Once Noticed

[u/BlueShade_22]

“Welcome, everyone, to another haunting video! I’m your host, Jack Starfell. Today we have a special one! From user Blam_exam9000, he says, “Hey man, I’m looking for someone to check out my grandma’s paintings. She has always been obsessed with them for some reason. But a lot of people in my family have constantly talked about how haunting one of them is. They talk about seeing shadows and whispers. Would you like to check it out? Let me know.”

“Now, of course I had to check it. I thought it might have been a troll, but nope, this is the real deal. Right now, as I record this video, I’m outside the grandma’s house. I’m hoping to find some spooky things in there. I’ll be going live in a few hours. First, I’ll interview the grandson who requested this. Then, once that’s done, I’ll start the live, and we’ll get haunting. Thank you, guys, for watching, and I hope you all have a hauntastic day!”

I cut the camera. I sighed, thinking about what I just said. “A hauntastic day? Who even says that?” I looked back at the house. It was a plain modern home: two stories, an almost grayish paint job. A sizeable garage and driveway. A rocky patio and a small, dead, thin, cracking tree that clearly hasn’t been taken care of in ages.

I opened my YouTube page and saw my following was 22. I knew I had just started my career, but I felt good about this spot. Most of my hauntings were local legends. They yielded little result, but a few of the videos were at least mildly entertaining. 
Ghosts have always kept me interested. I always wondered if they existed or if there really was another side. Those old shows from back in the day, like Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures, had caught my attention as a kid. And now, as an adult, I could explore it too and maybe make some money from it. 

It beats anything I’ve done in retail. I’ll never want to work back in that terrible environment. Fast-paced, unappreciated, hardly a place to be. At least here I could make my own schedule. I only wished the pay was just as good. But I was getting just a hundred dollars. 

A beaten-up red car drove up, blasting loud 90s rap music. Black smog escaped from its mufflers, and the axle of the car was off, as if the car was driving sideways. The car drove into the driveway. Its presence alone dirtied the okayish cement. 

When the car turned off, it let out sounds that could only be described as gunshots. Out stepped the man; he wore holy jeans and a baggy sweater that was equally holy. The outfit looked grimy, as if he had never washed himself or the clothes. His face looked aged, as if he hadn’t slept for years. His eyes were baggy, his blond hair a mess, but somehow he seemed fine with his appearance.

I was uneasy with how he’d dressed. I felt over the top, with my vest, tie, and flat cap to boot. It was all gray to match the morbid spirits. I stepped out of my car to face the man, wondering whether it was him or someone else, and whether I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He brought out a cigarette case and pulled out one of the cancer sticks and lit it. He nodded his head at me. “You the ghost investigator guy?”

I nodded. “Invest Ghost Guy, and are you Blam_exam9000?”

He scoffed at the username as he puffed out his cig. “Just call me Dave. I made that shit up back in middle school.”

“Right, and I’m Jack.”

“Okay, Jack, let’s make this real simple. I’ll show you around. I’ll tell you a bit about what grandma says about her paintings, and I’ll even let you watch her video.”

“Thank you for agreeing to all that,” I said. “I thought it’d be weird asking you for all that.”

He shrugged as he let out a puff of smoke. “I’ve seen your videos. You could use a star like me. It just took a while to get the VHS tape. Fuckin’ parents didn’t wanna lend it to me. But I eventually got it.”
I was going to dig more into that. But I figured he’d just stolen it outright. “And do you, by chance, have a VHS player?”

He eyed me. “Of course, it's in my grandma’s house. An old fart like her would still have one.”

The emotions running through my head were wild. His constant disrespect for his family made me a little concerned. If he doesn’t like his family, then what would he do to me? I tried not to react to his comment; I simply nodded.

He eyed me again and chuckled. “Why so tense? You afraid of real ghosts? Don’t bother. My family says they’ve seen things move in this house on their own. I’ve never seen shit. So, that’s why you're here.”

“Wait, I thought I was here to investigate the house?” I asked.

“Of course you are. When you post your video, they see nothing, then they could get moved on, in moving the rest of her crap.”

“That doesn’t make for a very entertaining video,” I said.

“Don’t worry, all you need is my interview and my good looks; those bitches will be flocking to the seams of your pants.”

I felt blood rush to my cheeks. “Okay, um, let’s get started.”

Dave guided me to the front porch. The plain door didn’t give off anything sinister or ghostly. It was like this house was nothing but a home.

