Hide and Seek 3: The Last Game

Chapter 4: Turning Pain Into Art

The morning I woke up, I saw that Mickiyah wasn't in the room with me. I quickly got up, used the bathroom, washed my face, and gathered my socks to get ready to go. Last night played through my mind again and again. I looked around at the paintings and drawings on the wall. My beautiful friend was obsessed with the dark side.

To my surprise, she walked in with a tray of breakfast. "Ayeeee," she shot me a smile. "You're up. God damn, you slept till 11.

I laughed. "Usually I'm an early riser." I scooted over so she could put the tray between us on the bed. There was toast with strawberry jam smeared on it. A few strips of hickory smoked bacon, some mixed fruit and orange juice. "Wow, breakfast in bed. What did I do to deserve this treat."

She quickly shoved a piece of bacon in her mouth. "I'm so hungry," she said with a full mouth. "And because..."

"You can finish your food first," I told her as she struggled to talk and shove down food at the same time.

With a smile she looked at me. "You stayed over. I didn't realize how much I just needed a friend."

FRIEND ZONEEEEEED.

With disappointment and shame, I took a sip of my orange juice and shrugged. "Anytime."

I wanted to bring up last night again but didn't want to worry her. Instead, I asked her about the paintings and their meanings. Her inspiration behind art. I only knew her for 3 months and never really went in depth with her art. I only knew that her parents death inspired her to create such. But why two dark figures all the time? Why not colorful ones?

"My dad," she went on. "was a photographer. My mom was a journalist. Constantly creating stories. Happy stories. I admired that."

"Oh neat! I mean, we love happy stories."

"Yeah, that's the thing. They were happy," she said. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy as can be but my art has a rawness to it. The two dark figures. The shadows. The mood. All my emotion are on these photos and that's how I express my grief and pain. They're shadows because they're no longer here. I can't see them. I can't detail them."

I let her talk as I continued eating.

"I find comfort in it. I'm sorry if they freaked you out," she said. "Sometimes at night, if I look at them good enough they do move. It's almost like my parents are still moving through my art. The art and passion they gave to me. I feel connected. But hey, this is my design and it's weird."

We laughed.

"That's actually pretty creative," I agreed. "They definitely do create an illusion."

"You see!" She beamed. "However, that's my comfort. It's creepy to others."

We continued talking about art and what not. She showed me photos that her dad photographed. He was portrait photographer, capturing so much detail in people's faces. Black and white photography as well.

"I miss them," she said.

"Hey," I started unsure if I should ask the question I wanted to. "Have you ever tried contacting your mom and dad on the ouija board."

"Oh definitely!" She said.

"Really?" I said, shocked she hasn't told me. "Any words exchanged?"

"Yeah," she said. "Mom said hi and dad said look for us in my art."

My face kinda drained of color when she said that. Only because, I felt like her parents meant that. Perhaps their spirits are in the art. What if?

She changed the subject and quickly began talking about school and all the amount of homework she had. I took that as a sign to leave. I thanked her for the breakfast and everything and we said our goodbyes for now.

I left feeling uneasy and creeped out. I tried to shake it off, feeling guilty I was judging someone else's art. I tried not to but I couldn't ignore my emotions. I was creeped out.

***

Gave and I waited in the Starbucks line. He stared at me with wide eyes. "And girl, you stayed the night?" He shook his head. "That's weird. I'm sorry. Can't she grieve another way?"

"Ga-Gav-G"

"It's Gave," he said to the man trying to pronounce his name. "Like he Gave me a coffee."

The man nodded carelessly and handed him the drink. "Sorry Gave," he said in a monotone voice. "I'll get it right next time."

Gave walked over to the condiments section to put sugar in his Caramel macchiato. "God, I hate my name. He was cute though." He mumbled.

"Get his number," I whispered to him.

"Nah, he looks way too straight. Like, I bet he still says broman."

The two of us laughed while leaving Starbucks. "I don't know Mickiyah that well," Gave continued. "but I do think she's a bit extreme. Not in a bad way but I hate ghost stuff. I hate all of that creepy mess. I'm just here for you. What if she's trying to feed us to her ouija board...OR OR worst! Sacrifice us to it."

We laughed. "I'm curious though. I won't back down, but after we try this I wouldn't do it again. Let's just see if it's real. We might find out something!"

"Yeah, like where Mr. Harmon's remains are," he said.

Shivers ran down my spine at the thought of finding bones in the ruins. I was doing my best to build courage for this adventure next week. I just couldn't shake this off feeling and I don't know where it was coming from...