Profane Tales Comics: "Rainbows"

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First in the new series of shorts. Expect more of Gelding the Unicorn, Tamryn the Siren and company soon! And Happy Holidays!

DEAREST ARTISTS: Breaking the Ice- a short story [part 2 of 2]

5- Claudia’s letter back

The little blue dot on Mona’s laptop blinked at her the moment she stumbled into her hotel room  She threw her keys and jacket off but left the light switch alone, preferring the partial dark. It could give her time to process all she had just seen. Or imagined. Blinding light would be too much.

But that blue blinking light beckoned her to the computer.

The surrealism of the night clung to her.

If she connected to the speedy, gritty, garish digital world then she would know for sure she was losing her mind. Finally. After all these years and all the absurdities she had encountered.

Yet skipping the opportunity to read a letter from Claudia was not in her favor. Nor did crashing into deep R.E.M. sleep seem like a particularly fine idea.

The lid of the laptop lifted to illuminate the room.

“YOU’VE GOT MAIL!”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Claudia had replied to her email about the painted pond and its mystique.

“Hello,” the email began. Mona  was hoping to find an objective opinion that would explain it away.

“What if locals paint the pond each year and the police figured that out by now and, what with the tragedy of those missing children, do not stand in the way of the town’s way of coping. Sure, the oil paint is bad for the water. But acrylic might not work so well because it dries fast and water color would be asinine on ice. In  fact, I don’t see how painting ice is a good idea at all. How much is it? It must be layers upon layers of the stuff!

What are you up to? Are you feeling less blue up there? I know it’s cold. I honestly don’t know how northerners can handle it. Have any hot chocolate with mushrooms. Make it really hot. So hot it burns your mouth. Maybe I shall have empathy burns with you.:3 “

She had no time to collect her thoughts. Mona typed a stream-of-conscious response then and there before the shock of the night could render her wordless.

“Claudia, something weird has happened. I don’t just mean unusual or bizarre. I mean weird like I haven’t seen in a long time. Not since you were out in the coma. But somehow that was explicable. You know what I mean? There was a reason to the rhyme. This, this is the kind of thing you read about or hear about on the talk shows where people report alien abductions. Which is going to leave me to ask you...am I crazy?”

She hammered out the event that had occurred a half hour ago at the pond. All that she could remember. In no particular order. By the time the event was typed and sent, her forehead nearly collided with the keyboard.

Deep, deep in sleep.

Dreaming about art.

About painting the pond while naked.

 Her hair being used as a brush.

There is a crowd and people are repeating some elusive ingredient to melting ice.

Salt. Salt poured on ice cubes. Sully had told her once that salt in a hollow wand waved over ice makes a street magician look like he’s melting it. But it’s a silly trick.

“You’ve got mail…” a child whispered.

Mona’s eyes fluttered open. Her laptop was still on and the screen dark. But the sound of her mail-service had alerted her. She touched the finger to the sensor and discovered another message from Claudia. She must be wide awake in Louisiana.

“Why didn’t you dance with him?” her message inquired. “Were you afraid or was it just because you didn’t know how to ice skate that well? Do you get a menacing air from him? Be careful but maybe Aubrey and Sully could help you figure this out. Don’t do anything that doesn’t feel safe but...I don’t know, Mona. That is weird. Why would he appear doing that on that particular pond.  (PS- I realize I sound like a loony, assuming he’s not an ordinary man. He probably is someone who lost a kid and ice-skates there to cope. Maybe?  Maybe call the police? Take a deep breath. Try to relax. And you asked if you’re crazy. Remember what my psych said? Crazy people don’t ask if they’re crazy.”

Claudia must not know how sane she sounded in Mona’s moment of puzzlement. Her next action was to instant message Aubrey on his much hated Skype. He was always complaining about uninstalling it and yet there he was whenever anyone needed to get in touch with him.

MonaPizza: Aubrey!

Aub: Oh dear. Who died?

MonaPizza: That isn’t funny. Listen, I saw something weird at that pond. Weirder than the paint.

Aub: And what was that, my gourmet paranoid?

