"I can't believe you're dragging me to a stupid art museum," I complained, looking over at my
little sister Dina as she drove us down the interstate, heading for the Pierre Museum of Art. I, then, remembered something that might (mercifully) get her to turn around and go back home. "You know someone died there a few weeks ago, right?"

"What are you talking about, Matt?" she asked, half-angry at me, probably assuming I was making it all up.

"He was playing tag in the museum — because he was bored out of his mind — and he tripped over a bench and hit his head, which, somehow, broke his neck."

She took a second to respond. "Well... don't play tag, and you won't die. Problem solved."

I snorted. "It's still stupid."

"It's not stupid! And you promised you'd go with me if I bought you lunch — which I did. So suck it up, and shut up," she replied, glancing at me.

I sighed, wondering why my sister had to be so obsessed with dumb stuff like this and why she didn't have any friends who would go with her instead. I was dreading the next few hours. "What's so great about art anyway?"

"What do you mean?" she asked. Her black hair was blowing away from her face due to the fact that she had the air up as high as it would go without drowning our voices out. "It's pretty, and it has meaning."

"That's it?"

"What do you mean, 'that's it'?"

"That's what's so great about it?"

"That's what I just said, didn't I?"

I sighed heavily again. "Dina, that's not-"

She cut me off. "I also like it because it's the complete opposite of you — you're ugly, and you don't make sense."

I mock-grimaced. "Well, people say we look alike-"

"But I'm more attractive."

"Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

_-_-_-_

When we walked in the building, the first thing I noticed was how empty it was. It was just us, the rest of our tour group, and the guy at the front desk, whom I barely glanced at.

The second thing I noticed was the generic-looking cliff painting hanging in the lobby.

At least I thought it was a cliff. It looked a little more like a blob, but I guess that's none of my business.

Dina, ever the punctual one, got us there a whopping two minutes before our tour was scheduled to start. She gave our names at the desk, and we joined the small group of three standing off towards the corner, waiting.

There was two guys and girl. One guy had curly, messy brown hair and glasses, and he was wearing a buttoned flannel and khaki pants. Not surprising. The other guy had (obviously dyed) black hair half covering his face, and he was wearing black jeans, a black shirt, and a black hoodie. Also not surprising.

Art museums are weird.

The girl had red hair down to her shoulders, and she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Completely normal. Which was a little surprising.

I stood on the edge of the group while Dina started a conversation with Khakis. He seemed shocked that she was talking to him, which I found a little sad, if I'm being honest.

The girl looked at me, and we made awkward eye contact, then she quickly looked away. Emo was completely disinterested in the four of us for the two minutes we all stood there.

Then, the guy at the front desk stood up and walked over to us.

He looked like Khakis, but somehow more nerdy and annoying. He smiled at us and started speaking with so much enthusiasm I almost thought it was fake.

Key word: almost.

"Welcome to the Pierre Museum of Art! My name is Grayson, and I'll be your tour guide for today! I'll take you to some of our best and most prized paintings, then you'll be free to look around at the other art we have on display. So, let's get started, shall we? First..."

I zoned out for the most part, only occasionally picking up the names of paintings. I glanced at Dina, who was still talking to Khakis. I caught a few words between them that made it sound like they were discussing the art. Emo and the girl were silent.

"This is The Japanese Footbridge by Claude Monet..." Grayson said. I tuned him out — Dina probably already knew everything about it and would tell me later — and looked at the painting.

It definitely wasn't a bad painting. It was a small bridge going over a river covered in lily pads and flowers. I didn't think there was a metaphor there, but it was pretty.

Before I knew it, the group was moving on. Dina and Khakis were still talking, and I could tell Dina was shamelessly flirting with him. I wasn't particularly happy about it, but I couldn't really blame her; it'd been a while since she was in a relationship, and the last one hadn't ended well. At least she was moving on.

