River Eyes

Something is off out there.

There is far more to the land, waters, and living creatures we cohabitate this Earth with. Rather, it is the unknown that owns us, looming so close to our collective consciousness that we tend to shrug it off as an uneasy, passing feeling.

Two rules you should remember; your gut instinct should be trusted, and understand that your consciousness is far more powerful than you realize. I learned these rules the hard way.

Let me take you to the Taunton River within the Massachusetts Bridgewater Triangle. This is where my step-father’s camp has been passed down for generations. It has been nothing more than a small three room cabin on the bank of the water. If you’re unfamiliar with The Triangle, you may get a better understanding of it once I’ve told my story or if you listen to others’. Most people cannot seem to let go of The Triangle once they depart- it will remain in your psyche long afterward.

About five years ago I decided to take my first visit, after inheriting the cabin when my step-father passed away. Most of his assets were split between my mother and I, and I was happy to accept it after my mother refused to take ownership over the property. I didn’t know much about his background, but I knew the cabin had been in his family for three generations, with some repair work in-between the years. It’s a quiet spot with no neighbors that can be seen, a small porch, and an indoor fireplace. I needed some alone time to work on my artwork in peace, and painting alone in the woods certainly beat painting in my cramped Boston ground level studio in a building with twenty five other artists. After arriving in the early afternoon, I began unloading my art supplies, a few containers of food to tide me over, and a cheap bottle of wine. I set-up my easel and began to paint. My signature pieces are surreal intuitive paintings of a multitude of scenes and settings. In each piece I will work in many ambiguous faces peeking through places you may not pick up on at all, but your subconscious might. These paintings are wildly popular among famous rock singers, and surprisingly even a few politicians. The unexpected boom in business keeps me plenty busy, and I enjoy it. I’m not sure of the reason I was inspired to paint these. It was a normal day that the idea came to me while I was beginning to paint something else. I have let my intuition guide me ever since. I haven’t deeply questioned this, but it has tickled the back of my mind ever since.

I sat and painted on the porch and didn’t stop for several hours; only to grab water or wine, or to relieve myself. In this particular painting, I decided to use my current landscape as my main subject matter; the river. The Taunton River is full of life, supporting well over a hundred different species of animals- it felt fitting to paint on canvas with rich colors and expressive strokes. The water lapped quietly in the autumn sun, reflecting diamond-like sparkles off their tiny crests making the river look like the night sky. I paint the water, and begin to add my faces throughout the laps of water in my still scene. I do this with a purpose, something unknown guiding me the entire time I paint. The water on my canvas begins to look more like a night sky than a sunny river in the day-time.

While immersed in painting, I realized the sun had begun to set; I must have been painting at least six or seven hours. Standing up, all the blood rushed from my head and I felt dizzy. Maybe it was just paint fumes? Lack of food and an excess of alcohol? Either way, I needed to stabilize myself before I could head inside to eat. While I slowly recalibrated myself, I was compelled to look back out to the river. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but I began to feel a deep uneasiness. I stood in a trance-like state for several minutes, gazing out on the slow moving water which began to have a hallucinogenic effect on my vision. My body was tired yet my mind was sternly telling me to back away and go back into the cabin, but I was so glued to the spot I couldn’t move. The sun began to dip lower into the horizon, the sky streaking with deep oranges and pinks; the moon was visible in the sky. Where I stood felt like I was holding onto one world with just the bottoms of my feet, and being simultaneously pulled into another. After what seemed like hours, I was now interested in walking towards the water. For some reason, it was calling me to relieve my senses and splash some of the water on my face. I knelt down and unhurriedly stuck my hands in the now-black water. I noticed the little water crests were still lapping their shiny diamonds into its own night sky. With no thought, my hands dipped into the river and pooled water into my hand. I held the cold water below my face and prepared to splash myself, before I looked down and had a wave of terror run through me.

One of my painting faces was looking up at me from the river. One of my creations, staring at me with a blank but ominous looking stare from inches below the surface.

My body snapped out of the trance and fell backward, the river water from my palms splashing all over me. When I stood up to retreat from my spot, I fell- no, I was pushed. Hard. An unseen force propelled me fully into the black night river. Where I was pushed in was maybe four to five feet deep, so I wrung my body to face the surface and ready myself to ascend by planting my feet on the river bed. I opened my eyes to look up and I could see.. myself? The sunset was giving off very little light now, but I was so certain I was looking up at myself. The “me” standing on the river bank was staring off beyond me toward the middle of the river, just as I was moments ago. I was frozen under the river, I couldn’t move; suspended in another trance looking up at myself. I watched in horror as I watched the “me” on dryland slowly look away from the middle of the river and meet my own gaze. The “me” above the river surface became more of an “it” as I realized I was looking at a human with black eyes and a darkened, smirking expression. Like a train that ran off the track, the need to breathe suddenly pummeled me. My lungs began to ache and burn for air, I fought to pull myself upward but I was stuck in the same position under the surface. I tried to thrash my way out, but was only staying in one place as if buoyancy didn’t exist. My lungs felt as though they were going to implode, at the same time I felt something grip my ankle and tug. With air beginning to escape my body, I thrashed harder and tried to push back on this entity to propel myself toward the surface. My foot hit something beyond where my ankle was being grabbed, and I pushed off as hard as I could. As soon as my right hand broke the surface, my ankle was released and my twin disappeared into thin air.

