---
layout:          post
title:           "MAG100.4 - Paint (Rusty Fears Winner)"
date:            2018-05-03 12:00:00 -0400
categories:      incomplete
tags:            []
episode_title:   'Paint (Rusty Fears Winner)'
episode_number:  '100.4'
summary:         "This week's episode is the second of two winning stories from our Rusty Fears competition, written by fans like you and produced by us here at Rusty Quill. 'Paint' is written by <b>Melissa Mason</b> and read by Jonathan Sims. <br/><br/>Note: this is a piece of stand-alone fiction and not a part of the Magnus canon."
content_flags:   [Cursed Objects, Hospital Suspense, Guilt]
acast_url:       https://play.acast.com/s/themagnusarchives/mag100.4-paint-rustyfearscompetitionwinner-
formats: 
official:        false
unofficial:      http://www.youtube.com/
unofficial_name: YouTube CC
unfinished:      true
wiki_url:        
---

hi everyone then here I'd just like to

take a moment to thank some of our

patrons

Abigail Probert Mira Yudin Catlin Connor

Icarus Zion J jimothy Jim Cameron

DiIorio Ricky G Dobson Heather McHale

fresh king of rats thank you all we

really appreciate your support if you'd

like to join them go to WWE and Comm

forward slash rusty quill and take a

look at our rewards hi everyone

Alex here with another introduction

ahead of today's episode this is the

second of our two writing competition

winners as with the first this should be

considered a work of stand-alone fiction

and not part of the Magnus archives

canon that's all for now we hope you

enjoy the episode

Rustique will presents paint by Melissa

Mason

[Music]

