The Writer and The Artist: The Answer

Chapter 12: The Answer

 

THE ANSWER

 

1

 

Ethan was taken aback so much so that after a few seconds he drew his lips away and stared with bewilderment at Laura’s mesmerised face. She moved herself away and smiled beamingly at him.

            ‘Laura,’ he said, unable to find the right words to describe what he was feeling at that moment, ‘I don’t under…’

            ‘I do,’ she said, ‘I understand perfectly why you are here, Ethan. I should have seen it before. This makes sense!’

            Ethan fidgeted in his chair. ‘Laura, you’re starting to scare me. I put John in his coma!’

            ‘I know,’ she said, still smiling as though it were a sick dream. ‘But it was meant to be! This is a test, Ethan. This is a trial that one of us would have to overcome.’

            Ethan suddenly removed his hands from hers and bolted out of his chair, flinging it towards the kitchen counter. ‘Slow down, Laura!’ he said, finding his voice had risen. He felt scared, seeing Laura so happy and buzzing at such a time when really she should be hurting him. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Why aren’t you angry at me?’

            ‘Because,’ Laura said calmingly as she rose from her chair, ‘this moment was meant to come. As soul mates, John and I would eventually have to face a moment where we would be driven apart. This is that moment.

            ‘But you are here, Ethan! You were brought here to bring things back together. Yes you are the cause of it all, but that was the way it was meant to be. You have been given a chance to redeem what has happened, to help me and John overcome this gigantic hurdle in our relationship. Once this will pass, we will be together again and we will be stronger!’

            Ethan tried to take it all in. ‘So you’re saying I was meant to put John in a coma?’

            ‘In one sense, yes. But you were then given a gift to help bring me and John back together.’

            ‘Who gave me the gift?’

            ‘I don’t know, Ethan! Love; destiny; fate; who cares? The point is you were given this purpose to help me. Now we know why. This is your period of retribution, to take back what you have done. And we know we can! We have the end in our sights, Ethan. And I could not have got this far without you. The painting is finished.’ She paused and walked up to Ethan. ‘I cannot go in there without you. I need you.’

            I love you, Ethan found himself thinking.

            As though hearing his thoughts, Laura took his hand once more and held it firmly. ‘Will you help me, Ethan?’

            He smiled. ‘With every breath I have left.’

 

2

 

Ethan followed Laura to the living room, where the painting of The Cottage rest patiently on its floor easel. When they first entered the room, Ethan could only see the back of the canvas: a pure white material that bore no resemblance to what lay on the other side. Ethan thought of it as one-way glass, how only one side can look through the glass and to the other side.

            The Cottage was watching them with patient eyes.

            Laura stopped Ethan before he could see the finished article. ‘I need to be honest with you,’ she said, looking a little nervous. Ethan noticed that she had not yet averted her gaze towards the painting. ‘This painting horrifies me. And I think it will be worse for you. If you can see it as alive as you seeing me talking now then you might be in for a shock.’

            Ethan nodded. ‘I am ready,’ he said, waiting for Laura to accept and let him see for himself. She moved to one side, literally looking towards the far end of the living room towards the back garden.

Before Ethan turned to face the painting, he took her hand and squeezed it tight as she had done to his not long ago in the kitchen. ‘I need you, too,’ he said, noticing a quivering smile form at the side of her mouth as she closed her eyes.

Ethan turned and faced the painting. Laura had never heard a man scream so loud.

He staggered backwards and nearly knocked Laura to the floor. She supported herself with the arm rest of the living room sofa that stood by her left leg. She turned to look at Ethan, who fell awkwardly into the sofa.

‘Ethan!’

She saw his eyes were shut tight and his mouth inhaled and exhaled quick amounts of breath. Keeping her attention away from the painting, she sat down next to him and rested his head on her shoulder. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, stroking his scalp.

‘I…’ Ethan tried to speak clearly, but his mind was in a daze. ‘I can’t…I can’t look at it.’

‘Yes you can, you have to!’

‘I know…I…oh Laura, what are they?’