Emo lingered at the back of the group, and the girl was next to and slightly ahead of me. She glanced over and I smiled in an attempt to be friendly. She smiled back, and I counted that as a success.

It was one of the least awkward interactions I'd had in weeks.

"This painting here is one of my favorites: Girl Before a Mirror by Picasso. He was just a genius..." Grayson gushed.

I'm not knocking Picasso or anything, but that thing was making my eyes hurt. I would've been completely lost if I were colorblind. I was so confused as is that I couldn't even describe it if I wanted to. It was just a jumble of shapes and colors that somehow resembled a girl looking into a mirror.

I could tell Dina was ecstatic, and Khakis apparently found that cute. The girl looked mildly interested, and Emo looked unimpressed, but that was what he'd looked like the entire time.

We moved on, though Grayson was still talking about Picasso and the imagery of his paintings. He stopped in front of a painting of someone that I thought I recognized, but I couldn't remember what her name was.

"This painting is Self-Portrait with Cropped Hair by Frida Kahlo," Grayson said.

Frida had painted herself in a suit in the middle of a room, sitting on a chair and holding a pair of scissors. Sure enough, her hair was cropped and what she'd cut off was strewn over the floor and her lap. There was something in Spanish written across the top, over a line of music. I couldn't read Spanish or music, so I had no idea what it said.

Khakis and Dina weren't talking at that moment, and the girl and Emo hadn't really changed much from the last painting.

Grayson went on about Frida and the use of color and whatnot for a few minutes, then we started to move on. "Now, for our last stop on the tour, our most prized and beautiful panting..."
    
Starry Night by Van Gough.

(Do I need to describe it?)

Dina and Khakis were excited, the girl was about neutral, and Emo was, yet again, seemingly disinterested.

I decided I'd listen to some of what Grayson had to say; Van Gogh kinda interested me. "Now, Gogh was-"

He was interrupted by all the lights in the museum suddenly kicking off. It was pitch black; there were no windows that deep in the museum. I turned, arms out in front of me, searching for Dina.

I touched someone, who immediately recoiled. I squinted, trying to see. "Dina?"

"Matt?"

"Where-?"

There was a scream, but it was cut short abruptly, and we were drowned in silence. Then, the lights came back on, but they were dimmed. Just enough to see by.

I spotted Dina standing next to Khakis, who looked shaken. I started to say something, but then someone gasped. Emo.

I turned and followed his gaze to Starry Night, which had a bright red splatter on the left side that wasn't there before.

Also in the painting was Grayson, impaled on the black spire-thingy in the foreground of the painting (I don't know what it is, okay?).

I froze, staring. By this point, everyone else had noticed, too. Emo started incoherently stuttering, and then it got worse.

Something in the painting moved.

It was only then that I noticed the person-like blob in the painting, standing on the hill and looking up at Grayson. It reached up and covered its hand in blood, then turned and walked out of the right side of the frame. Everyone's eyes followed it to the next painting hanging on the wall, where it walked in from the left.

It reached up to the top of the frame and began to write in blood.
    
'Let's play tag.'

It moved to the next painting after it ran out of room, then wrote something else.
    
'I'm it.'

We sat and stared at it, all in shock. I nearly puked.

It didn't have a face, but it looked exasperated. It moved to the next painting over.
    
'THAT MEANS RUN!!'

We got the message and took off. I was in front, Dina on my heels as I headed straight for the front doors.

I collided with one of the glass doors, trying to push it open, but it didn't budge. Dina shoved me out of the way and grabbed the handle. "IT'S A PULL DOOR, YOU IDIOT!"

She pulled on it, and, again, it didn't budge. "OH, REALLY?!" I replied sarcastically. Emo, Khakis, and the girl caught up with us. Khakis was shaking and breathing hard.

Emo pulled and pushed on all the other doors. "They're all locked," he said. I repeated my previous statement, and he rolled his eyes.

The girl sighed. "Look, we're gonna have to get along if we're gonna get out of this."

