Here's the next in my series of one-shots. I always wanted to do a story pairing Kimberly and Ian. There's a wonderful practicality about the two people, but enough of a contrast to allow them to play off each other. He's a country boy, she's a city girl. Plus, I just loved the idea of a haunted painting. Anyway, enjoy, and feel free to leave a review or two :).
The Ghost in the Gallery
"Ian, hey! Over here!"
Hearing his name, Ian looked up and around, then across the street to the towering stone building opposite. Down by the front steps, he spotted a short brunette waving madly, and soon recognised a friendly smile.
"Kimberly, hi!" Ian called. He waited for a break in the traffic, and jogged across the street towards her.
"It's great to see you," Kim said. "What are you doing in town?"
"My parents finally finished unpacking all the moving boxes," Ian replied. "But it was such a nice day, and I still don't know my way around. I wanted to get a feel for the place, you know?"
"Probably not a bad idea. This town can really come out swinging some days. Trust me."
Ian frowned. "Anyway, where were you heading?"
Kimberly pointed to the building behind them. "The Caloundra Art Gallery," she replied. "I wanted to get an early start on an art assignment for school. There's a new exhibit opening today. Do you want to check it out with me? I know art probably isn't your thing, but I could totally use the company. This place can be pretty daunting."
"Sure. Sounds fun."
With that, the two friends climbed the stairs. "So what's it about?" Ian asked.
Kim reached for a brochure by the door. "Sir Augustyn deVere," she said. "He's an artist from nineteenth century Europe. He's renowned for beautiful landscapes and lifelike portraits. The gallery recently discovered a trove of dozens of deVere paintings hidden away by a distant relative here in Australia. They've never been displayed before."
"So nobody's looked at these paintings for over two hundred years?" Ian said softly. "Wow."
Stepping inside, the interior of the art gallery opened out before them. The foyer was grandly enormous, filled with unusual sculptures and colourful paintings. To their left was the front counter, with the curator's office behind. On the right, doorways led to smaller exhibit rooms deeper inside the building. At the end of the hall was an archway under a sign reading 'Free Expression Art Class', while beside it was another door marked simply 'Supplies'. Standing there in the cavernous foyer, Ian felt very small. Without realising it, he stepped closer to Kim.
"Art class?" he asked.
Kim nodded. "My class came here on an excursion last week," she replied. "It's a room full of blank canvases. But I think…" and she pointed to the nearby major exhibit room, just beyond a giant framed painting of a vase of crimson tulips. "That's us."
The exhibit room was a wide gallery with a high ceiling over marble tiles. Paintings large and small lined the walls, facing them on all sides. There were rolling landscapes alongside sombre portraits. In the corner, a female museum attendant with short dark hair was busy dusting a small sculpture. But seeing the two students, she waved.
"Welcome to the deVere exhibit!" she called, and held up the feather duster as Ian and Kim wandered over. "You'll have to forgive me. Our janitor was in this morning but he never finished. He must've gone home early."
"That's okay," Ian breathed, gazing in wonder around the room. "There are some amazing paintings here."
Kim's eyes settled on a large portrait in the centre of the room. The colours and shapes were mesmerising, and she felt it drawing her closer.
"What's this one?" she asked.
"The centrepiece of the exhibit," the attendant replied proudly. "It's called Shadows on the March. It was deVere's final masterpiece." She paused to let them study the painting. Behind the protective glass case sat an inviting green garden under a misty night sky, with the dark outline of a towering castle in the distance. The moon and stars were obscured by grey clouds, while shadows seemed to drift in and out of the trees like phantoms.
"It's incredible," Ian said.
"You can't even tell it's unfinished," the attendant said, then lowered her voice. "Legend has it that deVere spent months on the painting, but he was never satisfied. He poured so much energy into the picture that it consumed him. He had nothing left. He never painted again, and died shortly afterwards."
"Creepy," Kim murmured.