‘All the colours I despise, all those that to me symbolise the very opposite of who I am.’ She found herself staring hard at them, the soldiers of a shadow war. It brought a weighty pain that wrenched at her stomach. She kept herself focused on them, knowing the longer she looked the less she would fear them. ‘Ethan, open your eyes. I will be here right next to you the whole time. Open them and tell me exactly what it is you see. Every movement, every bit of kinetic detail you can spot. I need to know what it is we are about to face. Do you understand?’

Ethan admired how authoritarian she had become since he first met her. In the beginning he saw her as a frail wife who had just lost her husband to fate. Now she was taking control and was hoping to win it all back.

She was going to win it all back.

Ethan nodded and slowly opened his eyes.

The Cottage glared back with anticipation.

 

3

 

The Cottage: a distant cobbled stone building set amidst a backdrop of a creepy white sky and towering dark shadowy hills. Within its heavy structure were carved two casement windows that reflected the clear horizon.

The cottage rest upon a field of bland green grass, with only specs of light remaining at each tip. Roses stood resiliently minor within the canvas, as though to mark their own importance within the painting. Around the cottage lay a small white picket fence that felt so out of place, like having an inch-deep puddle as a moat surrounding a castle.

Above and around the cottage were scruffy black crows, perched upon the roof and the picket fence like guardians in their own right. They also flew across the sky in all possible directions of their own appointed fashion.

But these details were not those that struck spears into their hearts. It was the guardians of the cottage. There were literally hundreds of them, each deployed across the open field like an army ready for battle. They all faced forwards towards those unfortunate enough (like Laura and Ethan) to view the painting.

And they were hideous.

They were all forms of dark colour rolled into one monstrosity. At the front of the picture they took up nearly the height of the canvas. They have enormous bodies, arms and feet, woven from dark threads of colour that coil together to depict deformed hands, fingers and feet.

Where a head should be was instead a hunchback, with a glob of bright colour formed into the shape of an eyeball in the so-called neck of the creature. Within the eye swirled more oil, as though it were trying to consume every last dab of brightness left in the picture. It made Laura think they were trying to suck all brightness out of her.

But when Ethan gazed upon them, he saw something much worse.

 

4

 

Ethan tried to explain everything he could make out that made his blood bubble. The painting of the creatures alone would not be enough to bring terror into the heart of a warm-blooded mortal.

            It was the way they moved. Each one was eerily marching forward at a slow pace, leaving a small trail of dark colour across the grass as though it were literally spilling sewage acrylic. It hunched forward from side to side like a dinosaur might, with its upper torso bumping up and down, sloshing the eye back and forth that rest inside. Their bodies looked as though they could fall apart at any minute, but at the same time they looked so strong and menacing as though their appearances are deliberately deceptive.

            Their bony toes dug deep into the earth with every step they took on the ground, tearing up chunks of earth and rose with ridiculous ease. Every time their feet rose from the ground it would fling bits of dirt and flower in all directions, turning what could have been a beautiful scene into a World War battleground.

Above their slimy torsos, high above in the air, the crows heckled and joked.

            What made it worse was the still white sky, the only part of the picture that looked the same for both Ethan and Laura. It created a black-on-white contrast against the ‘heads’ and ‘bodies’ of the creatures as they marched along, which emphasised the apparent fragility of their structures.

            And then there was the cottage itself, standing alone behind the battlefield. Ethan could see its door quivering in an apparent wind, as though there were something inside trying to get out.

            His heart sank further when he realised the true horror of this picture. ‘We’re going to have to make our way through them, aren’t we?’

            Laura attempted a weak smile. ‘Do you see any other way?’

            Evidently, of course, there was no other way. This was the picture Laura had painted and that was that. They would have to make their way through the creatures that they both so feared, to an isolated cottage that (they both hoped) contained the location of one John Henderson.

            But then what? Would they then need to return to the original stance of the picture, as they had done with all the other previous pictures?

            ‘Laura…’

            ‘I know, Ethan. If they come after us, it is practically suicide. But can we really die inside a painting?’

            ‘Would you risk finding out?’

            The answer Laura gave both surprised and did not surprise him. ‘Yes, yes I would, Ethan.’

