Page 42 of Statler

It was going to be a man, that was clear, even though no features had been painted in. But this wasn’t the same man depicted in the other murals. This one had broader shoulders, and even though it currently lacked detail, Statler could already see the power in the man’s confident stance.

The colors were bright, and…

He leaned forward and sniffed.

Yup.

Statler would bet it hadn’t been here for more than twenty-four hours. He could still smell the paint. And looking at the ground beneath his feet, there were telltale drips that hadn’t yet been washed away by any rain.

Unbelievable.

He turned from that work more reluctantly than any other for some reason, but he needed to see everything else.

His inclination was to take out his phone and record it all, but there was something about the secrecy of the place that held him back.

Clearly, the artist trekked all the way up here to be alone; create where their paintings couldn’t be seen, and Statler respected that. He didn’t want to compromise anyone’s privacy.

But still…

How would they feel if he…added a few things?

Excitement grew within him.

He could start small. Very small. Maybe one tiny thing per week.

He could begin with a bee buzzing in the grass outside the barn, then move on to a flower lying on the small table next to the pie-holding woman. Eventually, a fishing rod in the outstretched hands of the happy, strapping young man seemed like a perfect fit.

After his first addition, Statler felt that he’d know if the artist resented his interference, or welcomed it.

If he came back and they’d scrubbed off his artistic renderings, or painted over them, he’d know to quit. But if they were intrigued that he’d joined in, they might just…start a back-and-forth of sorts.

They could each leave something interesting and perhaps unfinished for the other to work from.

Stat’s mind churned with possibilities, and he became almost giddy.

Was today too soon to begin?

His gut said, no.

From what he’d detected, even though it was a stretch to assume, it seemed the person who generated all this might do their work on Saturdays. In which case, Sunday would be Statler’s day.

But first, he needed supplies.

He turned, and feeling lighter than he had in ages, Stat ran back the way he’d come, almost like he’d grown wings on his feet.

When he came to the turn-off onto the main path, he remembered to disguise it again, then tore-ass down the rest of the mountain.

When he spotted his cottage, he grinned.

A quick shower, and he’d head to the nearest town where he’d buy whatever supplies he could at the local big-box store.

It wouldn’t be the high-end stuff he splurged on at home, but…

Statler laughed.

When your canvases were rocks, your brushes didn’t need to be sable.

CHAPTER TEN