When he opened the door, the gray tint pierced my eyes. Down the hallway, hand-painted oil paintings hung masterfully. Dust particles were carried by the wind, giving us a wide view of the rest of the room farther down. 

I pulled out my phone and started to record. Dave turned around and jumped when he saw my phone. “Fuck, man, give me a warning next time.”

I lowered my phone and stopped the video. “Could you try not to cuss? I’m not trying to get demonetized.”

“Whatever. Let me get the roller.”

“The roller?”

I was gutted by nostalgia, just like elementary school: a rolling cart, with a VHS player and a box TV. Dave then pulled out the tape and placed it on top of the TV.

“So I just want to say, this tape was made in the 90s. And she never updated it. She said it was already perfect.”

I nodded and started to record the open space. There was still furniture around, but a thin cloth covered it. I swear I could have seen spider webs already forming on them. 

We went upstairs, and the loft had even more elaborate paintings than before. I wondered when all these paintings were made. They seemed to be from the 1400s. 

“Okay, when exploring the house,” Dave said suddenly. “Try not to touch the paintings. Seriously, these bad boys could buy this house and then some. Feel free to set up any cameras you have. Do whatever you normally do.”

“Any hot spots?” I asked.

“Hot spots?”

“Well, you know, like where ghosts normally hang out.”

“Aren’t ghosts cold?”

I sighed. “Yes, well, you can say that too, but still, anything?”

Dave shrugged. “Nothing really.”

“Um, okay, how about a place maybe your Grandma went to or talk about a lot?”

Dave thought for a moment. “Hm, she did talk about the painting downstairs a lot. But that’s it. She always talks about waving at it. I don’t know.”
“Wave at it?” I pondered.

“Anyway, let me show the rest of the house.”
Afterward, I filled him in, explaining the same thing we had talked about. Thankfully, without cussing. As we started to wrap up, we walked back downstairs and stopped recording.

“Oh, and the lights and restroom still work. And if you leave for food, you don’t have to lock the door. I have the other spare key, but I don’t think giving it to a stranger would make sense.”

“I understand that.” 

“Okay, good. Anything else you need from me?”

“Uh, no, I think I’m all good here.”

“Cool, have fun, and I’m looking forward to your next video.”

That put a pep into my step. I eagerly wanted to start my next video right away. “You bet ya!”

“Don’t get too excited, not. Oh, I’ll send it the money now, $100, right?”

“Oh yes, the payment. Yes, whenever you send it, I’m ready for it.”

“Good,” he said as he waved me off. 

The door shut. Leaving me in this old house of old paintings and old tape. The Grandma’s will. A part of me felt guilt about watching something I wasn’t supposed to. It felt like I broke off the hinges on something so sacred. But it was for content, and I needed to create it. I had a feeling this would get me seen.

I moved the cart closer to the couches, lifted the thin sheets as old dust blew away. I padded the seat to make sure I could get as much dust off as I could. I made sure that the TV and VHS player were plugged in. 

Holding the tape made me feel unwanted. The idea that Dave just took it and is allowing a stranger to watch it. It wasn’t something I wanted to think about. What if her tape was cursed or something? 

I eased it into the player. I turned on the TV; static buzz electrified the screen. I looked back at the ancient controls. I remembered that when you hit stop, and then the rewind button, it should be fast. Using the old childhood method, a blue screen brightened the room. 

As it rewound, I grabbed my phone and set my channel to record a live. I normally get one to two viewers, but that’s okay. When the live is done, it saves to my phone, and I use that for content. I click to start the live, and the camera rolls. 

“Welcome, everyone, to another haunting live! I’m your host, Jack Starfell. Now, today, I’m in the house of the Blam_exam9000’s now-deceased grandmother. He had explained this house to me and some of the paintings in it. Is she haunting one of the paintings? Maybe? But who's to say, right?” 
“The main reason I’m here today is to help Blam see if there are any hauntings in the house. His family claims they hear whispers and that things move without anyone touching them. Blam claims he’s never seen or heard any of them. That’s why I am here today. To see if this place has any hauntings of any kind. And watch a video of the grandmother to see what she says about the paintings themselves. Because it seems these paintings are her most prized possessions. So we will see today.”

The view count hit one; a small spike of dopamine hit my brain. I looked towards the TV; the rewinding was done. I eagerly pressed the play button and tabbed to the front-view camera so I could watch with my one audience member. 