            ‘For John?’

            She looked into his eyes. ‘For both of us.’

 

5

 

For the next few minutes, they each studied the painting through their still or animated perspectives, looking for an easy route, a way to fight against these creatures. There was no doubt in either of their minds that these dark abominations would turn on them. That was the reason for their place in the painting. It was the fear that Laura must face.

            And she planned to face them head on.

            ‘Ethan,’ Laura said as she gazed at the eyes of each creature. ‘Do you notice how the colours of their eyeballs are bright colours, in comparison to their bodies?’

            Ethan looked across at her. ‘What are you getting at? You reckon that’s important?’

            ‘I do,’ she said, leaning closer to the painting. ‘What exactly are the eyes doing?’

            ‘Huh?’

            ‘How are they moving?’

            ‘Well it’s just an eye moving with the rest of…’

            ‘The colour, Ethan, what about the colour?’

            As much as he hated gazing right into the eyes of which he feared, Ethan did as she asked, beckoning Laura to grasp his hand as he did. He could not hide his fear no more than he could possibly hide the moving creatures he saw before him. ‘There is something about them,’ he said, whilst steadying his breathing. ‘The colour inside each eye, as you can probably see, is pigmented. But they are moving.’ Then it hit him. ‘Like the pigments of colour in the crystal!’

            ‘What do you think it means, Ethan?’

            He looked at her. ‘You already know, don’t you?’

            This time she managed a beautiful smile. ‘I do.’

            ‘It means we have a chance, doesn’t it?’

            Laura kissed Ethan on the cheek. ‘It does,’ she said.

 

 

 

6

 

‘The thing about black is that it is not a true colour. It is merely a void where colour should be. White, of course, is the opposite to black. In its purest form, it contains all possible colours. Do you remember how the crystal contained small fragments of dark colour amongst the bright colours? It was to remind me of this painting.

‘Well now we have the opposite. We have bright colours amidst the dark. That means I should be looking for these colours, instead of the darkness.’

‘So what is the answer, then?’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I think the only way we can stop these creatures is by immobilising them. I don’t think we are near strong enough to physically attack them.’

‘Their structure looks oily rather than made of stone,’ Ethan added, ‘but I reckon that is just a ruse.’

‘I agree. So I think the answer lies in the eye, where the bright colours are.’

‘So that is the clue?’

‘Yes.’

‘So we immobilise them by what, blinding them?’

Laura nodded rapidly with buzzing eyes. ‘If the creature views the world through bright colours, imagine what happens when bright light is shone into their pupils.’

‘I got it,’ Ethan replied, feeling more at ease. ‘So we take something like a torch with us?’ He could see she was contemplating something. ‘What is it?’

‘We don’t have to take anything with us.’

‘Why not?’

‘The answer is already in the painting.’

Ethan looked back at the painting with bewilderment. But before he could ask where in the painting she was referring to, she interrupted his thinking. ‘Please. Trust me on this one, Ethan. We will have exactly what we need when the time comes.’ She paused. ‘It is my painting after all.’

Seeing the anticipation glimmering in Laura’s eyes, Ethan knew that time was now. ‘You ready for this?’ he asked, itching fragility with every second that stemmed toward an inevitable confrontation.

‘As much as I can be,’ she replied, seeing the worry in his expression as though she had painted it herself. She paused, waiting for Ethan to say something in return. But there grew an awkward silence between them that nestled further unease in their minds. ‘Are you?’ she asked after half a minute had passed, only to break the uncomfortable wordlessness.

A blank page; a blank canvas.

‘Same answer, I’m afraid,’ he said, as he stared towards the living room floor, unable to bring himself to eye contact with her.

‘It’s okay, Ethan,’ she said, ‘I know you are afraid. So am I. But once this is done, it will be the end.’

Ethan fought through the anguish to bring himself to face her. ‘Then let us bring the end.’

She nodded, squeezing his hand. ‘Yes, lets.’

She did not let go as Ethan faced towards the painting, reaching out his hand to fulfil his purpose.