MonaPizza: I think it was a ghost. But I’m not sure.

There was a long pause in between his next message.

Aub: Listen. I’ve read that taking too much xanax can do things to someone’s mind.

MonaPizza: This isn’t a joke. I saw a man there. Figure skating.

Aub: My oh my.

MonaPizza: You think I’m high?

Aub: At least higher than me. Was he any good?

MonaPizza: He was amazing. Do you know if Sully is done with her concert?

Aub: Yes and probably fainted by now. Concerts like that drain a diva, you know?

MonaPizza: We have to tell her about this. She’ll give me the benefit of a doubt.

Aub: I wonder if those benefits include not laughing.

MonaPizza: Message her. She’ll want to get out of that hotel with the back-up dancers.  I’ll meet you both by the pond.

Aub: Why do I have to message her?

MonaPizza: Aubrey, you’re a writer! You came here for experience! To absorb the atmosphere! Get like a sponge and do it!

Aub: If you insist.

MonaPizza: See you both in a while.

Aub: Mona?

MonaPizza: Yes?

Aub: Bring pepper spray. .

That won a smile. Nice to remember that under the snark he did care about her.

6- a dance

Sully’s high timbre carried in the air. Snowflakes had begun to fall by the time Mona found her friends. The tall figure of Aubrey leaned against a tree and Sully seated nearby, playing in the snow. She was singing that creepy Alvin & the Chipmonks Christmas song.

Mona bit her lip as she appeared before them. “You two are great friends.”

“Yes, well, humoring friends’ paranoid delusions comes with the package. That it does have its limits.” Aubrey stretched while Sully scrambled to her feet.

“So what’s all this fuss?” she asked. “I should be resting it.”

 “Come on,” Mona took Sully’s hand and led them to the pond.

The moonlight was still spilling across the ice’s surface, casting the painted mural of the swans and geese in an ethereal wash. “...there’s more. Someone painted more while I was gone.”

Her friends were silent. There was no arguing that. The mural had grown since last they saw it.

“I’m stumped…” Sully squeaked.

“Are those…” Mona turned her scrutiny to Sully “--skates? Did you bring rollerblades?”

“Sure. Why not? Maybe I can one-up him.”

“The circus is always in town around you people…” Aubrey held up a hand. “Wait a moment…”

He squinted and bared his teeth. That was a usual sign of heavy thinking. Mona traced his gaze.

The stranger had returned. It was evident that Sully and Aubrey could see him.

He glided forward, black silhouette shining in the moonlight. He flew through a few figures and landed before them, arm outstretched to them.

All Mona could do was take in breath after breath of winter air. Beside her Aubrey was reticent, almost respectful in his silence. But Sully was walking forward.

“Sully!” Mona made a grab for her but she had ducked. She tied her skates on without explanation or apology. Meanwhile, the man waited for her, arm outstretched with the patience of a trained dancer. Mona pursued her friend. When she reached the smaller woman she saw that Sully’s eyes seemed to look through her. She was utterly absorbed in the stranger.

Sully’s petite frame joined the man’s in the moonlight. She took his hand and he positioned them.

“Sully…” Mona blurted.

When the dance couple shifted even slightly, Mona went to lunge forward. Aubrey’s arm stopped her. “She’ll...she’ll be hurt…”

Why did her own voice sound so distant?

Sully and the masked man began their dance. They glided in Os and 8s. He spun her and she flipped, but always landed just in time to balance herself. Sully was like a feather, and then like a bird. He was support, holding her up, catching her before she fell, then he was the wind beneath her wings. He tossed her, caught her, spun her, threw her and balanced her.

Their dance swelled in danger and aggression.

Mona pulled free of Aubrey and ran for them. But her male friend stopped her again. “Let it go. Let them go.”

“They’ll drown if it cracks!”

Now Sully was being held high in the air, flapping her arms in grace. The shadow of a larger bird held the smaller one as it flapped its wings. Learning to fly.

