enough and finally booked it for the stairs when I felt an inhuman hand grip my ankle yanking me to the ground. My head hit the ground hard, and I feared that would be the last thing I would ever see.

******************************

I woke in a hospital room, not entirely sure how I got there. I turned and found my dad sitting in a chair next to me.

"What happened?" That seemed to catch my dad off guard.

"You don't remember?"

"I remember going to the docks to meet Josh, but everything after that is a bit hazy." My dad frowned.

"Josh found you at the docks unconscious. You have been out for a few days. Are you sure you don't remember what happened?" I shook my head.

"So you can't explain the weird bruise on your ankle?" Weird bruise? I pulled up the sheet a little and inspected my ankle. There were long purple stripes circling my ankle. There were five of them, and if I didn't know better I would have thought that they were handprints.

"I have absolutely no idea how I got that." My dad just kept looking at me with that puzzled look of his until there was a knock at the door.

"Mind if I come in?" We both turned to look and saw a tall, older gentleman with serious burns on his face. I swear I knew him from somewhere. My dad looked at me and I shrugged.

"I guess." The man walked closer to me and pulled something from his pocket.

"You really don't remember me?" He leaned in closer and slid a paint brush behind my ear. "I know who you are. I know who you care about. You destroyed my home. I had said earlier it was going to be quick; this is going to take much longer." He pulled away and smiled showing crooked teeth. "Say hi to Josh for me, if you can find him." He walked away and my dad turned back at me.

"How do you know him?"

"I can't remember." I pulled the paintbrush out from behind my ear, and stared at it and its bristles, wet with red paint. No. Spots of my memory returned and with a horrifying realization I knew it wasn't paint. Then came the screaming.

Did anything surprise you? Have any unanswered questions? Constructive criticism? Let me know in the comments. Thanks for reading!