the suitcase sagged on my bed muzzled by

two dull metal latches worn smooth with

age antique yellow and brown roses

curled in a delicate pattern faded to

fraying white at the corners it didn't

look like a trap i tilted my head but

nothing stirred ominously in the room or

from the darkness outside my window

alone for the weekend my family had long

since departed on the half day trek to

Matt's swimming competition it was just

me and the empty house and this a

cautious shove revealed no movement from

the case I stared at the note again it's

sharp

CAPITAL LETTERS frantic and heavy don't

let it out only four words punctuated by

a pen sized tear in the paper the

slanted script chilled me the who was

obviously a joke

a final twisted gift from my father's

late sister illness took my dad's two

other siblings when he was still very

young I suppose that's why he tried so

hard to include Aunt Sarah in our family

inviting her to every holiday and

birthday party without fail when she

finally deigned to show up spindly and

skittish my aunt's strange presence

always looked straight out of a dumpster

a bird's nest made from tangled wire

coat hangers or a painting of spaghetti

noodles accented by neon sponge

meatballs hot glued to the canvas once

she gave my brother a resin sculpture of

a weasel its face blank except for an

embedded set of false human teeth

grinning out from the center my aunt

thought it whimsical Matt suffered from

nightmares so vivid I slept in a chair

in his room for two weeks afterwards

whatever stories dad proclaimed about

Sarah's youth as a talented amateur

painter the woman I'd known served more

as cautionary warning than beloved

mentor for my own burgeoning interest in

pencil and oil

not exactly the kindred spirit I

desperately longed for in our family of

lawyers and accountants no with Aunt

Sarah as an example my pleas for art

school inevitably met with parental

demands to pursue a real major in

college nearly a year of soul-crushing

business classes later and my aunt Leigh

dead of a heart attack one final gift

remaining to taunt me from beyond the

grave

I flipped open the latches and steeled

myself but nothing sprung out as I threw

back the lid the case held a larger

Blanc of hard styrofoam fit neatly into

a rectangular square in its center lay a

canvas painting and that had a sigh of

relief and examined it bright scarlet

brushstrokes rioted starkly over a white

background no discernible pattern

emerged but glossy beads of paint

scattered in shining arcs and pools like

arterial blood freshly sprayed against a

wall my stomach turned a little at the

thought the style seemed too abstract

and frankly ordinary for Sarah so I

talked to the canvas out for a better

look it felt strangely cool and smooth

against my hands but lifting a heavy

pane of glass up closed and tilted

beneath the light the brushstrokes

appeared more regular in places with

gaps where the pale background peeked

through I scanned the image trying to

piece together my aunt's intentions near

the bottom of the painting two Halfmoon

shapes caught my eye

they're white color contrasted so

vividly against the sea of red that I

wondered for a moment if the canvas

contained a hidden light a larger

rounded circle burn to beneath them with

a similar intensity it almost looked

like a face something snapped into place

in my mind in the outline of a head

appeared colored darkening nearly to

black around its edges clawed fingers

stretched above an upturned expression

contorted in rage and anguish but the

rest of its vaguely human body bled away

like ink into the background

angry lines twisted around it I leaned

closer as more details revealed

themselves there weren't lines at all

but thick interlinking circles chains I

counted eight ropes of heavy-looking

linked sloping upwards their ends sunk

into the side of a cramped room it was

bare except for the bound figure the

chamber tilted upwards in three-quarter

perspective revealing the only way out a

sturdy wooden door topped with a thickly

barred window more chains and locks

dangled from it as my eyes traced the

hallway outside the door

chaotic lines resolved into a jagged

staircase it marched upward above the

chamber and branched into more corridors

and stairs jutting up and out

overlapping like an Asha drawing locked

door stood century above and beneath

each hallway with a final set of

horizontal bars hung near the top of the

painting beams of light filtered through

them drawing my gaze back down to the

imprisoned figure its hate-filled

eyes fixed upwards upon that last

impossible exit

don't let it out goosebumps rose on my

arms and the shadows outside my window

seemed suddenly a little deeper my aunt

never embodied stability at the best of

times but this reached entirely new

heights was it some kind of

self-portrait the eerie stillness

shattered as my ringtone chimed loudly I

jumped in surprise and scrambled for my

phone

Matt's number lit up on the display the

sound of my brother's familiar excited

chatter filled me with such relief that

I eventually told him about Sarah's gift

he demanded a photo and I obliged

snapped a picture with my phone and

waited nervously while my brother

examined it

the silence stretched on for a few

agonizing minutes before Matt grudgingly

congratulated me for tricking him so

thoroughly no matter how I protested or

described the face

my brother insisted he couldn't see it

finally I relented and hung up after

wishing him luck with tomorrow's event

it bothered me Matt couldn't see the

scene the image looked clear but maybe I

hadn't zoomed in enough to pick up all

the detail i tilted the painting to take

another photo and froze pale amused eyes

gazed directly at to me the figures head

tilted outward its mouth stretched wide

in a violent eager smile and had there

been eight chains now I counted six

small twisted C shapes littered the

floor like rings ripped apart length by

length

I shoved the canvas back into the

suitcase and slammed it shut her hands

shook so badly it took three tries to

secure the latches I bolted down the

stairs and turned on every light in the

house for hours of television sitcoms

later and I felt much karma and even

more foolish the suitcase went firmly

into the closet and sleep descended at

last

bringing dreams filled with swirling red

lines and searing eyes morning light

barely reached the windowpane when I

woke up anxious and exhausted unable to

resist I hauled the suitcase onto my

desk

the cell in the painting lay empty piles

of chains and splintered wood trailed

over the floor and out onto the hallway

my heart stopped for a moment eyes

frantically following the dizzying path

of broken frames and shattered locks

about halfway up the canvas a pair of

Halfmoon eyes Cloward behind the bars of

a blessedly intact door as the minutes