At last the two dancers stopped, hand-in-hand. With a final bow. The masked stranger leaned in, whispered something in Sully’s ear. If only Mona could hear it from here. He spun around and skated in the direction of the darkest shadows that night. Right at Sully’s feet the ice began to crack. Steam was rising. The young dancer shook her head and the haze of the moment passed.

“OH SHIT!” she yelled. The beauty of the scene also shattered.  The pond was defrosting by the second. She bolted towards the shore with the ice cracking and gaping behind her.

This time Aubrey did not hold Mon back as she shot out and clasped Sully’s arms. She pulled the smaller woman onto the snowy shore.

The three friends gazed out at the rising steam from the melting pond.

The imprint of the painting floated atop the water. But now it was all too much. Mona took both friends’ hands and ran from the pond.

“Sully, what the hell got into you?”

“I don’t know, I lost control!”

When Mona looked back to the rising mist she thought she saw eyes in them. Several of them, several faces, but none of them frowning.

7- the memorial

“I’m not sure. Geese just don’t make for intriguing beasts,” Aubrey was arguing with Sully again.

The following day, with the sun out and civilian volunteers at the pond, Mona could hardly recognize the setting. The pond was icy but not frozen over. The oil paint was being worked out by the volunteers. Mona leaned against a tree as she watched.

“The shark in Jaws wasn’t a great white. They changed it to one for the movie. You could do that with the geese. Make them swans or something more poetic,” Sully carried on\. She seemed untouched by the events of last night. Aside from excessive yawning and dark circles under her eyes, she was her usual post-concert self.

“I wonder where he went…” Mona thought aloud.

“Wherever phantoms go when their haunting ends,” Aubrey suggested.

“What about a non-supernatural explanation?” she asked.

“He got over his little brother’s disappearance, is cured of his psychosis and will live a fruitful and healthy life,” Aubrey droned.

“What does it matter?” was Sully’s characteristic response.

Mona had written her own theories to Claudia earlier that day.

“In that moment, watching Sully skate on thin ice with a masked stranger, I wasn’t only me anymore. I was their parents. Their guardians. My heart was torn between my body and the body of my loved one. Even Aubrey played a part. He held me back. I ached so much during that dance. I watched a child leave my protection, spread her wings and attempt to fly. That is a horror I’ve never encountered before. I am not a parent. I was in that moment. I know it makes no sense. But as Sully would say “God is Absurdity.” When I let them finish the dance, steam began to form and the pond broke open.”

“Hey, Sully…” Mona asked.

“Hm?” She looked at her. “I won’t ask any more questions about it until you're ready. But one more for now.”

“Sure, shoot.” She swept her short hair behind her ear.

“What did he whisper to you?”

Sully’s green eyes focused elsewhere. “I’ll tell you soon. Not now.”

Mona nodded. She had not expected a straight answer. This was all too surreal to sort right away. She wandered over to the goose memorial. The mother goose with her head turned upward as she called for her goslings. But what was this? Another goose head was sticking out from the snow. Mona dusted the snow off with a gentle hand.

They were all there. Six little geese. Her goslings were there, buried out of sight.

___

I hope you enjoyed the ending of this short story. Next up, a web comic for you! Check back Wednesday!

As always, feedback is welcomed!

DEAREST ARTISTS- Breaking the Ice: a short story [Part 1 of 2]

Breaking the Ice: a Dearest Artists story

1-a northern town

 “I heard there’s the phantom of a goose in this town…” Sully offered.

“Ghost goose?” Auberon cut in.

Their voices pulled Mona from her thoughts. She had been enjoying the unique feel of a train carrying her from Louisiana to the northern states. It was her first train ride and she found it delightful compared to flying

“What? Ghost geese?” she asked, looking to Sully and then Aubrey.

Sully had her hands in cute black mittens, one of those child-like winter caps pulled down to her eyebrows. Aubrey was reclining, serpentine as ever but with a blond brow cocked at Sully in amusement.  

“Yeah. Isn’t that the most adorable ghost story ever?” Sully prattled on. “I’d make it a ghost mask.”

“Yeah...geese. Cute,” Mona lied.

