A Ghostly Muse

An artist is struggling to find inspiration for his work. He discovers that his apartment building is haunted by the ghost of a former resident, a painter who had died before completing his masterpiece.

***

The canvas stood empty on the easel. My ability to paint left me staring at the blank square in front of me, dumbfounded and without a way to unleash my creativity. It was challenging on a good day to create my pieces, but today, everything was off.

From the minute my alarm went off, it was like the universe. In all her splendor and glory did her best to keep me from creating. Hey, Jacob, it’s all in your head. If you wait for the universe to align, you’ll die a million times. The only thing left for others to see is that blank canvas you’re staring at.

My inner voice was right. I stretched in and took in my surroundings. Due to my work, I could afford the loft in Denver, Colorado. The mortgage was a bit much more than I wanted, but the large windows gave me a spectacular view of the Rockies.

The small kitchenette stood in one corner with an island so I could expand my culinary skills. Those I didn’t have and spent more time microwaving ramen noodles than making an authentic meal. Tubes of paint littered the floor, and my bed was a pull-down style on the other side of my place. A door led to the bathroom with the dresser and closet outside the door.

It was a great place with many windows and natural light, which made it expensive, but it was worth it. The few times I entertained guests, they marveled at how much room I had. It gave me lots of time to sling paint or to lay in the middle of the floor staring at the ceiling in existential dread.

I glanced at the canvas and stepped back in surprise as my paints fell off the table one by one. I try not to put too much stock in hauntings, but Denver doesn’t get earthquakes. Within seconds, a smokey figure materialized in front of me, and it faced the canvas and shook its head.

“Creative block is the worst. I was never able to finish my last piece. Did you know I died before I could put the final strokes to it?” The figure asked as it turned toward me.

I shook my head no. What else was I supposed to do? In the middle of my loft floated a free-form smokey apparition dressed in what appeared to be clothing from the seventies. It was hard to get a lot of the detail in all the shifting vapor, but with the base in its voice, I guessed the ghost was male. Do spirits have a sex?

“Who are you?” I asked. In the movies, the actors would scream, but I was too scared to do that. The sight of the ghost had me paralyzed in place.

“Daniel. I lived here long ago before it became your home.” He floated around me before stopping on my right-hand side. “I had the same problem in my time. Staring at the canvas when the creativity refuses to flow is frustrating.”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” I said, staring at the ghost beside me.

His arms were folded, and a smokey finger tapped slowly as if he contemplated something. “Jacob, I can help you finish this piece. It will help me move on, even though I’m not sure where I’ll be heading. Heaven, I guess, or eternal sleep.”

“How do you know my name, Daniel?” I asked, taking a step to my left as the chill from the ghost made me shiver.

“I was here when you signed the contract and watched at parties. For years I wanted an artist to help me with my unfinished business. So far, you were the only one with the talent,” Daniel said, drifting toward the canvas.

I’m not one to turn down a muse in any form, but having a spirit around me the whole time made me wonder how much he witnessed. It also made me question what it would cost me in the end.

“What do you get out of it?” I asked.

He glanced back. “That’s the question, isn’t it. Don’t worry. You won’t be making a deal with the devil. The only way to cross over is to finish my last painting, and I would be grateful if you could do it for me. After that, I disappear forever, and you get a new painting.”

“It’ll be yours, though, not mine.”

Daniel looked thoughtful for a moment. “True, but you can say you found it hidden away and then do with it what you please.”

“May I ask a personal question, Daniel?” I asked.

“If you must,” he said, letting out a sigh.

“How did you die? I mean, is that part of why you’re still here?” I asked.

I was murdered. As much as I want to say I died peacefully in my sleep, it was the opposite. The killer stabbed me in the back right where you’re standing, and I bled to death and died face down in my blood,” he said.

I moved the closet to the canvas and glanced around. Paranoia took its toll, as I hoped the killer wasn’t here either. If there was one ghost, I didn’t want to rule out another showing up to keep me from living.

“If I help you, will this see justice served or a painting completed?”

“Both, I hope. The person who did this got away, and I hope that by finishing this painting, I can be free of this place with a sense of justice,” Daniel said.

“Well, I’ve never had an assistant. If I could work with the living, the dead should prove easier.”

The ghost laughed, which sent a chill down my spine. He may have wanted to sound lighthearted, but it did the opposite. He swirled around the room before stopping in front of me.

“Shall we start then?” He asked.

I nodded and picked up my paints. Luckily, they were in closed tubes, keeping the floor from getting too messy. Not that it mattered, as my floor was covered in paint. I grabbed a few brushed and waited for the ghost to lead me in the right direction.

“Who are we painting?” I asked.

“Why do you feel it’s a whom and not a what?”

“If you were killed and want justice served, then you’ll need their image to be displayed here,” I said.

“I knew you were the right artist for the job! Jacob, you’re an amazing artist,” Daniel said.

“Thanks, but can I assume you know what the person looks like?” I asked.

Daniel’s face grew grim, and the ghost drifted away to stare out the window. Seeing the apparition hovering a foot off the floor, its arms behind his back, staring off into the mountains was odd.

“I know his face. He stayed to rob my place after I died. My spirit, which I am now, stayed, anchored to this place. I watched him wreck my art and livelihood, Jacob, and it made me so angry,” Daniel said.

“Then part of this is revenge. I understand, but how will you get justice with only a painting, Daniel?”

“Take it to the police. It’s a cold case by now, but they’ll figure it out. I’ll rest easy knowing that he’ll be brought to justice,” the ghost said, drifting over to the canvas.

“We better get started then. I don’t want to waste my life and end up in your position,” Jacob replied.

Over the next two weeks, I followed Daniel’s instructions to create the painting. It took a lot of hours, and I had to run out of food, fresh air, and even more paint a few times. Ultimately, the painting turned out amazing, if only horrifying, simultaneously.

I stood a few feet away, staring at the completed piece, my arms crossed. Daniel hovered nearby with ghostly tears running down his face. I had the smartphone in one hand and the case file in the other. Daniel remembered all the information from when his body was discovered and eventually taken away.

“It’s time, Daniel,” I said.

“Yes, it is. I’ve waited so long for this to happen, filling me with fear as if my killer is still here.”

I made the call. It was a long process, as it took me a while to convince the police I wasn’t crazy. The detective in charge of the cold case files was on her way, and she believed me, even if my story came off as outlandish at best. Either way, Daniel would get the justice and peace he deserved.

“It’s time for me to go, Jacob. I want to thank you so much for helping me.”

I nodded. “I think I’m going to miss you. You helped me turn my art into more than strokes of paint, but a form of storytelling for all to hear and see,” I said.

Daniel nodded and glanced up. “Goodbye, Jacob.”

A small beam of light shone over Daniel, and he slowly dissipated until he was no more. After that, the light vanished, and I was stuck in silence. For the past two weeks, I got used to having someone around. Maybe it was time to get an agent after all.

I needed to get Daniel’s information in order first, and the cops would need that. Daniel deserved his rest; for once, I could use a nap. I’ll start on my work tomorrow with a fresh canvas unless another ghost has other ideas.

***

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