scary stories part three

That went…less than well. I handed it over willingly- if there were to be no consequences, he will truly value the thing. But as he took it a weight lifted from me. I saw him to his car and I knew it no longer wanted me, but him. Back to work.

He should have been home by now, it’s been three hours. His wife left a message here too, that he isn’t answering his phone. I have a sinking feeling, I know what’s happened. He’s been assaulted by it. I regret giving it to him now- he was so happy to have it, so excited.

and there’s the matter of the “harpy”, too.

I don’t know who it belongs to yet.

I’m finished with her.

I think I know who should have her. Who she will enjoy.

A collector I know.
I can’t find my cat. The litterbox is full of what look like owl pellets.

I called the collector. She arrived fresh as a daisy, and glad to have something for her macabre collection. She’s eyed my work at every opening so far, and was flattered that I gave this to her. She almost couldn’t believe her luck. That was this afternoon. I still haven’t heard from her, or the other artist who I gave the spider to. It’s now evening. Perhaps it’s a coincidence that they’ve both gone missing. I know it isn’t, though. I can’t keep denying this.

I keep thinking about the next creature- its bones are already laid out in order here on a piece of canvas. It won’t fit on the table so I lay it out on the floor. I don’t feel right about it.

I mean, these other two, I can rationalize giving them away. I can pretend to myself that they won’t attack their owners- they’re after ME, right? nobody else?

But I know this isn’t true. And this bigger one has a more malevolent feeling, a more intentional feeling. The first one- well, I was just building from a model I saw in dreams, right? I couldn’t know that it was animate. That it WANTED to be built.

But building this last one, I know. I know before I even start, that I am building art to destroy someone with.

and I wish I could not know that. Or turn off my conscience somehow, and not care. I want to resist. I don’t want to use my hands for this kind of work. What am I going to do? Can I kill it? Does that mean I have to kill all three?

Because despite everything, I feel the same fondness for these two that i do for any piece of art I have made that I am satisfied with.

Am I really evil enough to value my own art over the life of a person?
I think I’m going to fight it. I have a revolver. I don’t think that will work, though.

first installment of this story was here

second installment of this story was here