 

7

 

The world Laura grew up in was gone; it had vanished into a dimension that was long behind them. What lay ahead was a world sick with material-dementia, where a once luscious green field was now infected with dark paints of disease under an infectious pale white sky. And in the centre of it all was a frail hospital – a cottage – riddled with what hoped to be the cure for it all.

            Ethan and Laura touched down upon that world and immediately heard their horrific sound over mocking squawks.

            There was the sound of heavy steps as dark matter drummed against the earth and ripped it to shreds. There was the nauseating gargle of acrylic as hefty tanks of monstrosity stomped towards them.

            And then there was the terrifying howl that bubbled from whatever orifice they carried. It was like the rapid sound of a vacuum cleaner being switched on and off repeatedly, whilst sucking and exhaling liquid.

            Ethan was bolted to the floor, unable to move as he gazed with horror at the slow-marching army of these things that faced him.

            But Laura was facing away from the enemy, towards a scene outside of the painting.

            ‘Perfect,’ she said with a knowing grin.

            Ethan turned round, to see two large flashlights placed neatly together only inches from their feet.

            He looked with amazement at her. ‘If I was your husband I’d kiss you right now.’

            ‘Unlucky for you,’ Laura smirked.

 

8

 

They made their presence known and charged forward.

            Ethan was the first to blind a creature, as he went a little ahead of Laura as they ran through the crowd of herding monsters. Laura kept close to Ethan, as they weaved in and out of each monster, keeping a big enough proximity from them.

The sound they made as the light struck their eye; it was a sound like a high pitched revving of a motorcycle, which struck a horrible chord inside of Ethan. The creature pivoted backwards and suddenly fell over, spreading ink across the ground like toxic chemical waste. Both Ethan and Laura had to sidestep to avoid stepping in it, with fear that it may intoxicate them also.

Laura’s first blinding was when a few monsters in, ones attention was turned to her as it towered over her and went to grasp with one dripping hand. But she quickly avoided any contact and drove a powerful beam into the centre of its eye, making its hand spring erratically backwards with the rest of its body.

So far, things were going well. Ethan kept in front of Laura the whole time, leading them down what he thought to be the safest route. He avoided where the monsters were of higher density. But he noticed, which he avoided telling Laura, was that the monsters were becoming of higher density everywhere. They were going to have to be more careful.

Keep her alive, Ethan kept telling himself. No matter what, she must reach the cottage.

But how long was left until then?

Neither said a word to one another as each held their concentration firmly on taking down any oncoming creature. Ethan’s approach was forceful, wasting no time in watching one monster fall after another. Laura’s approach was more cautious, awaiting the monster to make its move first before she could counterattack it and catch it off guard.

Must keep going, Ethan thought to himself, as he aimed at the eye of an oncoming monster.

Almost there, Laura thought to herself, as she jumped over another puddle of black fluid.

But she misjudged. She slipped to one side, causing one foot to slide directly into the black spillage of a monster Ethan had destroyed only second before.

‘Ethan!’

He darted back, hesitating his next kill by running backwards and firing to reach her. He then looked to see her foot, looking harmless in black acrylic.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked, noticing a circle of monsters beginning to form around them.

‘I’m stuck!’ she said, nearly dropping her flashlight as she reached on her leg to pull. She was frantic. ‘It’s pulling me into the ground!’

That was when they both realised the horrible truth, what these monsters would do if they ever caught them.

They would suffocate them into darkness.

This terrified Laura. ‘Get me out!’ she screamed, as she began to panic. Her heart thumped anxiously as he saw another trail of liquid head towards her other leg.

With his free hand, Ethan grabbed Laura by hers and tugged as hard and as quickly as he could, keeping a stance that would avoid his feet to slip towards the dark quicksand.

He nearly jumped as what felt like a thousand of these creatures suddenly howled into the white sky, which to Ethan could only mean one thing.

Lunchtime.

I must get her there! he roared to himself, as Laura’s foot became free. Part of the liquid stuck to the bottom of her shoe, like it was bubblegum.

The monsters were only a few feet away. Ethan quickly raised his flashlight and aimed it at every eye he could see, one after another. Laura did the same, after checking hers and Ethan’s feet were touching safe ground.