Wasting no time, I sprinted from the water and threw myself onto the ground about ten yards from the river. While lying prone on the leaf covered ground, I craned my neck to look back at the river and saw nothing but calm water. The moon overhead reflected in the water, giving the illusion that the evening sky was duplicated; another world living in the reflection on the water. Without much more regard for nature’s beauty, I gasped for more air as I heaved up water onto the ground. After crawling to the porch, I got on my knees and looked back at the water for safe measure; still nothing out of the ordinary. It was with a shuddering realization that my painting from before this incident was still propped up on the easel. With the inability to look at my work that had just come alive in front of me, I moved past it into the cabin to grab my car keys and essentials. I needed to leave this place.

I barely grabbed my things, whatever I could visibly see that I needed to travel within a few seconds. Stumbling, I turned to the front door and made my way out, and made myself pause to look at my painting. What was once a river disguising itself as the night sky, was now a concoction of smears of black and red paints that looked like mud; as if to cover up all the faces I had painted within the canvas. Stunned, I couldn’t bear to bring it with me and backed away to my pickup truck. Parked about thirty yards away, I got in and looked up at the cabin- I could see a figure in the darkness heaving and crawling towards the cabin. It was with a sinking realization I knew that I was looking back at myself again. Punching the ignition, my lights automatically came on and shined on my twin self; her black eyes looked back up at me in the same dark manner as on the river bank. She was prone on the ground as I had been, smirking before beginning to crawl my way. Without stalling or allowing myself to be entranced by my own stare, I threw the truck into high gear and accelerated in a tight U-turn.

To get to and from my cabin from the main highway, there was a particularly long driveway to get to our site. It was a little over a mile long, branching out into two other camp driveways; presumably neighboring sites that could not be seen. My body was hazy from the lack of food and drinking a few glasses of wine, but pumping with adrenaline from the inexplicable moments I had experienced. In the dark woods, my headlights still seemed too dim so I threw on my high beams which hit multiple dark figures darting across the path. Braking from my 40 or 50 mph drive, I screamed in terror although I could see nothing approaching me. My nervous system could take no more, and I wanted to be out of these woods and away from the river as fast as possible. I didn’t dare wait to find out what I just saw, so I slammed on the gas. Looking briefly to my right passenger side window before I drove off quickly, I could see a fire through the trees; maybe fifty yards away. A small fire, with multiple dark figures standing in a circle. In that split second, I could see them all simultaneously turn their bodies towards me even though it was dark and I could not make out any discernible features. My mind was automatically drawn to looking at the fire as it was down by the river, but I jerked myself back to my current reality and sped away. With the gas pedal to the floor, I didn’t stop until I was out onto the main highway. I drove back to Boston in the dark, with hundreds of other vehicles making their own journeys around the state; I experienced nothing of the like that night.

I thought over and over; what have I created? Or what force made me create what I create? I was shaking the entire time I drove. Had it led me to the river on purpose?

I couldn’t return to get the rest of my things; call it fear or avoidance or whatever you wish. The feeling of my mind being hypnotized and pulled from my control if only briefly, convinced me I did not need to return to the cabin. My partner and one of his friends were kind enough to go back later that week to get the rest of my things and the now spoiled food I left behind. They saw or experienced nothing like I had tried to describe. When my partner left the property, he tried both of the roads leading off of the driveway to the cabin to see if they could find anyone to ask about their experiences on the river. Both roads came to dead ends, even though the paths seemed to be worn with tire tracks.

Out of curiosity, I asked him if my painting was still outside on the porch on my easel and he looked at me puzzled. He had brought back my easel, but there was no painting propped on it. My stomach dropped, as he began to instead tell me about a painting he saw in the cabin; could that be it? The painting was somewhat similar to what I had painted that day; the river with its’ shining diamond-like gleaming across the dark surface. No smeared paint that looked like mud. I shuddered as he explained this painting was also hung up directly across the doorway on a wall above the fireplace.

The focus of the painting? A woman of my description staring out at her own face reflection in the water.

I no longer create my surrealist paintings with hidden faces. I had been offered thousands of dollars above my usual asking prices by multiple clients for new ones, but I politely declined them all with not much explanation. Now, I focus on painting in different styles; returning to surrealism doesn’t seem right yet. I truly miss my surrealist paintings. I thought about them frequently after I sold every remaining piece- except for one. I keep my Taunton River painting in my studio, after driving up one oddly sunny winter day to retrieve it; I never told my partner as it felt too intimate and secret to share with him. It now sits in my studio, hidden behind other canvases leaning against the wall.

I’ll check on the painting a few times a week. Most of the time, it stays in the state I brought it home in. Others, I can see ambiguous dark figures painted in different locations or see the muddy paint smeared and dried over the surface. My faces are still woven throughout the painting. Once in a while, I can see a figure looking through my hallway facing window in the corner of my eye. Am I frightened by all of this? A bit, but in the studio holding my Taunton River painting I still feel as if I am in a trance-like state, as I experienced several years ago; I can’t seem to fully break the spell.

The cabin sits empty. I don’t have the heart to rent or sell it until I better understand what happened out there. Yet, I have a strong instinct to hold on to the cabin and never let it go even though I have not returned since I retrieved my painting. I find myself contemplating what the happenings at the cabin really meant, and if I was meant to go further into the water.

What has compelled me to paint in the past and how my creations have materialized, I still cannot explain. The intuitive feeling I let guide me paint is not my own self but some outside influence conducting my thoughts and actions.

Maybe someday I’ll return to the cabin to find out what it is, like it wants.

Be careful what you let in.