She had never overcome the childhood trauma of being chased by an angry goose mother. She stumbled upon a nest by mistake one day and found herself face-to-face with the most hideous animal she had ever seen. The damn thing had teeth on its beak and tongue.

“Geese are ornery. I never found them cuddly,” Aubrey gave word to Mona’s sentiments.

“Not that you believe in any of that crap.” Sully blew her nose.

“I believe in geese, that’s for sure.” But that was all Mona would offer right now. She wished she had brought Claudia along with them. She would have balanced out these two absurdists and Mona would not feel like the only skeptic.

“Somehow I am already regretting putting my faith in this town for ‘atmosphere,’” Aubrey moaned. He rolled his eyes and cracked his knuckles. “I was better off in New Orleans.”

“I’m promising you guys,” Sully told them “this town is creepy! You just have to know where to look.”

Mona’s silence set heavy before the musician and the novelist. She was a chef and a writer of non-fiction. Perhaps a character Sully would play on stage or one Aubrey would set in his novels. But not the grand creator artist. Not the god of any creative pantheon. Just Mona. Just a chef-writer. She came along because she needed to escape all the phone calls. Procrastinating stress. Which only caused more stress.

Sully itched her nose and twirled a strand of ginger-brown hair. She popped her gum. “Mmmmona?”

“Hm? Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“...I’m okay. Thinking about haunted places. And what the point is.”

“What do you mean, what’s the point? It’s pointless. That’s the point.”

When the train stopped, Mona felt her stomach jumped ahead, almost upwards the way it would in an elevator. “Shhh--” she kept herself from cursing by clutching onto the little woman beside her.

Sully’s screech might have been higher than the train whistle. “ARM!”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just warn me if you’re going to claw me to death.”

“Now that’s the stuff of stories, ladies,” Aubrey quipped. “A fight to the death.”

“I forfeit already,” Mona moaned.

She felt her friends exchange glances but made no attempt to assure them she was alright. She kept certain truths quiet.

2- painted pond

Dear Claudia,

I had to write you as soon as possible.

Because this is your territory. The thing I’m about to tell you, that is. Not the snow and frigid air. I’ve a feeling you wouldn’t quite like that.

But Sully, Aubrey and I arrived to something bizarre.

I can get that feeling when I’m here. It’s sort of the way you describe it to me when you’re in a place with “preternatural footprints.” I remember you saying that you feel like you’re on a higher or lower level than what you are actually looking at. That is the sensation. But it could be from the train ride. Is there a word for it? The way there is for “jet lag” or “sea sick?” “Train trippy?”

Anyways, Sully won’t stop going on about a goose ghost or Phantom of the Quackings. You know how she is. She gets these ideas in her head… And Aubrey’s making fun of how fascinated she is in it.

Her lady band should arrive tomorrow and they’ll begin rehearsal. I don’t know where she gets the energy to tour constantly. Once she’s off performing I know that Aubrey will be mostly quiet towards me. That’s what’s fun about introvert friends. They aren’t noisy.  So I’ll have the solitude to “be at peace with myself” as my therapist prescribed. “Get away from all those tasks,” he told me.

I still wish you could have come with us.

Now for the interesting part.

Sully was still rambling about the phantom goose at a 24-Hour Breakfast café. I kept her volume down by shushing her every few minutes. The same with her swearing. Her winter cap made her look like a anime character. I guess because it covered her eyebrows and her big green eyes were shining. I had a napkin pressed to my nose because the inside of the restaurant was so warm compared to the cold outside, I bled. My nose, that is. That always happens.

“So, you’re saying there was a mad scientist-type in the city who did cruel experiments on the geese? And now the vengeful spirit of a goose is after children?” Aubrey summarized her rambling.

“Well, probably not. But that’s how the legend started. There’s a book in there somewhere.”

“Right alongside Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, if that is what you like to write.”

I guess I was still looking morose. Because this time Aubrey touched my shoulder. (It must be worse than I realized.)

“I’m fine, guys. Just thinking.”

“I have an idea…” Sully interjected the silence again. I think she’s allergic to silence. “Let’s go see the haunted pond.”