To their relief, they collapsed one after another: black canvases toppling in unison. Ethan was quick to see their new dilemma, with spilt darkness now surrounding them.

‘There!’ he shouted, seeing an area of dark matter that streamed thinner than the rest. Without hesitation, he jumped over it and beckoned Laura to do the same.

Not again, she thought, as she took a run up and leapt across to make a perfect landing.

Knowing what danger they lie within, they went into a run from then on. But the creatures knew of the danger they brought with them.

After bringing down a small number of monsters, Ethan and Laura then found themselves to be near the end of the horde, as their numbers thinned, making it easier to move between them and avoid their outreaching claws.

And then there were none. They had reached a clearing, with the cottage before them in full spectacle.

Laura never thought she would be so happy to see the core of a picture she had hidden away for her sights for so long.

Ethan felt relieved. I did it, he thought, I brought her here.

But the howl of every single monster behind them brought their feelings of hope crashing to the dying ground.

Laura and Ethan turned around.

The monsters had done the same.

 

9

 

They had done exactly what they had feared.

            ‘They knew.’

            ‘What?’

            All the monsters who survived their onslaught had now turned on them. They stood as an empire, standing to attention in rows. Laura and Ethan now stood between them and the cottage.

            ‘Ethan?’

            ‘They knew we were coming. They knew we were after the cottage.’

            ‘How do you know that? It’s just a painting, how could they?’

            ‘This is not just a painting, Laura. You know that as well as I.’

            ‘But how do you know?’

            ‘They wanted to trap us here,’ Ethan said, as his gaze flickered from one creature to the next. ‘They know the only way out is through them.’

            Laura grabbed Ethan’s arm. ‘So now what?’

            ‘Isn’t it obvious? We go to the cottage. It is the reason why we came here.’ He paused. ‘It is the reason I am here.’

            ‘But then how do we get out of here?’

            Ethan closed his eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

            But then he thought of all that had happened that got him to this point. He was chosen to be here. He was meant to be here, to bring Laura to the cottage…

And that was the answer. There was more than one exit to this painting.

Ethan opened his eyes and spoke without hesitation.

‘Give me your torchlight.’

 

10

 

‘What? Why?’ No response. ‘Ethan?’

            ‘You see them before us, Laura? You see how they haven’t moved since we made it to this clearing? They are waiting for us to make our move. They are giving us a chance to make a final stand. They think they have won.’

            Laura squeezed his arm. ‘You’re not making any sense, Ethan.’

            He looked down at her. ‘This is why I am here, Laura. I brought you to this moment.’ He reached for her flashlight. ‘This is where I get off.’

            ‘What? No!’

            ‘I will fight these monsters for as long as I can, to keep them away from you. You must go to the cottage. There is an answer in there, I promise.’

            ‘But what about you?’

            Ethan could say nothing. He kept himself still to avoid displaying the terror that chilled his entire body.

            ‘Ethan?’        

‘Let them do as they will,’ he said, grabbing Laura’s flashlight. He looked down at her, beckoning – pleading – for her to let go.

But she could not. She would not. This young man came in to her life to sacrifice his own reason for living, just so she could find her true love once more. How could she let him do this?

But yet she knew this was the way it was going to end. This was all part of the test of soul mates, sacrificing ones life for another. It was Ethan for John’s life. It had been this way the whole time.

With bitter resentment toward herself, she let go of the flashlight. They gazed at each other for a brief moment, before embracing themselves in a tight hug that would live with Laura for the rest of her life.

‘Ethan,’ she said, as she cried hard into his shoulder. ‘Thank you so much.’

Ethan’s smile tasted his salty tears. ‘You’re welcome.’

What happened next became a blur for both of them, as Laura pushed herself away from Ethan and ran towards the cottage, reaching the white picket fence just as the sound of the monsters of darkness suddenly screeched through the pale white air.

Ethan could not watch her go. He closed his eyes until the howl of the creatures filled his ears. With terror, he opened them, seeing the empire charge towards him at a phenomenal speed. No wonder – they had been holding back until now.

