Rourke joined Grant at the Ogden mansion an hour after the incident with Franklin. Grant’s Uncle Lain had called shortly after Rourke arrived, letting them all know that Franklin was alright though he seemed deeply traumatized and would likely need therapy in addition to treatment for his self inflicted injuries. Franklin refused to speak to anyone and behaved like what Lain could only describe as a frightened animal that didn’t know where he was.

Grant gathered his companions in the library that had been cleared by the household servants. The painting had been moved to the mansions basement for the time being.

“Don’t laugh,” said Grant to the others. “But I think the painting is...well, I’m trying to think of a better word than cursed.”

“It’s an evil painting,” said Sophia. “You said so yourself that every owner of the painting died under unusual circumstances.”

“But how come we aren’t affected?” said Estelle. “If the art had some kind of unnatural influence over the minds of people then why aren’t we going mad like Franklin? No offense by the way.”

“It could be that Franklin was already in a bad spot,” said Grant. “Whatever forces are at play here they took advantage of that. Franklin is an insecure guy, especially around girls. Remember that painting already, should I say, claimed him even before we brought it here. Proximity has little to do with it. I’m sure we are resistant to its effects because we have already observed what it had done to Franklin.”

“It is possible that the painting singled him out too,” said Rourke.

They all fell silent. A shiver went down Grant’s back as the image of Franklin’s naked body, contorting on the very floor which they stood on flashed through his mind. If Roruke was right then the dark powers of the painting had dug its thorns deep into the psyche of his cousin.

“We should do some research before we go burning anything,” said Grant, glancing at Sophia. “I don’t think I’m getting any more sleep tonight.”

“Seconded,” said Estelle. “I’m still skeptical when it comes to the supernatural nature of the artwork. We cannot rule out the possibility that Franklin simply snapped tonight. Perhaps he is in love or obsessed should I say with a certain idea of the painting which has taken root deep inside of him. It is all in his head.”

“Right,” said Grant. “But for now let’s see what we can find on the topic of uhhh black magic?”

As they dispersed, Grant set up in the kitchen where he felt the most comfortable. He had the servants find him books on witchcraft and its relationship with the world of art. On his laptop he scoured the internet, hoping to find anything that would help explain the disturbing scene he stumbled upon tonight. One article stated that if one suspected an object to be the product of powerful dark forces, producing a religious symbol such as a crucifix or star of David may sometimes get a reaction out of the object in question. Grant decided that this was the easiest and quickest experiment to conduct. Borrowing a crucifix necklace from one of the servants, a middle aged woman of the cathloic faith, and a bible from the library, Grant then made his way to the basement.

The basement was vast based on how Sophia described it. The Ogden’s almost never went down there except to store old furniture or belongings they couldn’t bear to throw out. Items that belonged to the previous owner were left behind down there as were many of collectible items that belonged to Uncle Lain’s late father and grandfather.

The stairs to the basement were located in the corner of a spare office room which Grant thought was a strange location to place them. As he carefully made his way down the steep stairs he noticed that the door up ahead had been left open.

“Must be one of the servants,” Grant thought. He decided to make his presence known to avoid startling anyone. “It’s Grant! I’m coming down the stairs!”

There was no answer so Grant proceeded down the stairs. The lights weren’t on in the basement and he didn’t see a light from a flashlight. Grant flicked the switch which he barely managed to make out on his right beside the door. Nothing happened.

“Great,” Grant muttered. He felt stupid for not bringing a flashlight to a subterranean space.

Grant took out his phone and turned on the flashlight app. The phone provided a surprising substantial amount of illumination. Grant held up the device and checked his surroundings. He expected boxes and piles of household junk covered with dusty tarp but the basement was actually rather empty. Some items in the far ends of the room were difficult to make out given their distance from Grant and how dark it was. About forty feet in front of Grant from the door was the painting leaning against the cracked concrete wall.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The woman in the painting seemed to be looking right at Grant and it was a look that shook every fiber of his being. It was a look of raw terror not for herself but for him. Grant was certain that this was not the same look from before. The painting had changed. But that was impossible. Grant held up the phone in his vice like grip and approached the Grace of the Fountain. He felt the same terror he saw in the woman’s face begin to seize him as he saw her expression grow more frantic. The image was moving. Slow movements but movements nonetheless. Her lips moved in slow motion as she was struggling to say something to him. Grant became aware of the fact that he was not alone in the room. He flicked his light to the right and saw that there was a body on the cold floor. Recognizable only by his uniform due to the state of his corpse, what was left of a servant, cut up into sloppy pieces, was spread out in a small area. Grant caught himself from growing faint.

