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The Painter

By Felicia Wong Bao Chi All Rights Reserved ©

Thriller / Horror

The Painter

A writer needs his pen and papers, a singer needs his music and instrument, and a painter needs his paintbrush and his paints...

Once there was a very famous painter with his name still unknown until now. He was, and still is called The Painter. He had drawn many masterpieces that everyone can't help but falls in love. The comments about his paintings are always 'it seemed alive!' Nobody knew how right that statement was.

The Painter's paintings are always the same colour; red. There might be some other colours but the main colour is red. They might be dark red, bright red, light red...but always red. And it's the colour red that makes people like his paintings the most.

That is, until they had found out about the truth behind The Painter's paints and paintings.

Maria Spencer was a reporter. She was very hard-working. She only targeted the most famous person to report. And she died because of it.

Nobody knew about this, actually. She was said to have an unfortunate accident, and died while going to interview The Painter. A car accident. Funny thing is, there was no wreckage at where it was supposed to be. Her car was found, weeks later in the pond near the said house of The Painter. And it was still in good shape. Her friends and family propose to have her death checked, but the problem is, there was no body.

Her body was never found.

Teresa Gamerl was also a reporter. She worked for the magazine for famous people. Her boss ordered her to go and have an interview with The Painter. She went; and never came back.

People said that she died of an accident too. When she was at the pond that was near to the said house of The Painter, her car skidded and her brake was broken, and she plummeted into the pond to a watery death. This time, days later, her car was found inside the pond. The investigators checked the car. The brake was in top condition. Again, the friends and family of Gamerl asked for another investigate on her death. And again, it cannot be done.

Her body was also not found.

Kent Jerine was a detective. He was forced to investigate about the death of the two girls, and possibly more. He went with confidence, saying that he will crack the case.

Only he didn't crack the case, he cracked his head instead. His body, surprising was found together with his car in the pond. Or rather, not the whole body. His head was tied to the driver seat of the car, and only his head. The skull was cracked by a large blunt object, perhaps a hammer, the investigator said. And that was the only clue they were given, aside from the fact that the head was cut down by a chainsaw.

His body, or rather the rest of his body, like the others, were never found.

The Painter watched as the girl crawled across the floor. Crawled, as in using her hands, as her feet were both in his hands, dripping blood all over the floor. Her movement also caused blood across the floor. He chuckled as he simply watched.

'Please...spare me...I don't want to die...' The girl begged at the Painter, wishing for some miracle to happen.

'But, dear. Surely you want to be famous! With me, you shall be watched by everyone else, and admired by everyone else. You will worth so much money...' The Painter placed her feet into a specially made blender. It was quite huge. He closed the lid, locked it tight, and turned it on.

The girl watched, horrified, as her feet became a mush of blood and bones. The Painter laughed. It's always fun to watch as a limb or two turn to his paint. Yes, how I just love red...

'' The girl started to crawl away from the man. But her blood lost was too much, and soon she could no longer move. She stared at The Painter as he took his chainsaw, full of dried blood and her own blood, and came near her.

The Painter smiled kindly. 'Don't worry, my dear Vanessa. This won't hurt a bit.'

Her screams echoed in the air as the chainsaw cut her abdomen and saw her body into two...

The Painter smiled at the camera as he displayed his latest painting, 'The Screamer' As usual, this painting was full of red, and some white and black, also his frequently used colour.

'As expected from The Painter, once again!' The reporter turned to the camera and said. She placed her microphone to The Painter and asked. 'Painter, what do you feel about the society linking you to the mysterious death of Kent Jerine, some girls and the most recent, Vanessa Linte?'

The Painter nodded to the camera and smiled pitifully. 'Firstly I felt sorry for their friends and family for their loss. I must insist, though, that I have nothing to do with their deaths.'

He smiled at the camera again. 'I heard that they had wanted to either interview me or wanted to investigate me. So perhaps,' Here his smile turned into a smirk. 'God doesn't want them to know about me, and so does all of you. That's why He had forbid that they come to me.'

He then looked at the reporter beside him. 'And, if you are wise, that will be the only question you ask about me. Or else...' The Painter let that threat unfinished and left. The camera turned to the reporter again. She was shivering.

'Well, that's it for the so-called interview. Guess that we have to do it on the other day, guys.'

But, it didn't. The woman, Alysha Cameroons died that day of a car accident.

Only that her car was found in the pond, very much in a good shape. And her body was never found.

And the investigations and interviews on The Painter were never done again.

Years later, The Painter disappeared. The authorities finally decided to break into his house to see what really happened.

In the garage, they saw The Painter dead on the floor, a chainsaw stabbed on his torso. A girl without her feet was beside him; her position let the investigators made the assumption that she had pushed the chainsaw towards The Painter.

At the side of the garage, they saw a huge blender. Inside it was blood and blood all over. Test proved that the blood was from all the victims that were said to be killed by The Painter.

In the drawer of a table in the garage lied a notebook. In it was filled with names of the victims, and it was how they knew that The Painter had killed over hundreds of people since he started drawing .There was only one entry in the book. It read:

'Dear notebook,

This will be the first and last time I write an entry in this book. This will explain about why I did all this so that I myself shall not back down.

I had always wanted to paint something full of life. My painting teacher said to me that my paintings had no life. I was angry, and I stabbed her to death. I cut her fingers out on by one and put it in my mother's blender. It turned out to be a red full of life. I used it to paint and my next painting teacher praised me. That is when I decided to use human blood for my paintings.

But how can I get blood? It was not an easy thing to do. Hospitals will ask a lot of questions; besides, I need live blood, fresh from a body. Not those bloods that they suck out of humans. I got an idea when the newspaper boy came to my house. His blood I use for my first masterpiece – The Newspaper Boy.

Mother didn't know about the blood scent, or if she did she never asked. But I can't help but be paranoid about it. I know this whole thing is wrong, but the others don't understand. They never will. So they can never find out.

Tonight I shall have my mother's blood for my next painting – My Mother. Then I shall see to the maid's, and the neighbours, the milkman...

Ah, the list is just endless...

Sincerely yours,

The Painter'

Write a Review Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks, Felicia Wong Bao Chi
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