Aubrey’s eyes set on her with an expression of “can you not right now?” but Sully continued. “I think it’ll take our minds off of...you know, New Orleans.”

“Hm. Let’s. Let’s see this horrific memorial of goosely horror,” Aubrey perked up. I think he did so for me. Sometimes I think he loves you so much it spreads to me only because I’m your best friend. I haven’t decided yet.

So we paid with a big tip and followed Sully’s rush through the snow.

Where does she get her energy, Claudia? This is not a joke. I am actually concerned at this point. An adult with the energy of an 11-year-old frightens me.

Aubrey and I had to keep up, and we are both in fairly good shape. Sully is simply a force of nature.

Before I saw the pond, I could…”smell” it.

“Do you smell that?” Aubrey asked, confirming the odd scent I had picked up.

“It smells like…”

Sully was standing before the pond, her snow boots sinking and her head cocked. She held still and that worried me. Aubrey and I arrived to stand by her, one on either side.

The pond stretched out in my view. I forget that there is clear, aqua-blue water in the world. We have been in New Orleans for too long. Our water at home is the color of pollution. But this water was blue and full of half-frozen life.

What was odder to the eye, however, was the painted mural that colored the ice.

“the hell…?” I heard Sully mumble.

Aubrey was the first to say anything of relevance “It’s good...whatever it is…”

He was right. Someone had “painted” the ice. That smell was the copious amount of oil paint used to smear the surface of the frozen pond. How? I do not know. Who had that much paint at hand? How would they go about painting frozen water that was due to melt at any moment? Why would they?

I took a picture almost immediately. I am sending a few of them to you through email. I hope you’re online because I need your wisdom now. Something feels…”off” here.

The image is that of a goose spreading its wings. Yet it is only the outline of a goose with its white feathers and orange beak. Its surroundings are blank.

“I wonder if this is the tourist attraction…” Sully spoke, voice distant.

Because I had said nothing, I suppose they turned to look at me. I forget that I am usually vivacious and funny. You forget things about yourself until they are locked inside of you.

“What? I don’t like geese…” I told them. “But it’s good. It smells bad, though…”

So I haven’t been able to sleep. I keep looking out the hotel window in the direction of the pond. It isn’t anywhere in eyesight. But I am waiting to see something. Anything…

Write back. I want to hear your thoughts on this.

Love,

Mona

3- missing children

She decided to find a solitary activity . While Sully was in rehearsal for her concert, singing and dancing herself into a sweat and as Aubrey was deep in research for his next book, Mona needed to wander.

So what would a chef/writer with depression do to take her mind off of it?

Maybe walk around the northern town and enjoy the wholesome scenes. Carolers holding hands while they crossed the streets. One line of little girls all held hands. They danced across the street, their giggles joining the bells. As a traffic light turned green, Mona waited to cross. The man in the car met her eyes. He nodded and signaled for her to cross.

She smiled, crinkled her nose and waved. While she crossed she remembered for the first time in a day or so that it was the holidays.

The holidays in a northern town. This was a novelty for her.

She remembered small family dinners. But no fire places and none of the huge celebrations she was catching sight of here and there as she walked.

There was less of a looming threat of being mugged here. That might all be a trick of the mind, she realized. This city was just as likely to assault her as New Orleans. Statistics were just numbers.

No,  now she was thinking nonsense.

When her boots crunched to a stop and her head rose to read the public library sign, she managed a tiny smile.

Inside she covered her nose while she adjusted to the warmth. The librarian was a man with poofy hair and tiny glasses.

“Hi…” she gathered her usual vibrancy. “Do you guys have old newspaper archives?” she asked.

“We do. But a gentleman is using them right now.”

Her brow furrowed. “The local papers?”

The man nodded. “Oh, wow. What a coincidence. I was wondering if I could see--” she trailed off when she saw Aubrey in the distance. He was seated at one of the largest tables with laminated newspaper pages before him. She shook her head and could not repress a smile.

“I know him…” she told the librarian and laughed.

