Two Sentences Horror Story

Work of Art

Horror story by @Asioli

Andy had realized that not all the begging in the world would get his Aunt out of the art museum. He had also realized that all the begging in the world hadn't gotten his license back from the cop who had pulled him to the side of the road.

If only he had made sure that Derek didn't have 'powder' or the 'good stuff', so to say, in his trunk.
Especially when driving home about the same time the graduation party ended.

So his punishment, along with the silent treatment from his mom, was to stay with his Aunt for the rest of the summer. Of course, she lived in Italy, in a small cottage, with an over grown garden.

And some how he had been dragged to this art gallery. The works of art abstract, and scratchy at times, the lines smudged as if the painter hadn't even cared, or seen where his hand would brush against the board.

The only reason he wasn't about to go and whine to his Aunt again like the 17 year old man he was, or considered himself to be, was because a young woman stood next to him.

Her eyes narrowed as her face crinkles into a half way smile, unlike every other woman here, her lips weren't purple, and other unnatural colors, which he thought that THEY THOUGHT, it would make them stand out, ironically enough, with all of them dressed in their blacks and bushes outfits, they all blended in, as if he was in some dystopian future society, in a not so far away future. An annoying future, apprentally, even Italy has hipsters who will still attend art galleries.

So she, her some how glowing face stood out. Her recently tanned caramel face, and small nose and huge lights. Along with the shiniest, straightest hair he's ever seen.

She seems like the most Italian person in this building, or at least the only one who doesn't powder face makeup layers to either overly enhance or hide it.

So she stands there, shockingly, from her small frame a honeyed voice came form it.

He remembers that from english lit. He remembers it because if he would use that word it would be to describe his ex. But it suited this girl.

"So?.... Did you hear what happened to the artist?" Her Italian accent thick, but understandable.

He looks up at the painting, the background of it a dark, desolate, dead trees.
It was the Mona Lisa, if it was painted by Tim Burton, yes.... yeah that was the way to describe it.

She turned to him, her green eyes, somehow soft at the same time piercing.

"Yes..." Andy replies. "Yes, he killed himself."

"I heard he painted it with his own blood.!" She whispers.

"Oh yeah?... well I heard he killed a man and the painting-"

"-gives you clues to where the body is hidden.." She finishes his sentence. Our conversation would seem loud, but there is the quiet hum of others chatting, and the soft sound of the violin,bass, and harp.

" I heard he's a ghost who haunts the halls of his old mansion." She says slightly above a whisper this time.

" I heard he cut off  his nose."

"I heard he stinking filthy rich."

"I HEARD HE KILLED HIS WIFE TOO!"

"I HEARD THAT HE TOOK OUT HIS OWN EYES WITH A MELON BALLER." They whisper scream at each other, in a competition to see who can rapid fire spit out facts, no sorry, rumors, about the mystery man.

"I HEARD THAT HE-" Andy starts.

"I heard he's a she." She cuts him off.  He's shocked that she would mention something like that. Even it a female artist shouldn't be a surprise, it's strange to mention it along with the rumors of murder and scandal.

He stares at her bag absent mindedly. It has what seems like a last name embroidered onto it, one he will never be able to pronounce on it." I heard that he- sorry, she, went insane while making it." He babbles off.

"Don't they all?.." she wonders off before Andy can get his eyes away from the intriguing painting, her looking over her shoulder at him, already half way to the door.

Andy sighs as his Aunt comes up beside him, " Hey Kiddo..." she says with her raspy voice.

" Hear about the artist?" She asks.

"You couldddd... say that.."

"Look.." Aunt Mather says as she points on wrinkled finger, with a French nail, to the plaque underneath it.

He almost coughs up the pasta he had for lunch as he sees a name he seems to recognize but can't pronounce and the picture of a vibrant girl, with ironically, dull green eyes.

The scariest part is that the timeline says 1845-1899,

Cause of death: blood loss, from self inflicted surgical removal of eyes.

Andy realizes that some artists can create the most amazing paintings, but it will never be good enough for the creator's eyes.