Leaning in close, Ian ran his eyes over the ghostly figures.
One of them moved.
Ian jumped. "What?" he said.
"You okay?" Kim asked.
"Yeah, fine," Ian said. "I think my eyes are playing tricks on me." Wondering if he'd imagined it, he rubbed his eyes and looked again. The shadow was still there, frozen on the canvas. "Let's have a look around," he said hastily.
They stepped away from Shadows on the March and made their way around the gallery, spending a few minutes taking in each masterpiece before meeting back by the door.
"I'm really glad we came," Kimberly said. "I wonder if there are any more deVere paintings around."
There was a sharp intake of breath behind them, followed closely by a loud 'thud'. They turned to where the attendant had been standing, but she was gone. The room was empty, aside from the portraits facing them, and a feather duster now lying on the tiles.
Kim frowned. "That's strange."
"I know," Ian said. "That lady was standing right there."
"Maybe there was an art emergency or something?" Kim said. "She could've passed us when we were talking."
"I didn't see her," Ian shrugged.
Loud voices began echoing into the deVere room, and Kim and Ian watched as a tall woman with curly hair stepped into the foyer with three young children behind her, the eldest child carrying a skateboard. All three had their mother's curls, and like young families everywhere, they were blissfully creating a world of noise.
"Maybe they saw where the attendant went?" Ian offered.
Leaving the deVere exhibit, they followed after the young family. As the woman and her children reached one of the hallways, Ian and Kim lost sight of them, and jogged forward to catch up. But as they turned the corner and stepped into another small gallery, they froze.
The room was empty.
"Where did they go?" Kim asked.
Ian looked around. There was nothing but framed paintings, and soft classical music filtering down out of the ceiling-mounted speakers. "There aren't any other exits," he said. "They can't have vanished."
Kimberly felt the hair on her arm standing on end. "I've got a bad feeling about this," she murmured. Stepping over to the wall, she gazed absentmindedly at the closest painting. Her eyes suddenly flew wide.
"Ian, check this out!"
Ian dashed over. The painting before them showed a majestic medieval castle, but standing on the grass in front of the fortress was a curly-haired woman with three young boys beside her. One of the boys was holding a skateboard.
"That's not medieval," Ian said.
"There is something really wrong here," Kim said. "We need to find the curator."
More aware than ever of just how large and quiet the gallery was, they raced back through the foyer to the front desk. Behind the counter, the door marked 'curator' was slightly ajar. They could see the edge of a giant landscape hanging on the wall behind the curator's desk.
"C'mon," Kim said. But running around into the curator's office, they came to an abrupt stop.
The room was as empty as the rest of the gallery. Behind the desk, though, the chair was still spinning. A cup of coffee sat on the desk, and Ian frowned as he noticed steam rising from the mug. It was freshly made, and still hot.
"Where is everyone?" he asked. "I don't like this."
On a hunch, Kim ran her eyes over the painting on the wall above the curator's desk, and jumped. "It moved!" she shouted.
"What?"
"The painting," Kim said, and pointed to a splotch of black in the top corner. "Something in the painting, it moved. Does that sound totally crazy?"
"No," Ian said. "Because when we were looking at Shadows on the March, I swear I saw something in that painting move too."
Kimberly's face fell. "So the paintings are haunted?" she said. "Figures."
"C'mon," Ian said. They ran back across the deserted foyer to the deVere exhibit, and soon found themselves in front of deVere's final masterpiece. Ian leaned forward, but Kim grabbed his sleeve.
"Careful," she warned. "Not too close," and they looked deep into the painting.
Just in time to see one of the shadowy figures vanish.
They shot back. But carefully rechecking the painting, their suspicions were confirmed. The shadow that had been in the picture a second ago was gone.
Ian glanced around the room. His eyes settled on a painting of a sail boat, when a dark figure suddenly appeared on the deck. "There!" he said. "The shadow's in that painting!" But by the time Kim looked, it was gone.
