Raindrops slammed against the windshield like tiny bullets, shattering and streaking across the glass. The wipers swung back and forth with mechanical precision. From the driver’s seat, only a narrow strip of road was visible, glistening like a black river under the storm.
A wrist glinted in the dim light a Kobold watch, its second hand ticking like a countdown. Evelyn Marrow’s fingers tightened around the gear lever. The engine growled, and the car surged forward, the speedometer needle dancing between 80 and 90.
This wasn’t just another drive.
This was the assignment the kind that changed everything.
Evelyn wasn’t an investigator, not a spy she was a painting restoration specialist. But tonight, her work had nothing to do with art and everything to do with the message she had received an hour ago a message that simply read,
“Come alone. ERA of Arts.”
The rain began to ease as she reached the location. A faint mist curled across the entrance. The signboard emerged through the haze ERA of Arts its letters faintly illuminated like a secret from another century.
Evelyn pushed open the car door. Her hiking shoes splashed into puddles, echoing through the silent street. She glanced around no one. Only the soft hum of the cooling engine and the rhythmic drip of water from the museum’s marble arch.
She slung her bag over her shoulder, locked the car, and walked toward the entrance.
The name on the museum board read ERA of Arts.
It was a grand place filled with the paintings of legendary artists.
“Hello,” she called out, to see if anyone was there.
“Yes, please,” a voice answered from a small room on the right.
She walked toward the room, opened the half-door, and stepped inside. The man inside appeared to be in his early thirties. His name was Lopes Marcus.
“I’m Evelyn Marrow,” she said, handing him the message she had received.
He read it
“Miss Evelyn, right?”
“I want to ask you something.”
Said said
“Go ahead…evelyn "
“‘Come alone’ and then the name of this museum… What kind of message is that? What did you mean by it?”
He only responded with a smile.
“Have you worked anywhere else before?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Okay,” he said, standing up and walking around the table, looking at her from head to toe.
“Come with me,” he said, motioning her to follow him out of the room.
“See that painting on the wall? That’s the one you’ll be restoring.”
Evelyn looked at it.
“There’s one more thing,” Lopes added.
“What is it, Mr. Lopes?” she asked.
“Miss Evelyn, several people came here for the same job before you. But all of them quit halfway, saying they experienced some kind of paranormal activity. So I want to ask are you sure you’ll stay until the work is completely done?”
“Paranormal activity?” she asked, a hint of pride and confidence in her tone.
“Yes,” he said. “They said the eyes in that portrait blink.”
“Hahaha,” Evelyn laughed. “What nonsense, Mr. Lopes! Who believes such things nowadays?”
“I’m not joking,” he said seriously. “Everyone who came here laughed it off just like you. But once they experienced something themselves, they left in fear.” His voice carried a slight sting of wounded ego.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“I’m not afraid of anything. I come, do my job, and leave. That’s my way no matter what happens.”
“Fine,” he said. “May your confidence protect you. How many days do you think it’ll take to finish the job?”
“I can’t say exactly right now. But I’ll do it as fast as possible.”
“When can you start?”
“Right now. From this moment.”
“Mr. Lopes, I’ll need a personal room for my work. I want this painting moved there temporarily. Can you help me with that?”
“Of course, Evelyn. What kind of space do you need?”
“Just a small room enough to set up my workspace.”
“Alright, I’ll arrange that,” he said, and went back to his office.
Ten minutes later, he returned.
“Evelyn, please follow me.”
She followed him to a small room next to his office a cozy space filled with books and painting supplies.
“Miss Evelyn, I think this room will suit you perfectly. You can do your restoration work here.”
She shook his hand and thanked him. Together, they carried the painting into the room.
“Alright then, get started,” said Lopes, before returning to his office.
Once he left, Evelyn unpacked her bag and laid out her tools. She began observing the painting closely. It was an old portrait of a woman but Evelyn had no idea of the secret hidden behind it.
She ran her fingers gently over the surface. It was the face of a woman. Slowly, she started cleaning the dirt using her restoration tools. That’s when she noticed something strange on the painted eyes, near the corners, there were traces of tears. The woman in the portrait seemed to have cried before being painted. Evelyn ignored it and continued her work.
Every day, as she worked, she heard faint footsteps around her workspace as if someone was walking nearby.
She wondered, “Who is that? Is it real? Or just my imagination?”
Whenever she looked at the painting, it felt like the woman’s eyes were following her every move.
“What the hell,” she muttered under her breath.
When she examined the painting more closely, she noticed another detail the reflections in the woman’s pupils seemed to change. She dismissed it again.
“It’s nothing… I’m just imagining things,” she told herself, trying to calm her mind.
After finishing that day’s work, she went to her room. Evelyn was an avid reader, but lately, she found it hard to focus. Her mind kept drifting back to the painting and the strange experiences at the museum.
She closed the book she was reading, placed it on the table, and began pacing the room. She had never felt anything like this before.
“What’s behind that painting? Is there a mystery? Was the artist special? Is something supernatural happening in this museum without my or the curator’s knowledge? Is there some kind of invisible energy or vibration here?”
Hundreds of such questions flooded Evelyn’s mind.
She now regretted how arrogantly she had dismissed Lopes earlier. But more than fear, there was a burning curiosity inside her a thirst to know.
