The Artist's Secret Part 4

"The line between fiction and reality is thin." Michelle Liew

In the first three parts of this Microfiction series, we met Clara, a freelance sketch artist with a tender mind - and a penchant for sleepwalking. As she does, she discovers something that Mr. Bellamy, her neighbour, wants to keep close to his heart.

Too close.

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The smell of varnish and sawdust in the garage overwhelmed Clara. Dim light gave a mannequin in the corner the attention it seemed to ask for. Clara’s breath caught in her throat as Mr. Bellamy gestured towards it.

“There,” His raspy voice oozed with contentment. “Your nocturnal pursuit - and my masterpiece.”

Her stomach turned. The mannequin was an uncanny replica of her, even capturing the faint scar on her wrist, its joints lined with sawdust and varnish. Its blank, unseeing eyes judged her with almost eerie contempt.

“What’s this?” Her voice was a fragile whisper, barely audible over the constant pounding in her ears.

“Meet my muse.” His voice was triumphant, mocking. “You’ve been sleepwalking in my humble abode, Clara. And this footage proves it.” His hand gripped a thumb drive tightly, and his tone sharpened a few menacing notches. “You nearly destroyed it all. Her. My work. My LIFE. Do you understand the damage you’ve caused?”

Clara shook her head vigorously, unwanted memories returning in disjointed fragments. Mud on her socks and shoes, a chainsaw slicing through and splintering a dense object, humming in an ominous drone. She rubbed her temples. Bellamy’s words rang in her ears, merging with the buzzing in her head. Was she stealing from him, or was it the other way around?

Her fingers shook at the second thought.

“Oh, you certainly did,” he snapped, his lips curled. “Young lady, ever since you moved here, you’ve taken my space. My art. “ His mocking tone turned dark. “This…” he pointed to the mannequin “ is your chaos.” He paused, eyeing her with a look that sent chills creeping all over her body. “You don’t know what you’re capable of. “

Her weak legs almost gave way under her as the room spun. Sleepwalking. She saw the scratches on her hands, and the dirt under her nails- was she responsible for this?

He had to be lying. But the dirt, the chainsaw, the scratches…and the mannequin. THE FOOTAGE.

Nothing made sense.

“Perhaps you’re not really in control.” Mr. Bellamy continued, a sneer curling his lips. “An artist’s mind often teeters on the edge of chaos. You may have fallen over.”

Clara’s pulse roared, deafening in her ears. She ran like a cornered deer out of the garage.“You’ve just crossed into my world. You’re not the artist - I am. Yours are mere dreams, Clara. Mine are genius.”

She ran down the street, her feet as unsteady as her mind. But exhaustion overtook her, and her uneven breaths slowed to steadier gasps. The boundary between her fragile mind and his lies slowly dissolved. She had to stop him- and silence his suffocating laughter.

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Please find : Part 1

Part 2

Part 3