Talk:Eric
You wake up. It’s early. Or maybe it’s late? The sun is down and you can’t tell. All you know is someone irritating noise woke you up. You look around your bedroom. Something was lighting it up where there should be no light. Spying the source, you slam your hand down on your cell phone, hit receive, and hold it up to your phone. An annoyed and groggy voice escapes your lips; “Hello?” It was the captain. He needed you.
Cursing, you got out of bed and got dressed. You collected your equipment and headed to the address he’d given you. It was quiet on the streets, not much traffic.
You arrive at the scene of the crime. Pulling up, you notice the usual. 5 squad cars sitting outside the residence, their blue lights flashing, SDPD emblazoned across their sides on a highly reflective vinyl wrap. An ambulance and fire truck sitting discarded off to the side. You notice several body bags filled to capacity. You switch focus to the residence. Man this is a nice place. You wonder what could have gone on here to bring this much attention. Two stories, Mexican vista architecture, giant up kept pool on the side, 10 foot wrought iron fencing guarding the perimeter, mechanical gate guarding the driveway. You walk inside, ducking under the yellow tape.
You follow the directions Davis gave you to the room the captain was supposed to be in. He sees you coming down the hall and yells out your name. He’s standing in front of a safe door the size of a regular door. He just grins at you. “Have fun.” You sigh.
You get your equipment out and go to work. The luck is incredibly complex, but after 20 or 25 minutes you manage to pop the lock after having to whip out your high dollar equipment that you rarely take advantage of. The door swings open on heavy internal hinges. You’re greeted by… practically nothing. The interior is empty except for a single painting hanging up at the end of the 12 feet long safe and a three-drawer filing cabinet. The painting seems to captivate you in its simplicity.
It is 36 inches high and 54 inches wide. It depicts a single room from the corner on. The room is a dirty white with a few cracks in the paint. A naked bulb hangs from the ceiling. After staring at the painting for untold minutes, a cold chill runs up your body and you shiver. You finally notice the bronze plaque beneath the painting with the name “Krista King” etched into it. You shrug and turn around to home and back to bed. Or you try.
The captain corners you and fills you in on what happened. Apparently some crime boss had gone crazy and killed his entire household except for a couple of maids who managed to escape. Said he just kept screaming “ITS COMING BACK!!” as he wreaked havoc. 8 people were dead. You couldn’t care less, and as soon as the captain turned his back, you managed your own escape.
As soon as you got home, you disrobed and flopped on the bed, passing back out. You dream of the painting as you sleep, stirring in your slumber. You’re standing alone in the room that was depicted in the painting. You hear a deep voice in your head, terrifying and comforting all at once. Slowly, the room crumbles before you and gives way to flowing white and light purple, a river of colors. It is beautiful, but makes you feel utterly horrified and sick to your stomach. A phantom face rises from the stream, screaming, and you wake up, screaming. You breathe a sigh of relief. The face is gone. The voice is gone. Then you scream.
Unfortunately, the room is still there.
