The Crayons I
Cecilya was walking through the forest, trying to find some inspiration for her next artwork. She was taking pictures of things she might use as inspiration. About halfway through her walk, she stumbled upon an old cabin made out of reddish wood, and there was a box of crayons next to it. The box didn’t have a brand name printed on it; all it said was “Beautiful Maroon Crayons.” She took a picture of the cabin and used the red crayons she found to draw it.
When she got home, she drew the cabin with the mysterious red crayons. There were five pointy crayons, and they were a darker red than she was expecting, but she just shrugged it off and kept drawing. She decided to make another drawing of a bird she saw in the tall trees of the forest. She was very happy with both of her art pieces, so for the next 3 days she made more art using only the maroon crayons she found.
On the 3rd day, as Cecilya opened the crayon box, she noticed an odor coming from the crayons. It was barely noticeable, and it smelled kind of rotten. She decided to just ignore it and keep drawing.
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She kept on drawing with the crayons every single day, and she hung up each of her art pieces on the walls of her house. Each day, the odor had gotten even more noticeable, and after about 2 weeks of drawing, the smell had become unbearable. The paintings she had hung up even started to grow mold on them. She had no idea what was happening, but she knew she needed to get the crayons and pictures out of her house immediately.
So Cecilya grabbed the crayon box and took all the paintings off the walls, then she threw them in the garbage can outside. To make sure that the odor was completely gone, she cleaned all of her walls with disinfectant wipes. Luckily, it was the evening before trash day, so the next morning the crayons and the drawings were gone…but they weren’t gone for long.
Two days after Cecilya cleaned up, the odor was starting to go away. She thought that she would never have to worry about those crayons again, but she would. The next morning, she woke up to that foul odor again, and it was even worse than it was before. When she went downstairs to investigate, she noticed a trail of dark red crayon marks leading to someplace. She decided that enough was enough, so she followed it.
The trail took her to the door of that cabin she found in the forest, so she slowly and carefully opened the door. The last thing she saw was a man sitting next to a decaying corpse, a jar full of blood, and a jar full of wax.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
