The Sailor Painting
I was sitting alone in my bedroom. My mom and dad had gone out and my sister was at a friend's house. The house was empty and quiet. Even the dog was asleep. I looked over at my clock. The digital readout displayed "12:36" in bright green. It was becoming very late at night. I looked out my window. The street was dark, save for the one streetlight suspended by four poles over the intersection (we lived at the end of the block, you see).
I yawned and closed the book I had been reading, "The Complete Works of H.P. Lovecraft". I decided it was best to get some sleep. I stripped to my underwear and got into bed. Just as I began to feel the sweet embrace of slumber, I was jarred awake by a noise. I couldn't quite focus on what it was, but it seemed almost like a voice. I brushed it off as either my imagination or the sound of someone outside. But then I heard the noise again. It was faint and I struggled to make it out. I heard it a third time, and this time it was clear: the sound of an elderly man's voice making one statement that sent shivers down my spine.
"I've been watching you."
I sat up in bed and looked around for the source of the noise. My heart felt as though it would explode out of my chest. I heard the voice again. "I've been watching you." Suddenly, my eyes locked onto the old painting of a sailor that had once belonged to my great-grandfather. The eyes of the sailor in the painting seemed to lock onto mine. I nearly lost my bladder as I saw the old sailor's lips move.
"I've been watching you."
The sailor began to leave his painting. I cannot even begin to describe the process. He very quickly reached the floor and stood upright. He was very old and wrinkled. His hands seemed more like claws than the hands of a man. His eyes were dull and glazed, but they still seemed full of rage. He slowly approached me.
"I've been watching you."
"Who are you?" I whispered. He did not respond. He only drew closer to me. "Who are you?" I screamed, still receiving no answer. I backed up against the wall closest to my bed. Words cannot express the feeling of terror I felt as he continued to draw near. He spoke one more time. "I've been watching you." I mustered up what was left of my courage and said, "what do you want?"
He leaned in close to me and grabbed my shoulders with his wrinkled, bony hands. He moved his face close to mine. His breath stank of death. He looked me square in the eyes. His gaze pierced into my very soul. He spoke one last time.
"Quit masturbating."
Credited to Little Dog
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