The Painted Room Read online

May merely scanned the rest of the article which was an in depth look into Eurocorp's various setbacks, including a rewiring of the old mansion that short circuited and a still unexplained cave-in of a newly installed roof.

  This time when she heard the shrill, metallic grating noise, the hair prickled on the back of her neck. She looked around the room and caught Sheila staring at her.

  "You heard it, didn't you?" said Sheila.

  "Yeah, I heard something. What is it?"

  Sheila nodded toward the painting. "I think it might be the iron gate. I heard it last night and drove myself crazy trying to find out where it was coming from. No one else seemed to notice it and I thought—" She shook her head. "Well, I don't know what I thought. But you heard it too, didn't you? You did, right?"

  May just stared at her. "Well, I heard something, but I'm sure it's not from that. Did you sleep at all last night? You look awful." Sheila Hazelton—her hair and make-up usually fussed over for upwards of an hour—looked disheveled and exhausted.

  Sheila tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear self-consciously. "No, I didn't."

  "Looks it."

  "Thanks," Sheila said quickly.

  "You know what I mean." May waved the newspaper clipping in the air. "Why don't we just forget about this and go to the game." She folded the news article and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans. "I think you should get out of here for a while, and away from—"

  The noise screeched out again shiveringly, sending out goose bumps over May's body and making her grimace. At least this time she was able to figure out where the sound was coming from. Unfortunately, the problem was that it really did seem to be coming from the painting—and that just wasn't possible.

  Now May was annoyed. "Oh, I get it. You're a little early, aren't you? Halloween isn't till next month. It's a trick, right?" she said, though she couldn't remember Sheila ever having played a trick on anyone in her life.

  May pulled the frame away from the wall slightly and peeked behind it. The heavy painting was suspended by a thick wire draped over two sturdy picture hooks. The back of the canvas was sealed with faded brown paper, intact and darkened around the edges with dried up glue. It looked eons old.

  She let out an irritated sigh, set the painting back gently against the wall and was in the process of examining the ornately carved frame when a painted brown leaf fluttered by her fingers.

  She drew her hand away and swore.

  "Did you just see that leaf flutter by?" cried Sheila.

  May gave a small laugh. "Oh, please! Leaves just don't flutter by in paintings!" she said as she watched another dry brown leaf tumble through the slightly open iron gate then heard it click clack rustle as it blew down the gravel path toward the castle. The leaf seemed to liquefy the paint as it skittered over the stones until gradually the whole of the canvas was moving and alive.

  Next, the wind picked up in the painting—and not just there—but somehow in the house as well. May's hair whispered softly against her face.

  The wind shifted suddenly and in the painting, the dry leaves on the trees turned, showing their tan colored undersides. She heard them scraping one another and tapping manically together.

  May didn't want to see what she was seeing. "Let's go. Let's get out of here," she said, backing away from the canvas.

  But Sheila was mesmerized.

  "C'mon, let's go," she insisted.

  Sheila lifted her hand to touch the shifting scene in front of her.

  "Are you crazy?" May yelled, reaching out to grab her arm.

  Sheila's body jerked forward, and May's hand closed around air.

  Only the tips of Sheila's white fingers and her meticulously painted pink nails remained in the living room, clinging to the edge of the picture frame. The rest of Sheila was inside the painting, with her body extended in the violent wind like the tail of a kite. She was screaming.

  May froze. Behind her, knick-knacks and porcelain figurines clattered and fell on the shelves. The rapid change in air pressure made her ears pop, and the small, sharp burst of pain brought her back to her senses and set her in motion again.

  With a sudden sick feeling, she realized that the painting was too high to pull Sheila back in. She would need to be taller. May scanned the living room in a frenzy.

  Normally she wouldn't have even put a water glass on Bonnie Hazelton's coffee table, but May found herself dragging it over. It wasn't as heavy as she expected, and it slid fairly easily across the rug in front of the sofa and then bumped and screeched the last few feet along the wooden floor.

  She got the coffee table into position under the painting and jumped onto the top, quickly kicking off the television remote and a stack of glossy magazines.

  May had a better view now. She lunged forward and grabbed both of Sheila's wrists and immediately felt a nauseating pulling sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  All at once, Sheila let go, and May was yanked forward through the picture frame. She felt her body tumble end over end through space.