“Donny, you’re going to have to come out of there.” Banging at the door, muffled voices. He knew they were still watching him because he felt their gaze. He felt it from inside his body—their eyes examining every inch of his being. The trees. But there was more than trees. The figures. There were definitely figures. He’d seen them and he knew what they were now. He knew where they came from and what it all meant. Watching… waiting… waiting for somebody else to come along. He pulled his head from under the quilt as he heard knocking at the door. “Donny, you’re gonna have to come out of there at some point,” she shouted. He wanted to shout back. He wanted to jump out of the bed and run back to her, but he was completely frozen. We’rewatchingwe’rewatchingwe’rewatching. Would they see the figures too? Or was it just him? Was it all over? As he elevated himself from the bed, he tried not to look at the painting—not even in his mind’s eye. He still felt their gazes burning through the sheets and engulfing his body.
