Ib stared at the painting for what felt like the millionth time. She wasn't sure what kept drawing her back here, to Guertena's "Forgotten Portrait," but she felt compelled to stand in front of it, almost on a daily basis now. She sighed, looking up at the man slumped against the wall as if asleep. This had been going on for five years now; it was ridiculous. She glanced down at her watch—3:56pm.
"It's just a painting," she told herself adamantly, though found herself unable to turn away. She felt as if she knew the man in the portrait somehow. She mentally smacked herself. It was absurd—namely why she hadn't told her parents about her outings to see the painting after school as of late. She had told them she was studying at a friend's house. Ib frowned; she felt horrible lying to her parents, but she just couldn't tell them the truth. They'd think she was insane.
But she wasn't…right?
Ignoring the gallery's DO NOT TOUCH THE DISPLAYS sign on the far wall, she reached out and ran her fingertips along the man's face, obscured by long bangs hanging into his eyes.
"Who are you?" the murmured, praying nobody else was behind her to hear her talking to a painting.
She looked up as the lights suddenly flickered. She froze, stomach lurching.
"Hello?" she called, turning around and finding the gallery empty.
She swallowed hard, trying to stave off the panic welling in her chest. This felt familiar somehow, and not in a good way.
"Hello?!" she shouted, breaking out into a run and dashing through the corridors of the gallery. To her horror, the place was deserted. She careened to a halt in front of a massive canvas to catch her breath, hunching over and putting her hands on her knees.
"What the hell is going on?" she whispered to herself, glancing up at the painting. "Fabricated World," it said. That feeling in the pit of her stomach returned, that hint of déjà vu that both fascinated and frightened her.
She paused, looking at the lower left-hand corner of the painting curiously. What looked like blue paint was leaking out of the frame, spilling onto the wall in a slow stream.
"What-?"
BANG. BANG BANG BANG BANG
Ib gasped and flung her hands over her head as a series of thuds filled the eerie silence. She froze like that for a few moments after the noises stopped, then slowly brought herself back to a standing position. Something red on the floor caught her attention; she felt her eyes go wide. Letters were sprawled out on the floor. A message.
"YOU CAME BACK"
Ib froze again, backing away from the letters in terror. "Came back?" What was that supposed to mean? She had been in the gallery hundreds of times over the years and never had messages falling from the ceiling before. Gathering her courage, Ib slowly backed out of the room and into the corridor.
She gasped again as she looked down at the floor. What looked like blue footprints dotted the white tiles, leading around the corner into another part of the gallery. She paused, wondering what the wisest move was. Surely this was a trap. It certainly looked like one, the way the footprints purposely led her away.
On the other hand, she realized with a sinking feeling, what choice did she have?
She quietly followed the footprints, turning around frequently to make sure she wasn't being followed, and came to an abrupt stop in front of a blue painting in the floor of the gallery. "Abyss of the Deep," unless she was mistaken. More red letters dotted the floor just as the footprints ended; they were jumbled, so it took her a few moments to piece the words together.
"COME INSIDE"
"Wonderful," she mumbled, looking back once more at the empty gallery before stepping into the painting.
She emerged on the other side in a red corridor. It was dimly lit, making it difficult to see the other end. She turned around, taking in her surroundings. She shivered; it was cold.
"Hello?" she ventured, noting something red and teal-colored down the hallway. She slowly headed toward it, calling out "hello?" once more for good measure. Still no answer.
She approached the object, cocking her head to the side as she examined it. A perfectly shaped, bright red rose was sitting in the teal vase half-filled with water. It was beautiful—almost too beautiful to be real. The urge to pick it up was irresistible; she reached out and carefully grabbed the rose—minding the thorns—and took a whiff. To her surprise, there was no scent. She sniffed it again; still nothing.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG
Ib whirled around as the thudding noises from before erupted from behind. Like earlier, letters lay strewn upon the floor in a jumbled mess. She licked her lips, frowning as she tried to piece them into words.
"I SAVED IT FOR YOU"
She swallowed, looking up at the ceiling where the letters had descended from. Nothing looked out of the ordinary; just simple red tiles lined the entire ceiling for as far as she could see.
She squinted as something materialized down the hallway. She immediately headed towards it, her stomach fluttering in anticipation. She knew that painting anywhere.
She was almost out of breath by the time she got to the "Forgotten Portrait," though not just from running. The feeling that she knew the boy in the frame intensified, almost to the point where it hurt. He was in trouble; she knew it. Her breath caught in her throat as she examined the painting more closely.
The boy's chest was moving, rising and falling as if asleep.
"Hello?" she called into the portrait, stepping forward. The boy didn't answer, merely kept sleeping away.
"Hey, wake up!" she demanded as something large and dark emerged from the right-hand side of the portrait. Ib recoiled, stumbling backward in horror as the thing shuffled in front of the sleeping boy. The black mass hid him from view.
Ib watched, frozen, as whatever it was slowly turned around to face her. All she could make out amid the dark shape were a pair of eyes. Large, perfectly round red ones that surveyed her with a hatred Ib couldn't begin to describe.
She yelped as the banging sound occurred again, spinning around to see the message waiting for her.
"HE'S MINE"
Ib scowled, a rage suddenly bubbling up inside of her.
"Let him GO!" she screamed to nobody in particular, shaking her fists.
Silence. Until—
BANG BANG. BANG. BANG BANG BANG
"COME GET HIM"
Ib inhaled deeply, trying to keep her anger and her panic in-check. It was taunting her, whatever this thing was.
"Fine," she said softly, looking up at the ceiling. After a few moments of tense silence she heard a click. She looked around; a door had materialized on her left. Steeling herself, she grabbed the knob and pulled it open.