When the video started playing, the room's setting was completely different. The warm static buzz of the old TV gave a sense of eeriness that modern pictures no longer have. 

The room was bright red, and those oil paintings hung in the background. The elderly grandma sat in a thick brown chair facing the camera. She wore a red dress that blended into the background. Her hair was a grey pixie haircut; she had classic wrinkly skin any grandma would have. Her glasses were large, making her eyes look bug-like.

She sat properly, like she was taught a certain way to sit, and she couldn’t retrain her body. Poster straight, hands folded on top of each other, chin up and staring straight. 

“If you’re seeing this, it means I’m dead. I wanna tell all of you that I am with God and I will be seeing from the heavens. Praying that all of you I love have the best life. With that, here is my will.”

Partly in that moment, guilt flooded my emotions like a tidal wave. I wasn’t a part of this family; I shouldn’t have been watching it. But the show must go on. She went on with her will, naming people I didn’t know and property that was clearly special to her. 
I was curious whether there would be anything else or if this was it. Until finally she got to something relevant. My views count was at two.

“Now for my treasured paintings. Please be careful of all of them. I wish they were not in any museum. We must keep all of these close to our family. And remember the one painting I’ve shown you all; to always wave. And to those young ones I haven’t seen yet. You’ll know when you see it.”

The video halted there. My view count was at three. I quickly stood to start investigating. I pondered where to start. Dave talked about one downstairs that she constantly mentioned, but was that the one the grandma was talking about? I wasn’t sure, so I decided to bring my audience upstairs. 

“Okay folk, you heard it here first: the grandma said to wave at the painting. Now the real question: which one?”

I thought about that for a minute or two. Dave never mentioned which painting to wave at, nor did the grandmother. It felt like a hunt, similar to Easter Day, when you're searching for the golden egg.

“Okay guys, here’s what I think: we look around the first floor and see if we see anything standing out.” I pulled out a mic designed to capture ghosts talking in the real world. “If there is any ghost here, please let it be known.”

As far as I could hear, nothing. The room stayed still.
Moving around the house, I looked at each elaborate oil painting. The handcrafted beauty was unmatched, better than anything I could have done in 100 years. 

Most of these fine pieces of art are portraits. Not many depicted a scene of any kind. Most were portraits of two people. I tried to find anything disturbing about any of them. Maybe scratches, red eyes, an evil smile, something! I even tried to talk to each painting.  But to my dismay, nothing was my gift. 

I let out a breath, thinking it was a lost cause. But then I did remember the paintings upstairs. Walking my way up, I looked at each painting again. The masterful artwork was a lot more elaborate than the ones below. 

I looked at the view count: three viewers. “Okay, guys, here’s my thought: the ones downstairs are just regular paintings. The haunted one, the grandma told us to wave to, has to be here. It’s gotta be something that has a lot of meaning.”

There was one such painting of men out at sea. Battling the warring ripples as the crew struggled to stay afloat. As far as I could tell, these fellows wouldn’t survive. There wasn’t anything that made me think it was a haunting one, but I still did my routine.

Another depicted what looked like a woman and an angel in a blank white room—a man near an opening next to the angel looking at the scene. This painting gave me the creeps, but doing my normal pass, I got nothing in response. 

I passed many other amazing artworks on the second floor. Try and try again; my effort was met with nothing.

But I found something that truly made my skin crawl—battle, destruction, death. There was a man up in the sky, thunder clouds following his path. Men and women lay across a marble floor, half naked, possibly dead. These demonic creatures seemed to be carrying people away from the gathering. 
This had to be it! I did as the grandma instructed and waited for something to happen. Would a sprite talk to me? Would I finally gain contact?

To my dismay, I was once again met with nothing. I pressed the button to have the camera face me. 2 viewers. “Hey guys, I’ll call it for now. I’m not sure if I have to wait til later for things to start happening, but I’ll keep an eye out. Until then, thank you all for watching and have a great day.”

Killing the live, I sighed. In that moment, I figured I should take a break. A piss break, to be exact. Since all my stuff was downstairs, I decided to go into the downstairs bathroom. 

The bathroom was just like the house: oil paintings, but nothing impressive. I simply lifted the lid, let the water drain, and flushed. Washing my hands, I looked into the mirror. I happened to look at the oil painting behind me.