With every bit of courage he had in his bones, Ethan held both flashlights either side – a cowboy with smoking guns.

‘Come on you b******s,’ he said.

‘Bring ‘em on!’

 

11

 

Laura entered the cottage and closed the door behind her, which to her surprise blocked out all noise from the outside world. No more monsters; no more Ethan.

            I’m so sorry, Ethan.

            It was pitch black inside the cottage. She could not even see a line of light underneath the door, or from any of the windows.

            No wonder, she thought, this isn’t a part of my painting.

            But if this was no longer her painting…

            Where the hell am I?

            Then she realised.

            John’s cottage…

            Laura had stepped from her version into his, from one visualisation unto another. She was no longer in a painting. She was in the core of John’s mind.

            And it felt surprisingly hollow, shrouded in darkness, except for one flickering light coming from up ahead. A candle flame, glowing and glittering, basking in its own sparked isolation.

            ‘John?’ she spoke through the dark, listening intently for a startled breath, a whimper of surprise, anything to bring signs of life up a single notch.

            But only the light responded to her, as her voice carried over its fragile flame, twisting and danced in her presence.

            Lightly she treaded towards it, slowly burning curiosity into her retinas.

            The sound of her steps confirmed she was walking across creaking floorboards, bare and naked. Not only that, they quivered under her weight, which echoed throughout the veiled spaciousness.

            She smelt the air. It was fumed with falling dregs, like allergic fairy dust. She could feel it settle upon her golden hair. The candle light was not alone with its fragility.

            This whole place was falling apart.

            Just before reaching the candle light she had walked directly into something. It made her gasp, before realising it was merely inanimate and no threat to her. It felt hard but varnished.

Staring toward the candle light, she found another two candles standing uselessly beside it, placed within a silver trident-shaped candle holder. She carefully removed the lit candle from its arranged seat and used the flame to ignite the other two candles, before returning the candle to its original position. An aura of light shone from them, to reveal more distinctly the work surface they had been placed upon.

            Laura took a step back to take it all in.

            Through flickers of yellow and orange she made out a wooden varnished writing desk. It contained slits of drawers either side of the seating position. Each had a small golden knob for a handle. One of which was open to reveal a small feathered quill, hanging morbidly over the edge of the drawer.

Similar drawers were placed above the writing surfaces as two individual towers, met together by beams of wood that acted as shelves, all of which were completely bare. Strung across the shelves were think, dusty cobwebs, created not from spider’s silk but from sheer neglect.

In front of the desk, deducing what Laura had walked in to, was a small carved dining room chair, it too varnished to match the minimalist interior, laced in web between each leg and back. 

On the writing surface to the right was a tiny vial containing black ink that withstood the bright spectacle of light coming from the candles. The ink appeared happy and still within its container.

But Laura did not feel happy here. She understood why when she saw the open book next to the vial of ink.

It stared back her blankly – literally.

 

12

 

Had this been what John had feared about The Cottage all along? An empty book?

            No, Laura thought. There’s more to it then that.

            This cottage, this empty room, it was where he had hidden one of his most gifted talents. And why? Because of a new career? Because of love for his wife?

            Laura shuddered. No, none of those.

            She gazed upon the blank pages.

            Because he has no inspiration.

            She gulped.

            And now he’s in a coma because of it. The writer without writing becomes nothing.

            Laura staggered as the empty room started to shake and crumble.

            The writer becomes dead.

            The cottage was falling apart at each woeful seam. She tasted the bitter dust as it landed upon her person. Soon she would taste the roof if she did not do something.

            And fast.

            Alright, she thought, placing the candle back into its holder. John needs inspiration. She studied the empty pages of the open book through candlelight and inspected the quill. The tip was in good order for some writing to be done.

            As an idea sprung into her head, there came a frighteningly familiar loud gurgling murmur from the darkness behind her. It was too close to originate from somewhere outside these fabricated walls.

            Something was inside the cottage with her.

 

13

 

Laura’s throat was suddenly sucked dry. She shuddered where she stood, unable to avert her eyes directly ahead of her, gazing upon the light of the desk.

            It was one of them, the hoover-gasping monsters of darkness that cultivated her fear. She had not given her own fear enough credit.

