Looking away. It is the only thing to do. Staring at it makes it worse. Away, look away. Does its eyes follow me, I don’t know. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have bought this painting from the sale. Look away. Eye contact is the worst possible thing to do. The phone so close, I am tempted to call the police. I can’t, it won’t let me. In the corner of my eye I see his face innocently smiling. He’s looking at me, I knew it. I turned away, no eye contact. How long ago was it made, I curse the artist who created this monster. Don’t look at it, act like it’s not there, I walk to the bowl with cereal already placed inside it. It is not there, it is not watching every step I take. I am alone. No one watching. The clock has fallen, he dropped it. I shakily picked up the spoon. I manage to glance at the beast’s feet, the gears and screws that used to make a clock is now sprinkled over the ground in the painting. Who was the artist who made this piece of art. I finished the bowl and without looking at the painting, I went to work.
Ten thirty, two more hours before lunch break. I look up at my clock in my office, still turning. I visioned it shattering on the ground and breaking off into a million pieces. I look at my phone. Can’t tell anyone, can’t call anyone. He is always with me. If it’s in my office or on the other side of the world, he will get me if I tell. No escape, no way to call out for help. I see his wicked smile, his black tie with a hint of red. His suit, pristine clean, his eyes, oh god the eyes, they keep staring. He keeps looking into your soul, finds your secrets and exposes them. That’s not enough though, oh no of course not, he needs to use me as if I were his slave, his spy. His eyes, the only thing keeping me from sleep, the eyes. Now I feel like I’m going crazy, what if it is just a creepy painting. No it can’t be I remember it clearly, when it talked to me. Could that have been a dream? I don’t know, but I can’t take my chances. I stood up quickly when I thought of something a great idea. I turned when I heard a crash. My clock had been shaken off its hook on the wall and hit the ground. The remains were shattered into a million pieces, just like the clock in the painting.
I slammed my door shut as I entered my home. I turn into the kitchen where the wretched thing was hooked. I kept my head down and heard his voice, his voice that sounded exactly like mine,
‘Look at me, child,’ I disobeyed his order, ‘LOOK AT ME!’ it screamed and I reluctantly looked up with my eyes closed. I opened them wide and saw the whole picture. The laughing man in a suit who just dropped his clock at work. Me, he looks like me. I heard him speak but I didn’t listen. I grabbed a lighter from out of my pocket and lit the right corner of the picture, directly onto the painter’s illegible handwriting, and watched the painting burn. He shrieked like a pig as his face melted. Free, I feel free from this demon. I should’ve never bought it. As I watch it burn I wondered how I didn’t think of this solution earlier, oh no. Now I remember, oh I am a fool. I’m doomed. I just set the devil’s soul free, I saw a dark flash bounce from the painting to me, and I felt my control over my body loosen. It has gained control of me. It can do whatever it wants, and I am an innocent bystander, I am the soul that is trapped in the painting now.
Authors Note: This is my first creepypasta so please write in the comments if there is anything I need to work on