The next day, as usual, Evelyn arrived at the museum and began her work. Her gaze fell on the eyes again.
Her heartbeat quickened through the woman’s eyes, she could faintly see the same room she was standing in, as if the painting was looking back from another dimension.At that very moment, the woman’s eyes in the portrait reflected Evelyn’s face.Startled, she turned around slowly, then walked out of the room toward the museum entrance.
She began to walk a short distance outside, along a path lined on both sides with small trees and shrubs. There was no one around. Thoughts raged in her mind like a storm, and she couldn’t control them.
“What is this? What am I seeing? I can’t understand anything,”
she murmured under her breath.
After walking for a while through that silent area, a thought struck her,
“Why don’t I record that thing on my phone camera? Maybe I’ll get some proof of it.”
“Yes!”she snapped her fingers as she said it.
But she decided not to go now better to wait a little. So she sat down on a nearby bench. Leaves slowly drifted down from the trees. She sat there for some time, observing the area in calm. When her mind settled a bit, she stood up quietly. Then, instead of going to the museum, she went straight to her room.
The next day, she made a plan in her mind. As planned, she set up her phone camera and began to work. But this time, she felt a strange kind of vibration she had never experienced before. As an experiment, she recorded about ten minutes of video. When she played the clip on her phone, her fingers trembled. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead. Her cheeks quivered, eyes widened? ?her own reflection appeared faintly on the display screen.
In that footage, Evelyn saw the woman from the painting standing outside the frame right behind her. She turned around immediately no one was there. Her limbs went weak, she almost fell, but managed to grab her chair and sit down.
She had never gone through anything like this before. After that, Evelyn couldn’t bear to stay there any longer. With great effort, she hurriedly left the place and drove off toward her room. Even while gripping the steering wheel, her hands kept trembling. Because of the tension, her vision blurred she could hardly focus on the road. Somehow, she managed to reach her room.
The first thing she did was grab the jug and drink all the water in one go. Her head spun; she felt a strange ache and numbness inside her skull. She collapsed onto the bed. To distract her mind from the fear and the haunting memory, she picked up a book lying beside her.
As she opened the cover and flipped through a page, instead of letters, she saw the face of the woman from the portrait painting glowing faintly. Then she realized? ?the experience had deeply affected her subconscious mind. But something inside her refused to give up.
Taking two or three deep breaths, she tried to calm herself and center her focus and succeeded. After lying down for a short while with her eyes closed, she began to rest.
Minutes later, she heard someone knocking at the door from outside. Still lying down, she turned her gaze toward the door. Two knocks with a small pause in between. She jumped up and went to the door; by the time she reached, the sound had stopped. She unlocked and opened it no one outside. She stepped a little forward, looked to both sides no one. No sound of anyone running away either.
She turned back inside and was about to close the door when she saw another letter on the floor. She picked it up and opened it.
”Scared already...? You came here to work, didn’t you? Finish the job before you go. Don’t run away in fear. You came to restore my portrait, right? Restore it as soon as possible. Don’t delay if you delay…”
There was a mark of a cruel, mocking laugh beneath those words.
Immediately, she took that letter and went straight to the museum. Mr. Lopus was sitting at his desk, working on something on his computer. Without a word of courtesy, she pushed open the door and entered, throwing the letter onto his desk.
”What the hell what is this?”
He looked at the letter first, then stared at Evelyn’s face.
“That’s exactly what I need to know too… What is this?”
she said sharply, slamming her hand on his desk and sitting down.
Lopus looked at her blankly, as if he didn’t understand anything.
She leaned forward in her seat.
“This letter came to my room this afternoon.”
“So what do you expect me to do now?”
Lopus asked.”I want to know the truth behind this. I feel like I’m going insane. What’s happening behind all this? Who’s behind it? I want to know everything about it right now!”
She slammed the table again.
He spoke calmly, without any sign of emotion.
“Miss Evelyn, I don’t know anything about this. I can’t do anything. I can’t help you.”
He stood up, pushed his chair back, walked around the desk, and came close to her. Resting one hand on the table, he leaned his face toward hers.
“I’m not going to do anything for you. I’m not going to help you in any way. Don’t expect any cooperation from me hereafter.”()She didn’t even blink. She looked straight into his bold, intimidating eyes. Suddenly, he turned his head away and walked off.
”When you came here to take this job, didn’t I tell you everything clearly? I warned you about it. But what did you say then? You said you don’t believe in such things that nobody in this modern age believes such stories anymore… right?
And now you come to me saying you got a letter?”
He didn’t even look at her. With both hands folded behind his back, Lopus kept staring at another flower painting on the wall.
”The portrait painting I’m restoring now who painted it?”
He heard the question but gave no answer. Avoiding her gaze, he walked out of the room. Evelyn stood there watching him leave.
”There’s no point staying here anymore,”
she murmured to herself and walked out of his office.
Just then, something caught her eye something that deepened the mystery growing inside her.
When she looked there, something else startled her. Behind the chair where he had been sitting, she noticed a cupboard. She immediately stood up and walked toward it. It was a white wooden cupboard with four compartments and sliding doors. Something inside it caught her attention a particular kind of book. She slid the door open and took the book out. The cover read “CELESTE”. But that wasn’t the only reason she grabbed it. On its cover was the portrait of the same woman whose painting she was currently restoring.