When she took a seat beside Aubrey, his eyes were so absorbed in their reading he did not seem to notice her. Those eyes were blue today, either because he chose the blue contacts or because they changed. She never inquired. She knew they were naturally two different colors and he covered that by using contacts.

She cleared her throat.

He peered up at her and blinked a few time. She thought she could see the studious haze in his eyes fade.

“Mona? I have a stalker now?”

“The best stalker you’ll ever have. I’ll buy you socks.”

“I always appreciate socks. Would you like to be president of the fan club?”

“You bet.”

When they finished laughing, Mona ran a hand over the protected newspaper. “You had the same idea as me.”

“Yes, seeing as we’re inept at talking to actual townspeople. We turn to the written word.”

“What did you find?”

“Apparently the pond is painted every year and the police are looking for who does it because, well, oil paints aren’t exactly good for the environment. There are worse things you could smear on a pond but…”

“So you still think the town is boring?”

“I never said I thought it was,” Aubrey corrected. “I said geese are not frightening.”

“You should have been me at six years old. You know they have teeth on their tongues?”

“Ugly is not the same as frightening..”

She rolled her eyes and picked up a page. “How are you going through all of this manually? No electronic sourcing?”

“Oh I did. These are the issues with my key words. I’m more interested in the memorial by the pond.”

“There was a memorial? I didn’t see one.”

“It was easy to miss. A goose statue with some names written under it. Children’s names.”

He handed her a page. She did a quick skimming technique. When the words “children” and “missing” called to her she sat up pole-straight.

“This is depressing…”  Several children had gone missing fifteen Christmases ago. In their memory the goose memorial was built..

“Why a goose? That seems so...unfitting.”

“It is a mother goose,” Aubrey reasoned “Forever calling for her goslings.”

“Well…” Mona batted her eyes, trying to play off how melodramatic she found the idea. “That’s about as sweet as the hurricane ‘fountain’ memorial.”

“Memorials can cause pain, Mona. That’s catharsis.”

“Yeah, but how much pain, Auberon? Whenever parents see it they’re going to cry.”

“Is that such a bad thing. Perhaps they need to cry.”

She gulped and held in the rest of her thoughts. “They need to catch the sicko who keeps painting the pond. There’s really no need to make the fish sick with him.”

Aubrey’s arched brow dropped and he returned to his reading. It seemed she had stepped on his toes somehow. Best leave it alone now.

She stood and pushed her chair in. “I’ll never understand how this scary, sad depressing stuff makes you and Sully feel better.”

4- man at the pond

Not understanding something had never held Mona back from seeking answers. The unknown frightened her. What waited in the dark corners of her eyes caused her trembling. Sometimes the creak of a door while she was home alone could spook her.

But fear had never held her back the way it did most paranoids or skeptics.

Early morning on the third day in town, Mona checked into a sports store and purchased a new pair of roller blades.

She texted Aubrey and Sully to let her know she was going to the local park to skate. Not to be confused with the ghostly mural pond.  Instead she visited a smaller one with a park full of people. She set a skate on the frosty lake while a little girl watched her in the distance.

With the child’s eyes on her, she felt compelled to do an excellent job.

Almost instantly she was in a contorted position. Years of karate and soft ball  did naught to save her.

Fortunately, people were in good holiday cheer and two teen boys helped her to her feet. One on either side of her, they pulled the petite woman up. She laughed and began to “walk” on the blades. It took a few minutes but soon she had the muscle memory of rollerblading back. Those days when she and her friends would go to the roller skate “park,” an indoor arcade and skating rink for children and young adults. Before it became too dangerous to play there. Before the gangs moved in and made it a meeting place.

Today Mona even managed to skate backwards for a few moments. The teens who had helped her waved dreamily at her and she waved back, innocently flirty. Luckily, they did her the favor of not asking for her number and avoided that awkward exchange of “Sorry, boys, I’m way too old for you.”

She took reprieve in a cafe and wrote of the differences between this town and New Orleans. But she had difficulty finding an angle.

“Is New Orleans really a gaudy whore?” Scratch that. It was too witty, too much like Claudia’s writing.

