Dark Waters

• Crystal Gan, Grade 12, Thomas Carr College
• Short Story
• 2017

Excellence Award in the 'Spread The Word 2017' competition

Under the vast white surface of the ceiling, captures of seas, forests and abstracts full of undecipherable strokes of colours hung on the equally white walls of the art gallery. The whiteness of the room felt like I was floating on air, outcast away from the rest of the busy life in the city. Scenes of beautiful nature captures full of brilliant colour burst right in front of my eyes. However, despite their beauty I couldn’t find myself sparing a single glance in their direction. I was utterly intrigued by the painting in front of me that was the total opposite to the others.
It was set in the depths of the ocean, the dark blue of the water looking more like a black colour. I could hear the dark waves clashing against the cliff face with a loud strike, and the surface of the dark waters like snakes slithering against each other in one big pile. There was no signature and no placard to tell of who made it, but what took my interest was the figure in the middle of the painting. It was a girl with long black hair like a mop a top of her head, the strands as if covered in slime and then neglected for several years. She looked like she was wearing a school uniform, and when I looked closer it was the exact same uniform as mine. It was tattered and in rags and the white of her skin mirroring that of Snow White’s against the dark of the background.
“Who made this? There’s no artist written.” I wondered out loud. Not that anyone could hear me because I was literally the only one there.
I edged closer to the painting and I swear that I could hear the whisperings of a girl in my ear. I stared into the girl’s glaring eyes and a shiver involuntarily went down my spine. The whisperings got louder, adrenaline rushed through my veins and my heart was in my throat. I was scared, but I couldn’t seem to back away as the girl’s eyes seemed to turn a bright red.
As the whisperings got louder I could faintly decipher the words of: “Come to me… Come to me…” beckoning me closer into a trance until my face was inches away from the painting. Suddenly a teasing voice pulled me back into reality.
“Gotcha.”
A white hand shot out of the painting dripping wet with water with a loud rip even though the canvas didn’t have a single scratch, and grabbed my neck in a strong grip. I gasped and my heart pounded in my chest as I stared into her gleaming red eyes. With one swift movement, I was pulled into the depths of the dark waters of the painting.