When this story is over, YOU get to vote for the ending!
By
Updated 1 year ago,January 16, 2024
Read part one of the storyhere.
My eyes pinballed between Beth and Brett, Brett and Beth.
Unsplash / Farrel Nobel
Or the boy with an attitude problem who blew up every chance he got.
A boy whose only concern was grabbing a gun to explode themonsterinto a mess of blood.
I should have taken her.
But his unwashed hair and the ring piercing his lip reminded me of my own brother.
I couldnt save him when my suicidal father had sparked a match and lit the house on fire.
But I could save Brett.
Unsplash / Farrel Nobel
I limped down the hall, his body mass weighing me down more than I thought.
He might have been twig-thin, but he still held muscle.
I ran past dozens of doors, hearing the swoosh of the creatures dress.
I ran past another set of concrete stairs, hearing the thump of the creatures steps.
I only turned back once.
When the sounds stopped, creating a pocket of complete silence.
I kept trudging forward, but turned my head to see the creature.
It had stopped in the middle of the hall, where Beth lay.
Beneath the claw, Beths skin crumbled.
She was there, pale and pretty, and then she was gone.
I wondered if a new painting hung on the wall somewhere resembling her face.
I wondered if Lizzie had met the same fate.
It screeched as it convulsed, creating an obnoxious, piercing sound that rattled the paintings along the halls.
Doors flew open and closed, the metal knobs smashing up against the walls inside.
I could see into each room.
All identical, aside from the paintings above the beds.
Some showed watercolors of rats.
Guns…
Maybe the paintings acted as hints.
Maybe a safe sat behind the frame holding ammo.
Maybe a gun was stored beneath the bed.
Maybe we could defend ourselves.
Just like Brett wanted.
I scuttled backward, swerving into the gun-room.
Checked behind the television stand.
Looked in the air vents.
I had my body halfway beneath the bed, grasping at more nothing, when Brett woke up.
I could hear the bedsprings creak.
He must be rising, glancing around.
My goddamn shoulder too.
I wriggled out from the mattress.
I dont know what happened, I said.
You two were unconscious in the hall.
I was running from… from the woman in black, and I tripped over you guys.
Yeah, we saw this painting.
We were like, drawn to it.
It looked like the creepy-ass woman, except this one was dressed in white with blonde hair.
Where is she anyway?
She shouldnt be alone in this shithole.
I could only carry one of you.
What the fuck does that mean?
It means I could have left both of you but I didnt and you should be thankful.
He pushed off the mattress with his good arm.
Thankful my sisters got a death sentence?
Im going to find her.
Like you said earlier, we need guns first.
I think theres some in here.
Theres a painting that might be a…
I dont know, a hint or something.
You left my sister to die so you could go appraise some motherfuckingart?
Thats not how it happened.
He launched himself off the bed, woozy on his feet at first.
He bent to grab the frame on the floor.
This is thepaintingyou mean?
he asked, cracking it across his knee, splitting it into two pieces.
The moment the frame severed, the canvas paper inside disappeared.
A gun plopped out from the empty space.
Clattered onto the floor.
A three dimensional, honest-to-goodness fucking gun.
Holy shit… Brett said, checking the chamber for bullets.
I said, trailing off.
I had to continue to think that way, illogically, or I wouldnt get anywhere.
We need to find that ballroom again, Brett said, turning the weapon over in his hands.
The rooms probably shifted by now, but we have to find it.
After we find Beth.
Earlier that morning, the woman in black stepped out of the painting-turned-mirror inside of my hotel bedroom.
And now, the gun popped right out of the painting.
Maybe all of the paintings could be transformed from paper to reality.
I could picture Lizzies face peering out from the painting inside the ballroom.
Maybe we could snap the frame and break her out.
Maybe she would be okay.
Beth, too, if she ended up in the same situation.
Give me the gun, I said, sticking out a hand.
You already have your knife.
Why should I trust you after what happened?
Youre not a hero.
His lip lifted, like a dog with a snarl.
you could come with me, but Im not giving you the damn gun.
He tucked the weapon into the back of his overtight jeans, an empty look on his face.
I wondered if he would stab me if I snuck it from him when he glanced the other way.
If he would let me be a sacrifice so he had more time to get away.
Or if he would shoot me himself the next time I pissed him off again.
I wondered which risk was the better one to take.
Vote for the ending you want to see in the comment section onCreepy Catalog!
A) Let Brett keep the gun and go together.
B) Find a way to take the gun and go without him.
The final part of the story will be out this time next week!