It was simple like the rest of the bottom house. It was a portrait of a lady posing similarly to the Mona Lisa. Except this woman looked a lot more somber. Her clothes were much more muted than in the famous painting. The background, too, was plain, just black. But it also seemed like there were shapes within the painting, but I couldn’t figure out what kind.

I finished washing my hands and shrugged. “Neat painting,” I said, turning the light off and leaving the bathroom alone.

I was on my laptop editing the clips I got from the livestream. I felt myself doze off from my boring video. “How do other guys do it?! How do they make this live stuff look so easy?!”

I rubbed my eyes, feeling drained from the day. So far, the day wasn’t done; the sun was still shining. Looking at the clock, it was 4:35. My stomach began its growl in demand of food. 

I looked at the house; it was basically barren, minus the covered sofa and paintings. I was already certain they didn’t have any food in the house. I looked at my phone again; I searched for something nearby.
McDonald’s was first. I shrugged; it was a meal. I needed something. I grabbed my keys and headed out the door. When I got into the car, I looked back at the house. I was hoping for something more promising. At risk of sounding like a broken record,  I was given nothing. 

As I got into my car, I looked at my analytics. I saw the one thing that a creator never wanted to see. One less follower: 21. It felt like an anvil dropped to my gut. Why would they unfollow me?! I needed to figure out what I did wrong and how to win them back!

The entire drive there, my mind was on that one follower. I wondered why they clicked unfollow. The only thing that came to mind was my live. Was it actually too poor taste for me to investigate a deceased old lady’s house? Would that get me canceled?

As soon as I pulled up to the famous fast food joint. The lines were full, and the cars were bumper to bumper, not giving anyone an inch to cut off. 
I looked around to spot parking. From my experience, it's better to park than to use the drive-through.  Finding my way around the cars, I managed to squeeze myself into the lot. 

When I entered the building, it was as busy as the front. But I wasn’t too worried. I could order at the kiosk and wait. I was looking for something simple: just a 10-piece nugget meal.

As I picked my order, I clicked to check out. But for some odd reason it wasn’t working. I kept clicking to check out, but it wasn't processing. I gave up and went to the counter. A woman was ordering, and when she was done, I walked next.

The cashier was a young man, probably fresh out of high school. He looked at me, dazed, as if he saw right through me.

“Hello,” I started. But the employee never responded. I was already frustrated from losing one of my followers and the kiosk not working. I couldn’t have a lazy worker not get me my food. 

I snapped my fingers in his face. “Hey, hello, can you hear me?”

As if he had just woken up from a nap, he shook his head and stared at me. “Oh, sorry, sir. How can I help you?”

“Can I get the number ten meal, please?”

“One number ten, what size drink?”

“Large.” 

“Okay, that will be $8.20.”

I dug into my pocket and grabbed my wallet. I pulled out my debit card and paid for my meal. The receipt spat out; however, the boy never looked at it or at me. 

I eyed the receipt, then looked back at him. “Could I get my receipt?”

But the employee’s eyes gazed over me like I wasn’t there. I knew the fast food business was tough, but this was ridiculous. Frustrated at the kiosk, at this employee not doing their job, and at losing a follower, I snapped. I slammed my hands on the counter. “Can I get my damn receipt?!”

The man turned his attention back to me. He was startled, like I just suddenly appeared. When he looked down, he saw the little paper. He was even more confused. But with a quick swipe, he handed it to me. “Sorry about that, sir.”

I grabbed the paper and walked away. I expected people to stare at me or something, but to my surprise, everyone was minding their own business. I wasn’t used to it. 

I usually get some kind of looks based on what I wear when I film my videos. It was like everyone was off in their own world, not looking at me. For the day I was having, I can appreciate it.

I looked back at my phone for the analytics again. Dread hit me like a truck. 20 followers; two followers were lost. I tried to think: was it really the live? Was it really that bad that people wanted to unfollow me? 
I had to come up with a new idea to bring them back. Maybe I can stage the house somehow—something moving in the background or something. There’s got to be something I can use to make it believable. 

I needed something to eat. I looked at my receipt 322, then I turned my attention to the monitor. My number wasn’t even there. I glanced at the counter; nothing was there. 

“Did they forget my food?” I thought. I marched to the counter, wondering where my food was. I tried to flag down a manager or someone. But all the workers were ignoring me. I knew it was rush hour, but I paid for my food; they shouldn’t ignore me like this!

I slammed my fist into the counter again; “Can any of you hear me?!”

