It was a sunny afternoon. David gazed upon the painting of a ballet dancer hanging in the newfound gallery. He couldn’t believe how eerily realistic it was compared to any other piece so far, but the beautiful life-like figure filled him with unease. It was her eyes, they seemed as if they belonged to a prisoner, to someone who was forced to be a model against their will. They were filled with sorrow and longing to be let out of the confines of the canvas.

The painting was said to have been produced by an insane artist, and whoever looked at his work long enough would begin to lose their mind as well. David didn’t care for such superstitions. He could barely take his eyes off that woman and her elegant purple dress, every bit painstakingly drawn to the smallest detail.

Not a week later, he wished he had heeded people’s warnings. The visions began as a faint silhouette in his periphery every time he glanced at a mirror. He thought his younger brother was messing with him at first, though he could have sworn the silhouette was of a woman.

Days passed, and he couldn’t get the strange apparitions out of his head. Had the painting really turned him mad? He remembered the girl from that painting, but she bore no resemblance to the ghostly figure plaguing him.

One morning, he decided to go fishing, thinking that perhaps some time spent around nature would put his mind at ease. He sat there waiting, with a rod resting in his hand, eyes staring at the peaceful water. Time passed slowly. As the hours went by, his eyelids grew heavy. Soon, he was on the brink of descending into the dream world, but something instantly drew his attention to the pound. It suddenly became murky, appearing almost black with a slight hint of red dancing on the ripples that formed around the hook.

The man rose from his seat, walking slowly and cautiously toward the pond, carrying a knife. He peeked at the rippling, dark water, but instead of his reflection, he saw a red woman. She was beckoning him, whispering to him to come closer. Unwillingly, he obliged, drawn by her strange allure.

Then, just when his fingers touched the surface, he had suddenly broken out of his trance, face ridden with horror. Grasping at his arm like a drowning person to a rope was a blood-red hand, pulling him vigorously deeper into the waters. He gasped. He cried out, but unfortunately, no one was nearby to hear him. What was this demonic force, he thought, mind plugging into panic. Tears streamed down his face as he tried desperately to stab at the thing. The creature didn’t waver. It was as if it was used to the pain.

There is no other way out. He used the knife to cut at his arm, screaming his lungs out as he did the unthinkable. It was a long, agonizing battle. Seeing his bones beneath his bloodied flesh made his stomach turn. His legs grew weak, but he didn’t stop. Be couldn’t stop, for if he did, he knew that would be the end of him.

Now that moment rested in his head like a bitter memory. His missing arm stood as a reminder of the day he almost lost his life, or worse, was pulled to the depths of hell itself. No one believed him when he retold his story, but he knew the truth, and he knew he wasn’t the first one who fell victim to that wicked being.