Author's note: this story was inspired by a painting in my parent's bedroom. Also, this story is meant to confuse you. If you really must understand, just PM me or something.

Warnings: minor alcohol/drug use, semi-graphic descriptions of blood/gore

Please review if you enjoyed it!


Ever since Matthew and his parents moved into their house, there had been the painting in the master bedroom.

Matthew asked his dad if he had put it there, and his dad replied, "No, it came with the house." Matthew's dad told him not to touch it, because the painting looked rather old and vintage. The house was from the 1900's, so the painting probably was too.

Every time Matthew came home from school, every time he walked in the door or passed his parent's room, he saw the mysterious painting out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't even a painting of something substantial, just a rocky, cliff-ridden shore and intense blue waves. Matthew had seen better ocean pictures, and better ocean in real life, when he went to visit his grandmother in Victoria.

It all changed the day he was left home alone. He had been home alone before, when his mom or dad was away and the other was at work. It was nothing new. He would sit on his computer, watch TV, look in the fridge for something to eat. But this particular day, he decided to take a walk outside.

He walked through the living room, over his cat, and past his parent's door. Matthew opened the door, but didn't step through it.

He looked to his right: the painting beckoned him.

He squinted, and could barely make out the old words printed on the frame. His glasses were upstairs in his room. He walked closer, not even bothering to close the front door.

Entering the threshold of his parent's master bedroom, he felt a change in the air. It was freezing cold, and he could hear a small child's voice coming from somewhere in the room. Or even from outside it, he couldn't tell.

He leaned closer to the painting with it's gaudy gold frame. If he concentrated, Matthew could swear he felt the cold spray of saltwater and hear the crash of waves upon rock.

"To those who seek it, change comes from within." The frame read in swirly, fancy letters.

Paint was laid thick on the canvas, Matthew realized, now that he had a better look at it. It was painted with huge, thick brushstrokes, with the colors applied liberally to everything.

The painting looked like it hadn't been touched for years, and it probably hadn't. The frame was covered with dust and spider webs clouded the picture.

Right in the middle, under a particularly heavy wave, there was a small speck of red paint.

Matthew leaned so close his nose was almost touching the painting. Before his very eyes, the red speck grew until it was as big as a quarter and twice as glossy, almost looking like a dot of fire.

Matthew could hear the voice louder now, and older sounding.

change... change... Matthew, change

Matthew closed his eyes and touched his hands to the painting.

MATTIE!

The voice yelled, before Matthew fell into the painting.

Matthew woke to a cool hand on his forehead. It definitely wasn't his mother's, and he didn't feel like he was laying in his bed, or any bed for that matter.

He opened his eyes, which still had no glasses. The blurry outline of a boy around his age came into view.

The sound of water crashing to shore filled his ears and at first he couldn't hear what the boy was saying to him.

"What?"

The boy's eyes filled with laughter. "I said, where did you come from?" He yelled.

"Oh..." Matthew sat up. The coarse grass of the cliff and the sea foam crashing onto the side of it looked exactly like in the painting. "I... I don't know. There was this painting, and I touched it, and-"

The boy interrupted him "No worries, you're here now, that's all that matters! Say, you look a little like me, don't you?"

Matthew looked at the boy, He had short blond hair with a very strange cowlick and blue eyes behind square glasses.

"I guess."

"You'd look even more like me if you had glasses. My name is Alfred."

Matthew stood up and Alfred did too. "I have glasses, I just left them..."

"Left them where?" Alfred asked, walking down the hill.

"In my bedroom. But I don't really know where that is now." Matthew looked behind him, and saw the faint glowing outline of a box and an ornate, gaudy frame.

"Boring. So what's your name?" Alfred asked.

"Matthew."

"Can I call you Mattie? Because you can call me Al if you want to."

"No. Please don't."

They were nearing a house, Matthew realized. It was a desolate looking thing, with half of the roof blown out and the windows boarded up.

It was three stories with peeling blue paint, and on the top floor, it looked like a bright pink light was shining out of the windows.

"What's that...?" Matthew pointed to the light, but Alfred was chatting away so much he didn't notice.

Alfred opened the door to the house. It looked much better on the inside. In fact, Matthew recognized it somewhat... it was his house. The wallpaper and furniture was different and there were several places where it looked like small bombs had gone off, but besides that, this house looked the same as the one Matthew left behind on the other side of the painting.

"Hello? Mattie?" Alfred waved his hand in front of Matthew's face.

"Yes, sorry."

"Anyway, like I was saying, this is my house. I can fix you something to eat or... anything you need, just ask." Alfred said, working his way into the kitchen.

