Yesterday I found a painting outside of my door. To be honest, its fairly amateurish. Still, something about rather troubles me.
It depicts a forest at night. In the centre of the image is a naked man with the head of a goat. He’s holding up one finger, as if pointing at the swirling spirals that I assume are meant to represent stars. There is a red symbol of some kind in the middle of his furry forehead. Nude men and women dance around him, albeit their faces and bodies are horrible distorted; twisted and mutilated beyond anything that human physiology would permit. Tatooed on the goat mans left arms were the words “Lux niger revelare”.
There was no note attached to the painting, nor anything else that could elucidate its provenance. Going by the smell of fresh paint I would assume its fairly new. Something about it spooked me enough to consider throwing it away, I but eventually I decided to keep it. I reasoned it must have been meant for one of my neighbours.
I put the painting in my apartment, and proceeded to go door to door to inquire about it. Most of my neighbours didnt seem to be at home. The few who answered were not expecting any paintings. Eventually I gave up and went to sleep.
Sleeping was difficult. I suffer from insomnia, so that is not an unusual state of affairs however. I decided to do an image search of the painting, more as a way to while away the hours than anything.
There are good news and bad news.
The good news is that they apparently sell quite well. Several buyers appear to compete among themselves to get their hands on them. Sam Hein, Hal Owen, Alf A Blot- all of them describe the paintings as brilliant outsider art. I jotted down their contact information.
Then there are the bad news.
Several similar paintings have been delivered to various people at irregular over the last few decades.
Annah McKenzie, age 20 received one in 1974. She went missing shortly afterwards, and was never found.
Sam Nilsen, age 78, is still in a psychiatric care facility after developing a paranoid psychosis shortly after receiving a painting depicting the goat man doing something unspeakable in 1981.
Alice Smith, Dan Park, Kenny Thompson and Daniel Silver all commited suicide in the 1990s. Their respective paintings did not feature the goat man, but rather piles of the distorted dancers in various states of copulation and frenzied cannibalism and autophagy.
Sam Dean found a painting in the trunk of the car his wife had swerved of the highway at 130 mph with. He reportedly lives in a cabin in Montana now, and refuses all interviews.
I didnt sleep much that night.
In the morning I called one of the art collectors, a Sam Hein, eager to unload the esoteric artpiece.
“This is Sam Hein” His voice was the kind of baritone only the beat whiskey and cigars can buy. “Hello? I think I might have a painting for you?” There were a few moments of silence. “Excellent. Have you examined it with a blacklight?” “Um- no? I dont know why-“ “Its to verify authenticity” His voice sounded almost too eager. A chill went up my spine. “Perhaps you could-“ “I’d very much like for you to examine it with a blacklight. I am sure you have one.”
I did, as luck would have it, have a blacklight. I organize raves sometimes. Still, the overly expectant timbre of his voice made me hesitate. “I am not sure-“ “Use the f*cking blacklight now! Use-“ His voice had suddenly erupted into abject rage. I hung up.
After a few minutes of calming my nerves I called Hal Owen, one of the other collectors, instead. The phone dialed for a while before he picked up.
“I know you have a blacklight! Just use it you f*ing- “ The same furious voice I had just hung up on had answered.
I disconnected again.
I am writing this only minutes later. My phone has been ringing non- stop.
I got my blacklight out of my drawer, but something makes me hesitate.
Still, I am quite curious.
What do you think I should do?
Edit:
I used the blacklight. I wish I had not. The black light revealed the fluorescent pigments hidden in the picture.
Its me, painted almost photorealistically. I am smiling while pulling out my own teeth. I am naked. The painter even got the birthmark on my left buttcheek right.
Then there is the text. I know whats coming now. He’s already inside. He has been for a while. He has emerged, and I see him clearly. He is not in a hurry. He’s watching me as I write this.
I am writing this in the hope that if you receive a painting, you ignore it. And if you own a blacklight, get rid of it.