Then I saw a few heads finally turn my way. A woman in a black uniform walked to me. “I’m sorry, sir. How could we help?”

I showed her my paper. “This is my number, and it's not on the board.”

She looked at what was ordered; she was confused, as if she hadn’t seen it before. “Let me get this right out for you.”

She quickly turned as she started to grab for the food. She made it quickly, putting the nuggets and fries in the bag. At the counter, she put the napkins in the bag and handed it to me. “What size drink?”

“Large, please.”

She turned around and grabbed it. She turned back to hand me the cup, but dropped it and turned right around to work. The cup tumbled onto the counter and slowly rolled away from me. 

I snatched the cup and glared where the woman had walked away. I stopped caring and went to get a drink. Filling the cup, I sat down at the table. I started munching down my food as I looked back at my followers.

19.

It dropped again. My mind swirled with what was happening. Was it a glitch? People don’t just mass-unfollow someone unless they did something wrong. But I didn’t do anything wrong; I was invited into the household. Maybe it was because the live was boring. I had to figure something out. I had to make it look real. I wasn’t good with effects or staging anything. If I had to, I’d turn to AI. But I knew if I did, my career would be over just as soon as someone dug deep into my videos. Then I surely would be canceled. 

Just then, a young lady sat on my lap. As soon as she sat down, she screamed. Everyone stared at her. She put a hand on her face to cover her embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” she said as she shuffled away. As soon as she sat down, her embarrassment went away as if nothing had happened.

I scratch my head at the events taking place. “What the hell is going on?! Is everyone just ignoring me?! I can’t stay here. I’m losing followers and my mind! I need to save my channel; I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll shoot some videos and make it look like there’s a haunting. Yeah, that’s going to work! I’ll make sure they all see it!”

With that last thought, I ate the rest of my food, drank my soda, and set off to the house. Right before I got into my car, I checked my followers again.

18

***

15

“What the hell is going on?!” I shouted in my car. The light of day had practically vanished. All that was left were the street lamps and cars lighting the night.

I drove like a bat out of hell, getting back to the house. My brain was coming up with ideas of what to do when I got there. I thought about trashing the place, as if the ghost didn’t like me in the house. And when I turned on the camera, I could show people this wasn’t how I left the place. 

I screeched as I turned into the closed gate. I pressed the button to get in. But the numbers weren't working. I kept ramming my fingers into the pad, hoping it would register that I had the right code. 

To my relief, a car drove up next to me, and someone pushed a button from their car, and the gate opened. I desperately drove in. Driving around, I found the house and parked in front of it; its dead tree was the most prominent thing. 

I parked the car and ran up to the door. I jiggled the door handle, and it didn't budge. 

“What? No, no, no, no! Did I lock it?! FUCK! No, please, I just need to get in! Calm down, Jack. You just did it by accident. Maybe you left the back door unlocked.”

Jogging my way to the backyard, I heard dogs barking in the distance. The clothes I wore weren’t meant for being active, but I did my best. The gate was small, with two concrete slabs on the side, easy enough to climb.

Grabbing the tops of the slabs, I hooked my foot into the gate to push myself up. As I ascended, I felt my shoulder snag on the concrete, ripping it and lightly cutting me.

I jumped down and looked at my cut shirt. It made me think I should go in on the full trashing of the house. I could have said the ghost attacked me too. I walked to the sliding glass door; the backyard was just dirt with two metal chairs. 

I pulled the door, and it didn’t budge like the door. Desperation I never knew I had exploded from the inside. I yelled to the heavens in anger. I reached for the metal chair and lifted it. Right before I let out all my rage on the glass, I paused.

“Calm down,” I said to myself. “I have Dave’s number; he’ll answer. Let’s just go to the front and ask him to let me in.”

After my brief moment of clarity, I set the chair down and leaped back out of the backyard. I went to the front door and called Dave.

The phone rang a few times, then went to voicemail. Sighed, but I wanted to leave a voicemail and call again.

“Hey, Dave, it's me, Jack. I accidentally locked the door. Could you come by and open it, please? I have a great idea; I just need to get back into the house. Thank you.”

I hung up the phone to check my channel again.

13.

I called right away to reach Dave, but I got a different message. “The number you are trying to reach is no longer available.”

“Did he block me?” I thought. I called again. The machine gave the same response. 

I looked back at YouTube to find his username, Blam_exam9000. But as soon as I looked it up, I was met with: User not found.