ticked by I glared back determined to

see the thing move finally it happened

one moment my eyes studied the woodgrain

pattern on the door and the next only

smashed pieces and sawdust remained

frozen in mid-flight the burning face

lead gleefully I jerked back from the

case before fully realizing what I'd

done an armful of art supplies landed on

the floor and hit the desk armed with

turpentine and an old rag I swiped

viciously at the mocking empty eyes but

the cloth slid smoothly across the

surface as though of a polished glass

the image beneath untouched

I stared in disbelief and tried again

scrubbing harder the remnants of another

locked door joined the first panicked I

grabbed a tube of paint and squeezed a

glob of cobalt blue over the canvas to

my great comfort the oily liquid spread

and sank into the surface until a large

stain blotted out half the cell and part

of a staircase scarlet lapped hungrily

at its edges soon scorching the bright

hue into rust I triumphantly dug out a

paint brush and obliterated of the

macabre scene with victorious sweeping

lines relief flooded through me when the

pale eyes disappeared under my fingers I

surveyed my handiwork featureless red

stared back at me no stairs or chains or

sinister faces I stowed the painting and

latched the case maybe it was overkill

to stack the largest volumes from my

bookcase over the lid but better safe

than sorry

as i toted my textbooks down to the

living room the final image of the

figure refused to leave my mind it

wasn't fear that consumed its expression

but a fierce almost predatory joy the

remainder of the day melted away in

schoolwork and cable-tv he was nearly 6

in the evening when my mom's number lit

up on my phone display I expected a

cheerful tale of Matt's athletic

victories with the horse barely

recognizable voice that answered only

managed to stammer out my name before

breaking into sobs

dred seeped into my body and stole my

breath as I waited helplessly for my

mother to recover something cool and wet

touched the back of my hand when my

fingers dug into the arm of the couch I

glanced over to see a small perfectly

round circle of scarlet gleaming against

my skin my mom haltingly continued a

story interrupted by choking gasps they

were at the hospital during Matt's final

lap of the competition

he suffered a seizure in the pool her

voice sounded very small and far away my

fingers twitched as another red dot

joined the first Matt's lungs looked

clear but he still struggled to breathe

the doctors didn't know why but they

were running tests

steady drops now splashed over my hand I

mumbled words until my mother promised

to call me if there was any change of

hung-up unwilling to look at the oily

stain creeping over the ceiling I

normally ascended the stairs to my room

cold muddy liquid soaked into my socks

as I crossed the threshold gripping the

doorframe tightly to keep from slipping

paint smeared across the carpet in wide

bloody lines it thickened near the desk

where a slow cascade of viscous red

dribbled out between broken metal

latches my feet padded over the carpet

squelching wetly into the pool beneath

the desk the suitcase lay bare the book

side so neatly stacked over it now

sprawled on the floor in masses of

stained paper the lid lifted eagerly

under my fingers

two huge empty eyes blazed from the

painting with hellish intensity a gaping

mouth opened beneath them

so wide it seemed to stretch further

than the canvas itself engulfing the

entire lower half in screaming white

glistening ropey red calls ran over the

edge of the case pits of dried paint

clung to them like clammy flecks of skin

my eyes followed the oozing river back

to my clumsy footprints and beyond

running in crimson waves over my

bookshelf to a thin pool of the top a

collection of framed pictures sat there

bottom edges slick one photo stood out

the lower inch bathed in paint it showed

a smiling boy standing by the shoreline

clad in swim trunks and a cheerfully

patterned towel the Sun shone unhindered

on the lake behind him but the water

lapped crimson at my brother's feet

the thought melted through some of my

shock and I stumbled over to the

bookshelf paint drenched my sleeve as i

wiped frantically at the photo but the

red ties Rose still higher I hugged the

frame uselessly to my chest as despair

filled me I had killed my brother

and Sara warned me not to let it out and

now it had Matt distantly I wondered if

it had claimed her siblings - before she

trapped it what did she expect from me

painting over the scene didn't work I'd

need a clean canvas anything was worth a

try at this point I dug out a pad of

thick art paper from my bookshelf and

laid it on a clear part of the desk

feverishly I tried to recreate my aunt's

prison cell in hope for cobalt blue as

the bloody tide of my brothers photo

marked the minutes with aching slowness

the original image took shape rough and

simple I managed to finish it just as

Matt's

smile drowned in scarlet I spread my

crude copy over the painting and a

ripple ran out from one corner where it

touched the paper smooth flat against

the canvas and the pigment bled read the

scene blurred with an odd sense of depth

that set my teeth on edge liquid poured

through the barred door of the top in

jerky stop-motion animation I looked

back and forth between canvas and framed

photo but no figure appeared in the cell

crimson flowed over my brother's nose in

desperation I scraped the picture as

hard as I could with the remaining

turpentine ignoring the burn against my

skin a thin strip of glass wiped clean

under my

yes I blinked for a moment and repeated

the gesture another ribbon came away

revealing Matt's face blessedly free of

malevolent red

I nearly sobbed in relief a glance the

painting showed a familiar figure

crouched in the cell rage plane on its

upturned face I finally managed to clean

the last bit of paint from the frame

when my parents called my brother had

stabilized but they would stay for a few

days for observation I reassured them

I'd be fine on my own

I had work to do anyway the figure broke

through my obstacles quicker than

Sarah's but I owned a lot of art paper

and started another scene taking more

time with this one setting my alarm to

go off once an hour

I painted through the evening and most

of the following day by the time my

family returned I'd managed to clean up

the house when I quietly told my dad I

switched my major to art he only winced

once and nodded

this episode is distributed by rusty

quill and licensed under a creative

commons

attribution-noncommercial-sharealike 4.0

international license it was written by

Melissa Mason and directed by Alexander

Jane Newell for more information visit

rusty Qualcomm twitter's at the rusty

quill visit us on Facebook or email us

at male actor Rustique world.com thanks

for listening

[Music]
