The painter carefully finished the last few strokes of his current masterpiece. He took a few steps back to admire what he just accomplished, taking the whole thing in. “That should do it” he said, as he set the brush down on his side table and stared intently at the painting. It almost seemed like it was staring back. Seering into the very essence of his soul. The painter shook his head in disbelief as he thought that was stupid. “It’s just a painting,” he said to himself. But the eyes of the painting, they looked at him intently, just as he couldn’t remove his gaze.

The painting was an abstract portrait of a woman, except for the perfect, photo-realistic eyes. “It’s funny, I don’t remember painting the eyes like that, so perfect, I must have zoned it out,” he mumbled. The eyes really were the best he’s ever produced from any of his past paintings, he admitted to himself. They looked as if they would blink at any moment. He continued to stare as he paced around the room, the eyes following him, boring deep holes anywhere he moved. He had the strangest of feelings as he tried to leave the workshop to wash up downstairs. It was like nothing good would come of it if he left. It stopped him in his tracks, he took a moment to clear his head then tried to leave again. The feelings intensity got worse, almost like it was pulling him in. The painter felt like he could never stop staring, and that something horrible would happen if he did.

Day after day, he stared at the painting, just the way he left it. His throat was getting as dry as a desert, but he thought he couldn’t leave this masterpiece! Gurgle, gurgle. His stomach was aching so much, but even the thought of leaving now hurt him. Bringing his hands up in front of the painting, they seemed dryer than normal, thinner, cracked and bleeding now. It looked as if he was withering away. “No!” He shouted. He has to stay and partake in this wonderful work of art that was created, nothing in this life matters, just this painting, and the feelings he gets from it. Oh, the feelings he gets, such wonder and bliss. He must share this with the art community. NO! The world must know of this masterful work of art, just like he does. Now, how to leave this room without the splitting pain he feels? He has a gift to give, somehow…

The feeling of dread and pain entered his mind again as he thought about leaving the room. His body ached and eyes grew faint as he wasn’t able to sleep a wink for days. Constantly staring, barely blinking, made his eyes dry as a bone. His lids slowly drew closer together, trying to moisten his eyes. AH! No! He must keep looking into those beautiful eyes, glistening in the moonlight, so perfect, yet almost sad now. But he wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, peering into those perfect eyes… KA-BOOOMMMM!!! Lightning flashed as rain started pouring down out of nowhere.

Weeks later…

“Oy, why are we ‘ere again, mate? You said dis was an easy job, it’s taken us three… bloody… days… of hikin’ to get ‘ere!”

“I know, I know! It’ll get better once we get inside with all of this guy’s custom paints, I heard they are worth a fortune, and anyways, I already told you he was a hermit, twice, just need to… Hold on, the doors not even locked.” He slowly opened the front door to the house, making sure to lessen the creaking sound it made. They both creeped inside, closing the door behind them.

“It sure is dusty in ‘ere, innit? Are you sure he still lives here?”

“Shhhh, he might hear you, now pipe down, and listen up. We’ll check the attic first and work our way down to the basement, eh? Grab anything that looks expensive, and I’ll grab the paints.”

“Sure, sure, wot’ever you say, mate.” As the two men crept up the stairs to the attic, it was dead silent. They opened the attic door and stepped inside, instantly a voice rang in their heads, echoing.

“Aren’t I beautiful? You should worship me! You WILL WORSHIP ME!!!” The skeleton of the former artist fell next to them, finger bones almost grazing their eyes, like it wanted to grab them from their skulls. The men were quicker, for better or for worse, they both jumped back slamming against the door, but it was too late for them. The painting, in all its glory, was still in its original spot on the easel. It was watching the action, and as they looked up, it acquired two new worshippers that night. Two thieves in the night, no one will miss them. It smiled it’s perfect smile.