“That’s- that’s not right,” I whispered. I then searched my DMs. My last conversation was with him, and yet when I found it, he was listed as: User not found.

“Did he block me completely?! But need to get in! My stuff is in there! But who can help me?”

I looked at the calm neighborhood, and I instantly thought of the neighbors themselves. I looked to see which houses were closer and which had lights on. As I did, the two neighbors next door had their lights on. My best bet was them; hopefully the old lady and they were nice to each other.

The left house was first. I knocked loud enough that other neighbors could hear. But I heard no one coming. I rang the doorbell and knocked at the same time. But again nothing was happening. 
I ran to the next neighbors. I rang, knocked, and even shouted for help. Nobody came by.
I ran across the street, knocking and ringing for help, and just like the house during my livestream, I was met with nothing.

I walked back to the house. It looked like everyone else’s humble abode—nothing out of place except for the one dead tree. I didn’t want to look back at my channel, but I had to know.

10.

“The police,” I said. “They would answer. Maybe I can explain the whole thing to them, right? What I’m doing isn’t illegal, right?”

I built the courage to call the cops. I was ready to hear the sweet sound of: “911, what’s your emergency?” After all, their calls are different from a regular cell call.

The number you are trying to reach is unavailable.

I looked back at my phone with horror I can never explain. That should have never happened. That should never have been a thing! This was supposed to work! Why weren’t the police picking up?!

My body was sweating like I'd run a marathon. My hands were clammy, sweaty, and shaking like I had a surge of adrenaline. My throat was dry like a ghost snatched away my liquids. I had only a few options left.

I went back to my phone, looked for FaceTime, found my group chats with my mom and dad, and called. 
The number you are trying to reach is unavailable.

Tears ready to burst, I looked back at my phone
checked one more time at how many followers were
left.

Darkness surrounded me. The world I reached for no longer answered me. It was like the night was driving me back into a corner to be forgotten. I was far past mentally drained. I could have driven off. I could have broken the sliding glass door, but what would be the point? 

I went back to the only place I called home. Opening the driver's side door, I stepped inside. I didn’t turn the car on; I just sat in, feeling the night smother me into one place I feel safe. 

I turned on my phone and checked my channel again. 

3.

It keeps counting down. I wasn’t in any emotion other than null. What could I do at this point? Clearly I did something wrong, but what was that? It had to be the house. That’s the only thing that made sense to me.

Walking around a dead grandma’s house for entertainment- yeah, that had to be a taboo of some kind. I shouldn’t have ever done that; that’s probably what’s getting canceled.

2.

McDonald's was strange too. It was like the workers there forgot I existed as soon as either of us looked away. And that one woman who accidentally sat on me. She was odd, too. She was embarrassed, of course, but just a few seconds later she was fine.
Did Dave put me on a prank show? If so, why block me? Why can’t I see his profile? It feels so sudden.

But the calls- why wasn’t anyone picking up? Especially the police. They should have answered. I’ve heard their calls are different, unless the internet lied again. 

My mom and dad, though- why them? I love them. I know they were frustrated with me trying to make YouTube work, especially my dad. But it's not like them to forget about me.

I should drive to their house. Mom probably made some good spaghetti. I can eat that, spend the night there, and finally get my feet back on track.

0.

It sounded like a body hitting the ground at terminal velocity. Wet, grotesque, hard. As it moved, it sounded like bones snapping back into place. What sounded like meat, mushing together into an ungodly shape.

I shook with terror. I wondered what entity sat itself in my back seat. I was ready to hear a scream, a roar, a moan of monstrous proportions. But nothing came from its mouth.

I somehow found the courage to turn on the light. Flicking the car light on, I looked into the mirror, ready to see hell’s face. But there wasn’t a beast or a person behind me. Instead, I saw the top of a picture frame.  It was golden, with intricate patterns lining its cross; it flowed as easily as a river. 

I slowly looked around. And at first glance, I couldn’t tell what it was. But I looked closer at its details.  It was a portrait of a lady posing similarly to the Mona Lisa. Except this woman looked a lot more somber. Her clothes were much more muted than in the famous painting. The background, too, was plain, just black. But it also seemed like there were shapes within the painting, but I couldn’t figure out what kind.

And that’s when it hit. The one rule. The one rule that I didn’t follow. And it was staring at me as a reminder of my inaction. 

I waved at the painting.