Good afternoon, House of Madness art critics:
When you were a kid, was there something in your parents's House that gave you the creeps? A doll, shadow, or tree branch scraping the window in the wind, perhaps? Nothing is scarier than a child's imagination, but what if what they're imagining was real.........
Stare
Andy had only been home to visit her parents for five minutes, and she'd already seen the wretched thing as she passed the spare bedroom on her way to the bathroom. As long as she could remember, that hideous clown painting had hung on the wall, seemingly following her every move, and fuelling more nightmares than she could ever count. Every time she pleaded with her father to take it down, he simply said "I like it", and that was the end of the discussion. Did the painting have some unimaginable hold on her father too, or was Andy simply suffering from an imagination on the loose? As Andy finished up in the washroom, she found she couldn't simply walk past the spare bedroom without entering; it was as if she wasn't just afraid of the monstrosity hanging on the wall, but was almost drawn to it in a sick kind of way. As she stood in the middle of the bedroom gawking, her mother walked down the hallway past the bedroom, almost as if she didn't see what was happening in the middle of the bedroom floor. Andy swore the eyes of the painting shifted towards the hallway as her mother passed by, but she welcomed it because as their gaze broke, she bolted for the kitchen and the safety of her father.
"Oh, great, the bitch is back" the painting said to itself as Andy walked past the bedroom door and towards the bathroom. All the way back to her childhood, this little bitch stared and ogled at the painting as if it were some kind of devil. The longer she stared, the more uncomfortable the painting became, and couldn't wait for her to leave the room so it could hang in peace. Now here we are, almost 25 years later, and this little bitch is back every now and then, always stopping in for a loathsome stare. As Andy stood in front of it now, the painting stared back with the same hatred and mistrust it received, almost looking through Andy instead of at her. As Andy bolted to the kitchen (most likely to hide behind her father), the painting exercised the one thing it had always excelled at: patience.
"Dad, how many times do I have to beg for you to take down that awful thing in the spare bedroom?" Andy pleaded to which her father simply replied "I like it". "I know you like it, but don't you think it's just a little strange that we've never been able to have a pet without it disappearing, and how many of my toys simply vanished into thin air without a trace!?" Andy screamed. "Ok, ok, settle down Andy; pets come and go, and in our case they simply went out the back door and never came back. Perhaps some of your toys were a little, let's say, annoying? I'm not too proud to admit that I've hidden my share of your toys for the sake of my sanity over the years, pumpkin. Now let's leave The Jester alone, and think up what we're going to have for dinner tonight" her father said. "THE JESTER!? THE JESTER!? You fucking named it!?" Andy bellowed. "Stop being so dramatic, that painting has been part of this household longer than you, and I refuse to dispose of it simply because it gives you the creeps." her father harshly explained. Andy said nothing more, and that evening, the three ate in silence.
The next morning, Andy's father turned to her mother in bed and simply said "I think it's time" to which her mother solemnly agreed. As the three enjoyed breakfast with less silence than the dinner previous, Andy was still obviously perturbed from her last interaction with her father. "You mind taking care of the dishes, hon? There's something I want to show Andy." her father said to her mother. "Of course" Andy's mom said, and Andy could swear her mom's eyes were welling up with tears. "What do you want to show me, Dad?" Andy asked cautiously. "Come, this won't take but a minute.
Andy's father led her into the spare bedroom where The Jester or whatever the fuck her dad called it awaited. "Dad, I don't like this thing, why are we in here?" Andy asked with a quiver in her voice. "Everyone has a 'time' pumpkin; whether you're a cat, a dog, a toy, or a miserable brat that can't leave well enough alone, everyone has a 'time'." he said, and as Andy looked up at the painting, she could now see that the picture frame was rife with nothing but The Jester's open mouth, waiting to devour anything in its path. Andy's father looked at her with loving eyes, and simply said "It's time, pumpkin, it's time.", and then she was gone and forgotten forever.
NB