“Oh shit,” Grant stammered, backing away. “Oh shit.”

A pale foot stepped out from the darkness and into the light from Grant’s phone. Grant flicked his phone up and found himself face to face with a naked woman slightly hunched over like an ape walking on its hind legs. She was thin but tall, her skin smooth but filthy. Her long black hair seemed to defy gravity, its ends floating in the air as if it was submerged in water. An seemingly impenetrable shadow hid her eyes and eyebrows. She held herself in her current position with such a stillness that Grant was almost convinced that he was looking at a statue. That is until she lunged out.

“Holy shit!” Grant yelped as he tumbled to the right, dodging the woman. Without looking back, Grant flew towards the stairs.

“Help!” he screamed as loud as he could manage. “Basement! Help!”

Grant made it to the kitchen and was met by three of the servants, Estelle, Sophia, and Rourke.

“What?!” said Estelle, looking at him with eyes wide. “What the hell happened?”

The servant lady who had lent Grant her crucifix screamed. Grant turned in time to see the woman from the basement charging down the hallway with furious speed.

The other two servants fled and Sophia joined in the screaming. Before Grant could reach the servant lady her throat was laid open in a single swipe by the woman.

“What in the fuck!” Estelle yelled.

Rourke picked up a chair and threw it at the pale woman who caught it and tossed it aside.

Grant dashed towards the kitchen knives and drew one out. He was startled to see that Rourke was struggling to hold back the pale woman’s arms. Despite her skinny frame she seemed remarkably strong.

“I’m going to get a gun!” Estelle cried.

The pale woman broke free from her struggle with Rouke and shoved him. Roruke went flying back and hit the wall behind him.

“Oh shit she's blocking the way to my room,” said Estelle.

“Come behind the kitchen counter!” Grant yelled, beckoning towards her.

Estelle did as suggested and grabbed a pot from the stove. The woman tried to move around the counter but Grant and Estelle circled in the opposite direction. Grant decided to see if the monster of a humanoid before them was intelligent enough to beat them in his game.

The power in the mansion suddenly went out and the pale woman looked up sharply before taking off back in the direction of the basement.

“What the hell was that?” said Estelle.

Before anyone could react, explosions went off all around them. Grant realized that he had been blinded by a flashbang grenade. Gas began to fill the room and he could barely make out the noise of heavy boots on hardwood drawing close. Estelle collapsed onto the kitchen floor, the pot going down with her with a clang.

“Estelle!” Grant choked out. He was passing out as well from the gas. Within three seconds he had joined her on the kitchen floor.

When Grant came to, he became aware of the fact that his hands were tied behind his back and he was in a cramped space piled alongside several others. He was in the back of a moving vehicle. As he blinked and struggled to get a clear picture of his surroundings he noticed that men in black tactical gear. Gas masks covered their faces.

“Hey one of them is coming to,” said one of the men.

“Don’t worry about him,” said another. “Ride is almost over anyways.”

“Who are you?” Grant demanded, trying to rise. He realized his feet were bound too.

“Shut the fuck up,” said the first man. “Ah shit it looks like he roused the girl.”

Sure enough the person laying beside Grant on the floor of the armored vehicle groaned loudly and opened her eyes. It was Sophia.

“Look if you want the painting…” Grant began.

“I said shut the fuck up,” the man snarled.

“Grant?” said Sophia, turning her body to face him. “Wha---who are these people? Why are we tied?”

“Stay calm ok?” said Grant. “Everything is going to be fine. Probably just the other group that was after the painting. The ones that hired Brock Sanderson. We’ll hand them the painting and all go home free as if it never happened.”

“This is all my fault,” Sophia began to sob.

“Don’t you say that,” said Grant. “I got us into this mess and I’m going to get us out of it. You gotta stay strong for me though. I can’t do this alone. This is a bad spot we are in.”

The armored van stopped.

“Put the hoods over their faces,” said a gruff voice. “Carry them out.”

Grant made no attempt to struggle as a cloth hood went over his head. They hadn’t been executed on the spot which meant that those that had them abducted still had some use for them. Grant put his hope on the idea that he might have a bargaining chip. As he was dragged out of the van and carried on the back of one of his captors, he silently prayed that the same people hadn’t got to Franklin.