She turned to the paintings opposite, just in time to see a shadow flicker across a portrait to her left. "Got him! In the window of the French chateau!"
Without realising it, the two spun back-to-back. Ian nodded to a picture on his left. "There, behind that church!" he said.
"The portrait of the horse and rider!"
"No, he's beside the barn. Wait, no, he's gone again."
Silence fell. They looked frantically from painting to painting.
"Do you see him?" asked Kim.
"Not in any of them," Ian replied. "And that worries me."
Kim glanced over her shoulder to Shadows, and suddenly saw a hand reaching out of the painting.
"Watch out!" she shouted, grabbing Ian's arm and dragging him to safety. The shadowy fingers closed on air, before retreating back into the picture.
"Thanks," Ian said quickly. "He's jumping from painting to painting."
"We need to get out of here," Kim said.
They bolted. But as they reached the exhibit entrance, a giant shadowy figure loomed up in the picture of the tulips, an arm stretching out for them. Kim leaped safely over the arm while Ian dived under it and rolled to his feet. But reaching the foyer, they came to a halt.
On either side of the front doors were giant floor-to-ceiling paintings. Even as they watched, the pictures were growing darker.
"No good," Ian said.
Kim looked to the back of the building. "And what idiot hangs a painting on the fire exit?" she breathed. "That's not gonna work either."
The pictures on all sides were growing darker. In a panic, Kim caught sight of the door marked 'Supplies', and realised she'd settle for any obstacle between them and their pursuer. "There!" she shouted. Grabbing Ian's arm, she raced across to the door. Luckily it wasn't locked, and they wrenched it open and leaped inside.
Slamming the door shut, they backed deeper into the room, catching their breath as their heart-rates slowly returned to normal. The room was small, but thankfully free of artwork. On one side were shelves of art supplies, a stock of brushes, tins and paint thinner. On the other were mops, brooms and a pile of buckets, while a short wall stood between them and a sink. Above their heads, a barred window sat high above the floor, far too small to crawl through.
"There's no way out," Ian sighed, and collapsed against the wall.
"But we can't leave," Kim said. "Not yet. Not until we rescue all those people, and figure out how to stop this creep."
"Without destroying any priceless works of art?"
"That too," Kim agreed. "I guess deVere poured a little too much life into that painting. Next question, why is the ghost capturing people?"
"Maybe he needs them?" Ian said. "Let's assume that the ghost in Shadows on the March is trying to escape. Maybe he needs life from real people, so he's storing up all this energy like charge on a battery."
"And when he gets enough, he can break free."
"Exactly," Ian said. "But that doesn't tell us…" Stepping back, he glanced up to the dividing wall. A small painting was facing him. "Oh no! Kim!"
Ian raised his arms defensively as Kim grabbed a screwdriver out of an open toolbox and held it up like a knife. They stood there frozen, waiting for an attack that never came. Long minutes passed. Finally, Ian glanced to Kim, lowered his fists and stepped back.
"Why isn't he attacking us?" he asked. "He knows we're in here."
Kim turned from the painting to the doorway, and the realisation suddenly came to her. "Line of sight," she said.
"What?"
"That's how he moves from painting to painting. He can only jump into pictures that he can see. He chased us out of the deVere exhibit through that picture of the tulips. And when you look into the curator's office, you can see the painting on the wall behind the desk." Kim paused to catch her breath, and pointed to the picture facing them them. "But this painting is facing the wall. There's no way he can get to it. We're safe here."
Ian glanced from the tins of paint thinner on the shelf to a pile of dirty drop cloths in a heap on the ground.
"You got an idea?" Kim asked.
"More than that," Ian replied. "I think I figured out how to beat him."
"Are you there?" Kimberly asked, her voice echoing through the gallery as she stepped around into the deVere room. "Helpless victim here! Waiting to be attacked!"