It was lurking in the shadows. It had been the whole time, waiting for her to come here. It must have crept into John’s cottage a long time ago.

Maybe that was why John feared the cottage so much.

Whatever the reason, it did not matter. It was here now and it was watching her. Waiting for her to lift the ink and start scribbling.

Laura became consumed with desperate rage. Her eyes began to water. You’re not going to stop me! she screamed inside. You won’t. Damn you! You won’t beat me!

But that was the point. It was her fear hiding in the darkness. It was up to her to beat it.

And then she saw the answer, staring her right in the face. She felt stupid for hesitating for so long.

Slowly, her hand quivering, she reached for the quill.

A faint exhale of anticipating breath came from the darkness.

Her eyes focused in front of her, listening attentively, she placed the quill in her left hand and raised it towards the ink. She hoped the creature had not noticed the deliberate change.

Laura could not blink - would not blink! – every second was crucial. She dipped the quill in the ink and allowed the ink to attach itself to the quill’s nib.

She heard it move behind her. It was only metres away now. The uncontrollable sound of its hefty breathing was now more obvious than ever. It may have been Laura’s utmost fear.

But it sure as hell was stupid.

With a flicker of a cautious smile, Laura lifted the quill from the vial and drew it across the blank pages, only inches from the parchment.

Then it came – the monster growled from behind her as it launched an oily hand out towards her, aiming straight for her throat.

But Laura was ready. With her free right hand, she grabbed the nearest candle and threw herself down to the floor, only just avoiding its grasp as drips of grubby dark acrylic splurged onto her cheeks. It singed the outer layer of her skin.

The monster was now towering over her, its slimy feet now stood next to her in a victorious stance. As it lowered its torso to attempt to throttle her one last time, Laura plunged the candle in her right hand towards the monster’s prying eye.

            She had never heard anything scream so loud.

            If the simple shine of light from a torch had been torturous enough, this was ten times worse. The eye of the monster began to burn and spit, as the bright inner colours of the eye suddenly exploded into a thousand different directions. Some hit Laura square in the face without pain, whilst many collided against the surface of the monster’s ugly body. For the monster the eye had been a bubble of acid. The colours of harlequin greens, electric teals and sunny yellows made pivoting holes in its flesh, tearing away at the skin. It was light against dark.

            The light was winning extraordinarily.

            As its scream filled every echoing corner of the room, it began to topple forward towards Laura’s strewn body. Without any sudden nerve of hesitation, Laura rolled away in time to avoid the wreckage hit the creaking earth. Quickly she raised herself from the floor and gave her own victorious posture.

            Laura watched it burn.

            The upper body had melted away into a wispy vapour that made the air stink putrid into the darkness above. The remaining flames that travelled down its back caused its legs to ruffle into smoke and hiss. It left behind only a small residue of pure acrylic that seeped effortlessly through the cracks of the floorboards and into the abyss beyond.

            It was gone forever.

            Laura sat on the chair and breathed a heavy sigh.

            And then she laughed, thinking the most absurd thought to come into her head at that particular time. She smiled.

‘The things I do for my husband.’

 

14

 

But there was one last thing to do.

            Weary; tired; frustrated; bereaved; angered – that was where Laura had been to and travelled from. Now it all came to this, a blank page with need of an idea. In the distance, the cottage continued to crumble, silent and still.

            But Laura could not hear it any more. With her left hand still grasping the quill, she transferred it back to the right and dug the nip into the vial of ink once again and used it to end this.

            She started writing with all the strength her arm would give her. Every word she grafted had lasted in some form or another for centuries passed and they would now hopefully last for centuries more. Each individual letter brought new life back to the cottage. It could be felt in the surrounding woodwork. Light began to breach from a clouded window and then from another.

            After writing the first two lines in capitals as a title, she then carved a line under them both. She read them aloud to herself and nodded at the acceptance of what it meant – what it would mean to others.

            ‘For us, John,’ she said aloud, as she continued to scrawl into the old parchment.

 

Those first two lines read the following:

 

THE WRITER

AND THE ARTIST