“Each year, a ghostly mural paints itself across a memorial pond.” No, too much like Aubrey.

“I hate geese.” No, that was too much like Sully.

Where was Mona’s voice?

“I go to speak and my voice chokes. I go to smile but it comes out Barbie-style. I go to feel something like fear or awe and instead I feel annoyance. I go to write about a unique experience and can’t find my own voice to do it. I want to believe there is a sicko painting a pond each year as one final kick in the gut to the parents of his child-victims. I want to believe he will be caught and forced into a jail cell without his precious art supplies. I want to believe that the goose memorial gives the parents of the missing children peace. But when I reach for these beliefs I come back with a hand of snow. The facts are that the authorities have been after the pond-painter for fifteen years and their searches have been fruitless. The fact is the children were never found. The facts remain, geese are scary and nothing you can say or do is going to make me change my mind.”

She stared at the page before crumpling it up and throwing it.

It hit an old woman in the back of the head and her husband turned, with his turnip-shaped face going red.

“I’m sorry!” Mona apologized.

She could go back to her apartment, log onto the computer and speak to her support community. There were good friends on there.

But when she made it to the front doors of the hotel, Mona made a sharp turn. She was not sure why. She wanted to ask why but knew there was no one there to tell her why she was headed for the pond.

The sun set on the horizon, a spill of golden light over the white. This was a new sight for the southern woman. She smiled at it. But by the time she reached the pond, the moon was bright in the sky and the trees’ silhouettes were hands with their palms open to the sky.

By the light of that moon, she saw that the pond was painted and by her smell alone she realized that oil paint was thick and there was more than she had seen last time.

Someone had filled in the sky around the flying goose. It was dusk with rays of red, yellow and purple. Once again, she had to admit it was a good painting even if it was biologically hazardous to the fish when it melted. She bent down to put on her skates. There may be lurkers in the park who would jump at the sight of a woman alone. She knew this risk. Especially with her own ideas of a child-killer who painted a pond each year. Someone elusive enough to escape the police each season. They probably once guarded the area and eventually gave up when they realized what they were dealing with.

Small town, she thought. Probably need their manpower elsewhere. But really, why give up? There has to be someone who can watch the area.

When she set a roller blade on the pond’s surface, she tested with a stick how sturdy it was.  It was solid and she was prepared to see a ghost.

Do I want to see a ghost?

She skated over to the start of the painting. Her thoughts were noisy tonight. They clean it every year after Christmas. But what if we did it sooner? Sully, Aubrey and I could come here tomorrow. Would that bring--

Her skin broke into goose bumps. She turned her head inch by inch. If she rushed she might slip and fall. She spotted his figure before his “face.”

The outline of a beaked mask and a male figure, lithe, waited behind her.

“...okay...okay. Don’t touch me…” she asserted herself right away.

That mask was not a goose mask. It was familiar. A beaked masquerade mask.

“I wasn’t going to touch your painting. I was just… you know what…” she found her voice “You’re sick. Doing this each year. Parents come here to grieve and you--”

He turned a figure eight and in one fluent motion, spun in the air. This was the first of many, mind-boggling tricks the darkened stranger performed on the ice. Mona stood with her mouth agape, gasping cold air. She backed off the ice as the man figure danced in the moonlight.

She fell backwards into the snow and loosened her roller blades. The bird-masked skater never stopped to look at her. Only when she had her skates off she was scrambling away did he glide to her, one hand held out to her.

“Don’t touch me!” she asked.

Wordless, he kept his hand offered to her.

“What do you want?”

He hung his head but continued to hold his hand out.

She shook her head  and recoiled. The way his shoulders slumped in the darkness pulled at her. It was enough that she whimpered, that pathetic noise a human makes when they hurt a small animal, only to realize they are sorry. “I’m sorry…”

But not sorry enough to keep her from running away…

---

to be continued...

Welcome to the world of Dearest Artists, a series of short stories featuring a group of artists living in a strange world complete with absurdities, humor, darkness and drama. Return in a few days for part 2 of this story!