With a malevolent whisper, the paintings lining the walls grew dark, and Kim spun back to Shadows on the March as the shadowy figure reappeared on the canvas. As she watched, a fist reached out of the painting and grasped at the floor. Before long, the ghost clambered out over the frame, crawled onto the floor and finally stood up to face her. His face and body were nothing so much as living black ink, with streaks of colour through his chest and arms. His eyes burned red with rage.
Kimberly stood her ground as the ghost lurched towards her. "I need you," it growled. "I need life!"
"Okay, I get that you were created by a tortured artist," Kim said. "But stealing people's souls and trapping them in paintings? Not cool."
"Foolish child," the painting rumbled. "You are mine!"
Kim raised her hands. In one was the feather duster the attendant had dropped earlier. In the other, a small tin flask. "Oh, I forgot to mention," she began. "This helpless victim happens to have your kryptonite." Pouring the contents of the flask onto the duster, she pointed it at the ghost like a sword.
Her towering opponent laughed. "You're going to beat me with water?"
"No," Kim said, as the fumes began to fill the room. "Paint thinner."
The ghost froze. Kim took the opportunity to attack, swinging the duster for his head. The ghost raised his arm to block, but roared with pain as the duster left a deep scar down his arm. Wounded, he pulled his hand close, but before he could recover, Kim attacked again, whipping the duster through the air and forcing the ghost back. Leaving footsteps of paint puddles, the ghost retreated out of the exhibit room entirely. Satisfied, Kim leaped to one side and stabbed the duster for the ghost's chest, forcing him into the neighbouring room.
The ghost lumbered to the centre of the room as Kimberly followed after him, holding her makeshift weapon high. Ian suddenly stepped out of hiding, slamming the door shut and locking them inside. Kim nodded to herself. Drop cloths were hanging over all the paintings, obscuring every picture. The only thing not covered was a single blank canvas in the middle of the room. The ghost stared around the room, finally realising the trap. While he was distracted, Kim charged forward and aimed the duster straight for the ghost's torso. It plunged into his chest, and the ghost screamed as a torrent of black paint spilled forth, gushing down onto the floor. Fatally wounded, the shadow escaped the only way left, flying back into the blank canvas before turning to the two students.
"There's nowhere to run," Ian said.
Kim nodded. "So give us those people back. Now."
"Never!" the ghost cried. Two black fists exploded from the canvas.
"Wrong answer," Ian said, and aimed a bottle of turpentine straight for the ghost's head.
He couldn't have missed. The liquid splashed over the canvas, and the ghost roared with pain. The canvas shook as the ghost rolled back and forth, and they watched breathlessly as he melted away, running down the easel into a growing puddle on the tiles.
The sound of footsteps echoed out of the foyer. Running back to the door, Ian threw it open to see the curator and museum attendant stumbling past, fighting to stay upright and hanging onto the wall for dear life. At the other end of gallery, the mother and her three young children staggered out of a hallway, and Kim couldn't help but smile with relief.
"Good job," she said. "We did it."
The two students were sitting on the curb in front of the gallery when they heard the approaching sound of sirens and realised that ambulances were on the way. Neither had wanted to stick around and quietly slipped outside once everybody was safe.
"Well," Kim said, basking in the sun. "That was fun," and she nudged Ian's shoulder with her own.
"Is it always like this?" Ian asked. "The 'welcome to Caloundra' brochures didn't mention the haunted art gallery."
"Pretty much," she said, then leaned in close and lowered her voice. "You did good, though. I'm really impressed with how you figured that out."
Ian blushed, and looked away. "I had help," he said, and stood up. "Still, if I can deal with being stalked by a haunted painting, I think I can handle just about anything."
"That's the spirit," Kim laughed, and stood up to join him. "I am sorry about dragging you into that. But there's a great bakery on the next street over. How about I buy us lunch, and we can call it even?"
Ian smiled. "Deal," he said. "I'm starving."
The End.