Matthew looked into the master bedroom. The wallpaper was peeling and the bed moved around but there was still a painting in the same place. He walked towards it.

The frame and words on it were the same, but the picture was a great rendition of Maple Street, the road in front of Matthew's house.

"Huh." He muttered. Alfred came to the doorway with a sandwich.

At Matthew's questioning gaze, he said, "BLT. It's the closest thing I have to a hamburger around here, 'cause I got no buns. You want one?"

Instead of answering the question, Matthew asked, "Has this painting always been here?"

"Yeah, it was here when I got here." Alfred replied.

"How did you get here?" Matthew walked out of the master bedroom and to the stairwell.

"Uh... I don't really remember, to be honest. It's a pretty nice place, though, right?"

"Uh, huh." Was all Matthew said as he looked at the damage the house had. "What are those black marks?"

"I like to play with fire." Alfred said nonchalantly, throwing the crust of his sandwich over his shoulder.

Matthew opened the door to what would have been his room. It was empty, except for a cardboard box with his glasses on it. He picked them up, inspected them. They looked perfectly normal. He put them on.

When Matthew came out of the room, Alfred was waiting for him. "What's that pink light I saw outside?" he asked.

"Oh, that? Don't worry about it, I'll tell you later." Alfred said. "Now do you want a place to sleep? It's getting pretty late."

The sun had just gone down over the rocky cliff when Alfred gave Matthew a place to sleep in the living room. It was a red couch with a pull out bed. Alfred dug up some blankets from a chest and put them on the bed.

"I hope you'll be comfortable." He said, bringing a pillow from upstairs.

"Oh, I'll be fine. Thanks for letting me stay here." Matthew replied, taking his glasses off and setting them on the floor.

"No prob." Alfred replied. "Good night." Alfred walked up the stairs and turned off the flickering light.

Matthew fluffed up his pillow and rested his head on it, his eyes getting more and more droopy by the second.

Just before he slipped into sleep, the voice told him

Change, Matthew...

Matthew woke to Alfred's hand on his forehead again. "What... what are you doing, Alfred?" he asked.

Alfred moved his hand away and smiled. "You looked a little warm, that's all. I wanted to make sure you didn't have a fever."

"Oh... okay." Matthew sat up and got out of bed.

Alfred walked into the kitchen and opened the near empty fridge. "Want anything to eat?"

Matthew thought for a while then said, "Can I make pancakes?"

"Go ahead. I dunno if I have all the ingredients but you can try."

Matthew joined Alfred in the kitchen and started opening cupboards. He found flour, milk, and a tiny amount of all the other things he needed. There was even a box of raspberries in the fridge. Alfred walked upstairs, leaving Matthew alone in the kitchen to find a griddle and make his breakfast.

When his small pancakes were done, Matthew found a plate and flipped them onto it, putting the raspberries on top. Alfred owned no maple syrup, he noticed. No matter. He sat down at the grimy white fold-out table and started to eat.

Before taking his first bite, he noticed nearly all of the raspberries had bugs. Matthew made a face and scraped them off into the garbage, before cutting into the sweet-smelling pancakes. The batter oozed out, uncooked. Matthew grimaced and took a bite anyway. It was terrible, salty and lumpy. He dumped the rest of the cakes in the garbage.

"Alfred?" He called.

Alfred walked down the stairs, a grey soot stain all over his front. "Yes?"

"I think I'm going to go back to... wherever I came from."

"Safe journey." Alfred replied, turning around again to go upstairs.

Matthew left the house and walked to the cliff. The intensely blue waves crashed on the rocky shore and up to the top of the cliff. The saltwater spray reached his face, even. If he stood there longer than five minute's he'd be soaked to the bone.
The gold frame floated like fog about five or six feet past the cliff. He would never be able to make it, even if he ran.

His mind running fifty kilometers an hour, Matthew walked back to the house, which whispered "Change... change..." from it's seams and from it's corners. He barely noticed the sound.

Matthew opened the door, and Alfred looked up from his small TV. "You back already?"

"Yeah." Matthew replied. "So what is there to do for fun around here?"

Alfred didn't even blink. "We could play some cards, pick some raspberries from the field. Whaddya want to do?"


"Thanks again for letting me stay." Matthew told Alfred as he climbed into the pull out bed.

"Why are you going to sleep, Mattie?" Alfred asked with a sly smile. "We have video games to play until the early hours of the morning."


As Matthew drifted off to sleep, he thought of how good a person Alfred was. What a truly good friend he had been to Matthew, and most of all, how much Matthew himself wanted to be like Alfred.