Art Party, Pt.2

I found myself in a room full of severed heads and all manner of unusual murder weapons. Brought here by someone who seemed rather upset, my future looked grim. Let's see, do I hide behind the chair made of bones; grab one of the weapons and defend myself; try to escape by sliding through the chute in the wall? At that point the only thing I could do was recollect how I had gotten there in the first place, which creates a narrative paradox, but we'll get to that later.

A scrap of paper with a phone number and web address on it had led me to a large manor in the middle of nowhere. There is a highway not far from where I live, HWY 360, that eventually comes to an end if you follow it far enough south. This manor was tucked away in a secluded area, with no other signs of life for miles, beyond where the highway ends. We are talking dirt roads, cow pastures, junkyards, and ghost towns.

With a bit of guile, I had slipped in among a group a six who knocked on the door of the manor. I was the seventh guest, if you will. The group consisted of mostly young people, close to my age, so I felt confident that I could worm my way into this mysterious party that I wasn't even invited to.













I need no invitation.


The door was answered by a young man, who appeared a few years older than me, holding a clipboard. He was dressed in fancy clothing, looking somewhat official. The six guests before me entered, stating their names. Then my turn.

"S.G," I said. I walked past the man into a foyer with wooden floors that was cordoned off and obscured by large black curtains. The only place to walk was along a red carpet to the immediate left, into an almost pitch black room. The curtains swayed slightly, and distant murmurs came from behind them, so I knew that a large room was beyond where other humans convened.

"S.G?" the door man asked. He ran his index finger across the board trying to find who I could be, but I was already past him, following the group, and walked into the dark room. The door man walked to the entrance of the side room and winked at me saying, "I found you Mr. Grimm. Have fun." He arched his eyebrows and shut the door. I made it. What a relief.

No light came through any windows, no lamps were lit, though, a faint illumination came from under some sort of cloth hanging on the wall. Once my eyes had adjusted, I could see that the cloth was hung over a row of monitors, there were three such screens, affixed side by side on the right hand wall from the entrance to this room. The guests slid the cloth aside, a bit of curtain, and brought into view three LCD computer screens with artwork on display.

So, this is an art party?

The other people stood there, rubbing their chins, and looked puzzled. I didn't have any clue what we were doing, and hoped no one would ask me. My plan for the night was to just blend in and remain hidden. I just wanted to observe and be totally unassuming.

"Find the common theme," one of the males stated with assurance.

Looking into the dark corners of the ceiling I noticed a very subtle reflection of light. Camera lenses.

You have got to be kidding me.

This was the first time I felt slight panic and fought the urge to leave.

One of the girls called out, "Church paintings." Everyone remained silent for a moment and then continued looking clueless.

"Art from the Renaissance?" asked another. More guesses were made, but the enigmatic darkness was not appeased.

I studied the art for a moment and decided it was time to get this bad mother moving. "Hellscapes and/or Hell Panels." A buzz sounded, along with a metal click.













Hell: fun for the whole family.


On the far side of the room an open door came into view as dim lights grew brighter on the ceiling, revealing the empty room we were in and a path to the next one. The group congratulated me and proceeded into the darkness of the next room.

With a shrug, I entered.

Once again: an empty room shrouded in darkness, three LCD monitors, three works of art, and an electric eye hovering overhead.

The group observed the pieces and made some guesses, such as: "females," "young people," "dresses." All were but shots in the dark.

"Paintings with the word kiss in the title," I suggested.













"Gimmie some sugar, baby."


A door swung open and we proceeded once again into another darkened room.

The third room was the same save for one deviation: in the center of the room stood a table, upon it a diorama. Underneath the glass protecting the display was a green plant (not sure if it was real or fake) with red tomato or pepper looking growths. A dim light overhead made possible the viewing of seven angel figurines lying dead in the dirt the plant was presumably growing out of. Their mouths were blackened.

"Some kind of angel killing plant. It must be the name of the plant. Angel Slayer, or something," someone noted. We all examined the diorama closely.

In time I grew impatient as the others made their wild guesses and spat out the answer, "Satan's Kiss." Another, buzz, another pop.











What a terrible name for a pepper.


This time the new room wasn't dark. I beheld a Victorian chamber full of people, welcoming us with open arms and smiling faces. Sculptures, paintings, and all manner of strange creations filled this mystical landscape, and I found myself drawn in, seduced by the menagerie of oddities.

A man approached me as I searched for somewhere to obfuscate and revealed, "You are the only one to solve the puzzle. Everyone else, including myself, timed out. Congratulations, on becoming the chosen one tonight." He slapped my back and walked away. Leaving me alone, in a room full of weirdos.

Overhead a toy marionette on a unicycle rode across a string that ran from one balcony on the second floor to another. This was the second time I felt panic and wanted to leave.

So much for trying to be subtle and unassuming.

To Be Continued...

P.S.

I guess you will have to wait until a later date for the severed heads...