"What would you know?" Emo shot back.

"Sh-She's right," Khakis said shakily.

"Exactly," Dina said just to agree with Khakis, "so let's go around the circle and say our names."

"What are you, a kindergarten teacher?" Emo said. "We're not even in a circle."

He had a point.

Khakis moved to where we resembled a lopsided oval. He was still shaking. "There. G-Good enough. I'll start: I-I'm Peter."

He looked to his left at the girl. She said, "I'm Ivory."

On her left was Emo, who groaned. "Are we seriously doing this right now?" Everyone gave him a pointed look. He sighed. "I'm Sam."

I was on his left, so I said my name. "I'm Matt."

Dina was next. "I'm Dina." Everyone just stood and looked around at each other for a few seconds, then Dina clapped her hands. "Right, now that that's out of the way, maybe we should start discussing how to get out of here?"

Ivory pulled her phone out of her pocket. "I say we should call the police; the doors obviously aren't working, so that's our only option." We all watched as she tapped on her phone for a few seconds, then sighed. "There's no service."

"Great," Sam said. "What do we do now?"

"Th-The weird guy in the painting said to run," Peter said. "So I g-guess we do that."

"If we do that, he gets exactly what he wants, and he wins. We can't let him win," Sam replied.

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I managed to resist. Ivory didn't, though. "Firstly, we don't even know what it is, so-"

"I think I know," I interrupted. I was thinking about what it'd written on the paintings, and I remembered what I'd told Dina earlier. "A couple weeks ago, this guy and his friend were playing tag here in the museum, and he tripped over a bench and broke his neck."

"So?" Sam said.

"He died."

"And — what — that thing is his ghost?"

I shrugged. "Could be. Unless you have another explanation?"

Peter mumbled something, but all I could make out was something about a stupid premise for a short story, so I ignored him.

"Look," Dina said, "our main goal is to get out of here, so we should-"

Suddenly the lights went out again.

There was light coming through the doors, so we could see that whatever it was was in the cliff painting hanging on the wall. Immediately, we all took off deeper into the museum.

In hindsight, that was a bad idea; we couldn't see anymore. I wasn't sure where we were going, but we all just kept running, somehow staying together.

Then, there was high-pitched scream. A few seconds later, the lights came back on again, though still dimmed. From beside me, Dina let out a disappointed sigh.

I turned to the painting we were standing next to: The Japanese Footbridge. Peter was lying face-down in the water, drowned.

"Well," Sam said, "that sucks."

"He was so cute," Dina mourned.

"Yes," I deadpanned, "he was absolutely adorable. But he's dead now, and we're next, so we need to figure out how to get out of here."

"Maybe there's an emergency exit," Ivory suggested.

"Then let's go find it," I said.

We started to move towards the back of the museum, but Sam stopped. "Wait — we should split up. We can cover more ground that way."

"How will we contact each other?" I asked. "There's no service."

"Whoever finds the exit first will go and get help," Dina said, "and if that exit's locked, too, we'll meet back here."

"How will we know when to meet?" Ivory asked.

"Whoever doesn't find anything, come back here and wait until the others get back either with nothing or help," Sam said.

I sighed, unable to think of a better plan and too lazy to try. "Fine. Dina-"

"I'll go with Sam," she said abruptly.

After a few seconds, she didn't say anything else, so I said, "Alright. Then, Ivory and I will head left, and you guys head right."

With that, we parted ways, heading deeper into the museum.

Ivory and I talked a little as we searched — mostly about a plan if we were to find an emergency exit. Basically, if we had service outside, we'd call the police. If we didn't, we'd try to find another phone or the nearest police station. Whichever came first.

By the time we'd come up with this plan, we'd reach one of the other paintings on the tour: Girl Before a Mirror.

I glanced at it, expecting to just move on, but then the lights went out. Ivory was closest to the painting, directly on my left, and she screamed and grabbed onto my arm.

