"The Hanged Man"
What a creative name for it, I think sarcastically to myself as I look at the painting in front of me. One of the things that bothers me the most is when artists name their works after what the painting literally is: in this case, the man hanging upside down by a rope is called "The Hanged Man." At least be more creative with it. You're an artist, for goodness' sake. Creativity is your job.
But although his creativity for names leaves something to be desired, Guertena is possibly one of the most amazing yet underrated artists of our time. That's why I didn't hesitate when I heard that the local art gallery was putting his most famous work on display. A whole exhibit dedicated to Guertena, what better way to spend my afternoon?
As I'm looking closely at the hanging man, noticing some numbers on his clothes, I notice a little girl in a red skirt walking around out of the corner of my eye. She's so small and young—maybe only eight or nine. What is she doing moving about alone?
But, it's an art gallery. I'm sure nothing bad could happen to her.
By now, I've grown tired of the painting and I find something else to look at. I head downstairs, past the lobby, and find a large sculpture of a rose. The paragraph on the wall calls it "Embodiment of Spirit" and mentions something about the rose being linked to the beholder. Sounds interesting to me. Almost like the rose is somebody's lifeline.
As I look closer at the rose sculpture, deciding to come back to it later on, the lights begin to flicker. I glance around, frowning, suddenly realizing how quiet it's become. And that's when I notice how I'm completely alone. Nobody is around me anymore, but how can that be when there were just so many other people in the room?
Uncertain and uncomfortable, I go upstairs and sure enough, there's nobody around. The lights stop flickering for a moment and instead turn off altogether, earning a loud gasp from me. Okay, so maybe I'm not the biggest fan of the dark. No judgment, please. I understand I'm a legal adult, but I'm still young and the dark can be terrifying.
Stuffing my hands nervously in my pockets, I feel something small and smooth and remember that I always carry a lighter with me. Relieved, I pull it out and light a flame, turning around to see the room I'm in better. And then I'm face-to-face with one of the most terrifying things I've ever seen.
One of Guertena's tall headless statues, which had been enclosed behind velvet rope only minutes ago, is now right in front of me, arms extended. I back away, hoping to calm it down, but it only growls at me. So I do what any sane person would do: I run.
The lights turn back on but keep flickering as I run into the lobby and try to leave out the front door. No use: it's locked. And where has everyone gone off to? I shake my head to dispose of any more questions that could distract me, and I hear the growling once again. The headless statue is still after me.
So instead, I run around downstairs through different rooms and exhibits, praying that nothing else comes alive to hurt me. I find one hall with a large mural entitled "Fabricated World." I stop in front of it to catch my breath—maybe I'm not the most in-shape guy on the planet, either—and hear a sound much like clanking from above me. Nervously, I look up and find magnets sticking to the wall around the mural, spelling out my name and other various messages:
"Garry. Come in, Garry. Follow."
"Yeah, no thank you!" I call out, hoping this is all some sort of joke or prank and that it'll be over soon. All I want right now is to go back home. I want the lights to stay on and the front door to unlock. I want to lie in my bed and eat macaroons while creating some new drawings in my sketchbook. I just want to go back to the normal world where everybody makes fun of my purple hair.
The gallery has grown quiet again, and hesitantly I move around upstairs. Nothing else seems to have come alive—except there is one window that looks like somebody has been banging on it. I hear coughing somewhere as well, but can't place the source of it.
I come across a huge painting—or maybe it's a mural, too—on the floor in one of the rooms. In all honesty, I can't be bothered to notice what it is or what it's named—something "of the Deep," I'm sure. The only thing that concerns me is that, like with the headless statue, part of the velvet rope surrounding it is now open. So I stand where it once was, peering down at the giant painted fish, and suddenly I'm falling into darkness.