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The Art Collector

Harmony Campbell

    “Little girl. Sing me a song?”
    Lila froze. What had she just heard? Wasn’t she alone? She fumbled for her flashlight, turned it on, and scanned the room. It was small and dusty. A storage room for the museum: half dozen paintings propped up around the room, a janitor’s cart, and a few tool boxes.
    She spread her blanket out in the corner and lay down. She looked around the room once more. She couldn’t keep her flashlight on long for fear of being spotted. The museum’s alarm and cameras automatically set after closing. There were also motion detectors and she might trip them. As long as she stayed in here until morning, she would be okay.
    She tucked her arms under her head. She buried her face into the old wool blanket and inhaled. The scent of her father was beginning to fade. She laid the flashlight down and took a drink from the canteen. It tasted metallic and bitter. It was her father’s too.
    She clicked the flashlight off. “Little girl?” The voice sounded far away. She clicked the flashlight back on and sat up.
    “Who’s there?”
    No answer.
    Lila wasn’t exactly a little girl though. She was almost old enough to vote. She was old enough to leave and find her own way. “Who’s there? Answer me.”
    “Little girl. Sing me a song?” She stood up. It was an old lady’s voice, much cleaner and closer now.
    “Where are you?”
    “Right here, little girl.” Clearer and closer still.
    Lila’s heart quickened. Her hands trembled. There was nobody here and no place for anyone to hide. She moved the light around the room. The light rested upon one of the paintings. Weren’t they covered up when she came in? She got closer to the painting keeping the light focused on it. It was an old lady sitting in a rocking chair knitting. Below her, on the floor, were three kids playing, indifferent looks on all their faces.
    The old lady turned to look at Lila. “Won’t you come sing me a song?” Lila dropped the flashlight and backed away. Her heart was thumping in her ears. Was she breathing? Now she was. But her breaths were hard and shaky.
    She picked up the flashlight and shone it toward the painting. The old lady was gone, the rocking chair stopped. The three children looked at Lila. She stepped closer. “Who are you?” They looked at each other and then back at her.
    “Stay out. It’s a trap,” whispered a little blond headed girl, stepping toward the edge of the painting. Lila took another step back.
    “How long have you been in there? Umm...Where exactly are you?”
    “Nowhere,” The little blond girl said, looking over Lila’s shoulder. She went and sat back down on the floor by the rocking chair.
    Lila turned around. There was the old lady. Lila gasped. “What do you want?”
    “You’re an unhappy child. Why don’t you come with me? You can play and be a child forever.”
    “No. I don’t think so. And where exactly are you from?”
    “The painting, of course.”
    Lila sighed. “No. I’m okay right here.”
    The old lady smiled. “You’re not even supposed to be here. Are you?”
    “It’s only temporary,” Lila said, shifting the flashlight to her other hand.
    “Take my hand child.” The old lady reached out to Lila. Lila stared at it.
    Lila’s heart softened and she craved to go with the old lady. When she reached out to take her hand she felt warmth and comfort. Then the old lady’s face changed. Her eyes were black holes. She smiled and showed several rows of razor sharp teeth. Lila tried to pull away, but the old lady tightened her grip.
    Pat, the museum director, came in the next morning to inspect the paintings that were donated. She bent down to look at the uncovered painting. There was an old lady in a rocking chair with a hymnal in her hand. Next to the old lady was an older girl. She was sitting on the floor on an old wool Army blanket. And she appeared to be singing. Three other, younger children sat on the floor and played. Pat looked at the frame. There was a small gold plate with the words Child Collector engraved on it. She covered it up until she could decide what to do with it.

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