Across the Lake

Chapter 6: The Painting

...

I didn't get a wink of sleep last night. I kept thinking of the Jason guy who stood inches from me outside the window. If there was no window between us, he could've grabbed me easily and killed me right where I stood. The very idea was why I had my eyes open the whole night. Eventually I did fall asleep, and was haunted by the same drowning nightmares I have been having every night.

When the sun came up and filtered through the balcony window, I pulled the thick, warm covers up over my head and groaned. I didn't get up till eleven in the afternoon when I had to rush to the bathroom. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I was a mess. Hair stuck out in all directions, there were dark circles around my red rimmed eyes. I did not look good at all.

I took a nice hot shower to help me wake up. After I dried off, I slipped back into my pajamas and decided to go downstairs to make a late breakfast. Maybe some scrambled eggs and bacon. Or a warm blueberry muffin. I went downstairs and stopped dead in my tracks when something caught my eye.

All my paint supplies were out. My paints all in a half circle on the floor. A few tipped over, spilling paint everywhere. My paintbrushes scattered like sticks. One of my new canvases was on the easel and had paint all over it. So much paint was used and was dripping on the floor. "Shit!" I said out loud as I rushed to clean up the mess. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! If dad didn't find the scratch on the window, he would surely see the paint marks on the wooden floor and carpet!

I was a dead person, even if the Jason guy didn't kill me first.

After the quick panic clean, and throwing away all the wet paper towels full of paint (as well as the glass from the rock last night), I was able to get a good look at what the hell the canvas created a picture of...It looked like an eleven year old painted it. Half with my paintbrushes, half with a sharp knife, and the rest with their fingers. The image from what I could make out, was a black stick figure of someone, standing dead center on the canvas, at the edge of the lake, because of the blue they used; Surrounded by trees, the green...and the brown blocky shape behind the black stick figure I'm guessing was a cabin...

Did I sleep paint?

What the fuck was this? Was I stressing out so much that I needed to paint last night? I looked down at my pajamas. No paint on them at all, and I was known for getting paint on my clothes all the time. I got paint in the inside of my sleeves once and have no idea how that happened.

What the fuck was this? Who-?

My inner thoughts stopped abruptly when the dots started to connect. Black stick figure. Edge of lake. Cabin.

It was me.

The Jason Voorhees wannabe broke into the cabin when I finally fell asleep and painted me. It was a warning. They were watching me! They knew I was alone in the cabin! They were going to kill me! Suddenly it felt hard to breathe. I tried gasping for a long breath but it came short. Oh fuck! oh fuck! fuck! Was I having a heart attack? Was I going to die?! Was this some sort of real life horror movie?!

My chest was tight. I couldn't breathe properly. Everything was spinning. I quickly sat down on the couch and went through my basic exercises to calm down. It took a lot of time for me to finally be able to think logically and not not let my anxiety take over again. I was not going to die. I was still alive. Still breathing. I needed food in my system. I was going off of assumptions and an empty stomach.

I made myself some cereal. As I ate my cereal, I checked all the windows and doors. All locked. No account of a break in. Unless he shrank down to the size of a mouse and hopped through the hole in the window. I decided to see if the Jason guy could have opened the window from the outside.

I unlocked the front door, looking around to make sure the Jason guy wasn't around. The shattered hole in the glass was small, smaller then my hand. I couldn't even fit my hand through the glass, so the Jason guy wouldn't have been able to either. Maybe a stick? No. The window latch was very hard to open. Nothing would have been able to turn it without breaking.

I looked at the painting through the window. It was twenty feet away and closer to the ashy fireplace. How the hell...wait. Fireplace. The chimney! I ran back inside and locked the door behind me. I went up to the fireplace and looked around. No. There were no sooty footprints or any sign that he would have gone down the chimney. Also the chimney was very narrow. I saw how wide that guy was. No way he would have been able to fit.

Then how the hell did he break in to paint this picture?

And why?

Just to scare me?

Or did I really paint this last night without being aware? I was up most of the night, too afraid to leave the bed. I was never known for sleep walking...or sleep painting.

This didn't make any sense.

My cereal was soggy by the time I realized I was still holding it in my hands. I finished eating my soggy cereal and placed the bowl and spoon in the sink. I leaned against the sink and stared out towards the living room where the mystery painting sat.

It couldn't have been me...There's no evidence that I came down here at all last night...but if Mr. Hockey Mask did break in? Why did he go through all the trouble just to paint a crude painting of me and make a mess of all my stuff? Mostly its starting to piss me off than scare me...

I started to mentally visualize all the rooms in the cabin.

Bathrooms

Bedrooms

Kitchen

Living room

...did the cabin have an attic?

Did my dad leave any windows open on the top floor?

I decided to investigate. Only to become even more confused. All the windows upstairs were locked tight. There was no attic. Maybe I did sleep paint? I sat back down in the living room, staring intently at the painting. No way. There was no way I painted this. Maybe a 5 year old came in here and painted it? The "ghost" of Jason Voorhees? Right. A dead ghost kid came in here and decided to paint. The cabin was haunted...

I sighed, leaning back against the couch. I was so tired and out of ideas. I leaned my head against the head rest of the couch and closed my eyes for a while. It wasn't long until I turned my head to the side before opening them again. Staring at me across the way was a door. I blinked in realization.

The basement.

I got up and walked over to the door. The doorknob was icy cold when I turned it. The door made a long loud creak as it opened the mouth into pitch black darkness. I went down the wooden steps and stopped just where the water came up to meet the third to last step. It reeked like sewage water. The whole bottom of the basement was green and black with mold. The atmosphere was dank and dark. Perfect for a swamp monster or an alligator. I went back up a step just in case there really was swamp monsters or alligators in the murky green water.

I looked around, trying to find anything that could give me a clue...Aha! Dark, but visible. There was a dirty window close to the ceiling. Full of dirt and mud, but big enough for anyone to crawl through and come up the stairs into the living room. I ran up the steps and out the front door; jumped off the porch and around the side of the cabin. Behind tall grass, was the dirty basement window. And it was hanging open, wide enough for the rain water to come in and fill up the basement.

It all made sense now.

That Jason Voorhees wannabe found the window to the basement and got in the cabin that way to paint a creepy picture of me with my paints. Just to scare me. I narrowed my eyes and curled my hands into fists.

Alright. That was the last straw.

This idiot keeps messing with me, not letting me sleep, just to make him believe he was this killer's son who drowned in the lake. He's gone too far. I went back into the cabin. Got dressed into proper clothes took my anxiety meds, then began angrily packing my worn fake leather satchel with my pencils, sketchbook, water, apples, sandwiches and a kitchen knife.

Then I started lacing up my mom's hiking boots she let me borrow, for the summer vacation here at this Nightmare Cabin. I was too angry to think straight of what I was going to exactly do when I encountered the Jason wannabe. All I knew was that I was pissed enough to go outside, and hike out to where he usually stood out across the lake.

That's right, I'm going to confront Jason Voorhees.

...