In a split second, I turned and grabbed her arms. I could feel whatever it was — the ghost? — pulling her towards the painting, so I pulled her away. It took a ridiculous amount of effort, but eventually, I'd won the morbid game of tug of war. She ended up falling on top of me, and I could see her terrified face when the lights flickered on (still dimmed).

"Thanks," she said, breathless.

"Yeah," I dumbly replied. Immediately, I realized how stupid Sam's plan was. "We need to find Sam and Dina."

Ivory wordlessly agreed, so we made our way back to The Japanese Footbridge. Peter was still floating in the water. Dina and Sam weren't there.

We waited for about five minutes, then decided to just go and find them.

After ten minutes of searching, we found them in a storage closet.

Making out.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" I shouted.

Sam was completely aloof and simply shrugged. Dina sighed. "We were going to look for an exit-"

"Going to?! Dina, two people just died-"

"I know! It's a coping mechanism, Matt."

I looked at her in disbelief. "It's stupid is what it is! Who makes out while their life is in peril?!"

"Us?" Sam provided.

I glared at him. "Look, you two can stay here for all I care — I'm getting out of here."

I started to walk off, and Ivory followed me. Finally, I heard Dina sigh. "Oh, calm down. We're coming."

I had no plan, but I was tired and ready to go home. Without thinking, I started heading for the front doors.

Before we got there, we ended up next to Self-Portrait with Cropped Hair. The lights kicked off.

I heard a high-pitched scream — surprisingly, even higher than Peter's. When the lights came back on, Sam was in the painting, laying on the floor at Frida's feet, stabbed through the heart with the scissors she was holding.

"Why does this keeping happening to me?!" Dina shouted.

"I'd rather it not actually happen to you, so let's keep moving, okay?" I said. She just sighed and followed me and Ivory to the front doors. The sun had set — it's winter, and we'd been in there a while — so the dimmed lights were the only thing we could see by.

It was only once we made it there that I realized I had no plan. Dina and Ivory looked at me expectantly.

I turned, trying to find something to give me inspiration, and found a lamp sitting on the front desk.

I unplugged it, picked it up, and chucked it at one of the glass doors, expecting it to bounce off and hit the floor. But it didn't.

It broke the glass.

I should there for a minute, dumbfounded. "Are you telling that we could've just done that, like, an hour ago? I'm-"

The lights kicked off again, and there was another scream. When they came back on, I looked at the cliff painting. Ivory was laying on the beach in a puddle of blood. She'd been pushed off the badly painted cliff.

Dina sighed. "And then there were two." She picked her way over the broken glass and out the door. I followed.

Once outside, she sat down on the sidewalk. "Why do all my relationships always end this way?"

I sat down next to her. "When have any of your relationships ever ended in death?"

There was a pause. "... Metaphorically."

I sighed. "Except for this time — though I wouldn't call that a relationship."

"Eh, probably not," she said, shrugging. "He was a good kisser, though."

"Gross."

"Oh, don't tell me you at least didn't want to kiss Ivory."

"Can we just- Are we going to the cops with this? Because four people kinda just died."

"In paintings. Killed by a ghost. Who will believe us?"

"Well, they're still in the paintings."

She shrugged. "I guess."

So, I called the cops. The dispatcher thought I was crazy, but the cops came anyway. We told them what happened, then went to show them the paintings.

There were no bodies. No blood — nothing.

The only evidence backing up our story was the broken glass from the door. They thought we were drunk or high or something — that we'd broken into the museum ourselves. But they couldn't account for the fact that Grayson, Peter, Sam, and Ivory were all missing.

At one point, I could've swore I heard one of the cops say, "This is the fourth call this week."

Still, they found nothing, and they suspected us in Peter, Sam, and Ivory's disappearances, but they couldn't charge us with anything. A few months later, the museum was shut down because of all the calls coming in.

To this day, every time someone asks me about it, I say the same thing, even though I know just how crazy it sounds.

But those were some killer paintings.