Through Dead Eyes by Chris Priestley Read Free Book Online Page A

he didn’t want to show that to Angelien and so he followed and said nothing.
    Angelien had moved ahead to stand beside a painting and was beckoning to him to come over. Alex walked slowly towards her. An elderly couple stepped in front of him and blocked his view. The woman turned and saw him coming and there was something about the look on Alex’s face that made her tug her husband’s arm and pull him away.
    Alex stood in front of the painting, mesmerised. It was not large but it had a wide and ornate golden frame around it. In the centre of the painting was a figure standing in a window, the face a pale and smiling mask.
    ‘That mask,’ said Alex quietly. ‘It looks just like my mask.’
    Angelien nodded, clearly waiting for Alex to notice something else.
    ‘And that looks just like the hotel.’
    ‘It is your hotel,’ said Angelien. ‘The part that you are staying in. Spooky, huh?’
    Suddenly it was as though the floor was tilting towards the painting ahead of him, and he would stumble and fall into it. It seemed to take an effort of will to stay upright as he struggled against the dizziness.
    He felt himself drawn into the painting, leaning forward, his eyes and attention pulled towards the window of the room he knew was his hotel room, and to the strange masked face that looked out at him through the grimy varnish and cracked paint.
    The masked figure was a girl, he could now see. The painting showed a night scene, but age had darkened it further. Much of the painting was impenetrable blackness, out of which loomed various figures – figures of children running and playing – illuminated by a full moon that shone overhead. Alex turned to look at Angelien.
    ‘I know,’ said Angelien in response to Alex’s baffled expression. ‘You can see why I was so surprised when I saw the mask. I had been looking at the painting only two days before.’
    Alex looked back at the painting. It was so dark, so gloomy. It seemed to carry the night with it and, just as though he were looking at a real night scene, Alex’s eyes strained to adjust to the low light.
    ‘I don’t . . .’ he began. ‘How? How can that be?’
    Angelien shrugged and looked back at the picture.
    ‘Honestly, I don’t have any explanation,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘It’s crazy.’
    Alex looked at the girl in the painting and it felt as though he was being pulled towards her. He could see her so vividly – every crease in her clothes, every pore on the flesh of her pale arms. He could see her eyes glistening in the shadows in the dark sockets of the mask.
    The strange feeling of dread he had experienced in his hotel room returned and gripped his body. His breathing was becoming shorter and his throat seemed to be tightening up as though he was being choked by a powerful hand.
    ‘Alex?’ said Angelien. ‘Are you OK?’
    ‘I’m fine,’ said Alex with a weak smile, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers.
    ‘Sure?’ said Angelien.
    ‘I’m OK – really,’ said Alex, pulling his eyes from the masked girl with some difficulty and moving across the picture, taking in the full strangeness of it. ‘It’s so weird.’
    ‘Come,’ said Angelien, putting her arm round him. ‘Let’s go and sit.’
    Angelien led Alex out to the stairs they had walked up and they sat down on the top step. Alex felt nauseous and his legs ached as though he had just been for a long run.
    ‘You looked as though you were about to pass out on me,’ Angelien said. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t look so hard.’
    Nearby a family hissed angrily to each other. They kept this low volume argument up for a few minutes and then left in a sullen knot, muttering rhythmically with each step of their descent.
    The family’s mood was mirrored by the weather, which had worsened. Rain was now dribbling down the panes of the windows and the sky was dark and brooding. When Angelien spoke, it was in a near whisper.
    ‘That painting was done by a man called