 When I was 18, I came in contact with Elijah, who stole cars for a small profit. The thing is, I didn't have a job and I sure as hell couldn't go to my parents for money so I started joining him on these ventures. He must have been at least 15 years older than me. We met at night and would circle big parking lots trying to score a car. We were fairly successful. For about two years, one night we were both able to score a car and were celebrating in a bar. It was then that Elijah told me he knew of a job, but it wasn't going to be our usual MO. If we play it right, it'll be an easy score. He told me while chugging his beer, all we have to do is break into some old dude's place and steal a painting. My curiosity rose up and in a hushed voice I asked him, how much would this painting be worth? He let out a small chuckle and lowered his voice to a whisper. Millions, my friend. I don't consider myself a greedy person, but the thought of making millions in one night was enough to get me to agree. So the painting was rumored to be destroyed long ago. Currently it's in the possession of an old man on the outskirts of town. He whispered, looking back on all this, I should have asked more questions, but the thought of making millions in one night was enough to make me forget all reasoning. Curse our foolish minds for ever thinking we're going to find such riches without paying a price for it. Two nights later, I was waiting in the parking lot where we'd met lighting the cigarette. Judging by the needles lying around, we weren't the first to realize this place was abandoned. My cigarette was almost fully smoked when Elijah arrived. Why did you bring your car? He just looked at me and shrugged. How else are we transporting the painting, huh? I guess he had a point there. After we reviewed the plan one last time, we decided it was go time. We would go in and find the old man's bedroom where I would stand guard making sure the old geezer wouldn't wake up while Elijah searched the house. He promised me there would be no violence involved whatsoever. Worst case scenario, if the man woke up, I'd tell him not to move and if anything went wrong, we just rush out of there. It was about a five minute walk from the lot to the old man's house. We walked in complete silence. There was an uneasiness in my gut already, as if I subconsciously knew what was going to happen inside of that house. We got there and climbed the front gate. This wasn't a house as much as it was a mansion. I kept thinking to myself that I wouldn't even find the bathroom in a house like this, much less the painting. Elijah got the front door opened in almost no time. The entrance hall was as big as my entire apartment. We took out our flashlights and scoured the place. This man was an art lover indeed, as the hall was filled with paintings. They went from giving me a slight uneasiness to me just not being able to look at them. My God, the things that were portrayed there. I remember this painting of a teenage girl posing in front of the Eiffel Tower, but there was this gargantuan silhouette in the background. I had the strangest feeling that I knew this girl from somewhere, but I chalked this up to my nerves. I was entranced by all of these images until Elijah's voice pulled me out of it. God, this guy is a freak. He whispered. I was glad that at least one of us wasn't too taken aback by what we'd found here. The painting that we were looking for was supposed to be of an old lady sitting next to a vase filled with tulips. I made sure to scan every painting in the faint hope that it would be displayed in the hallway. As you can probably guess, there was no such luck. As we made our way through the hallway, there was an open archway leading into what I assumed was the living room. This place was big indeed. There were two doors on either side. The living room's contemporary furnishing stood in contrast with the esoteric artwork that filled the walls. I took slight glances at the paintings not wanting to look too long. I don't think I looked at any of them for more than five seconds, and some of the images still haunt me to this day. One such was displayed right above his fireplace and freaked me out beyond belief. I just stood there, gaping at it. The painting depicted an old woman standing on a crossroads looking up at the sky. Her eyes displayed madness and there was a wide smile on her face. The sky was a mixture of red with black clouds and there seemed to be looming shapes between them. In the sky flew a wild array of impossible creatures. They were a brownish and yellow color, and some were dragging people in their gigantic claws. Move your fucking ass, man. The familiar voice of Elijah pulled me out of it again. Uh, I'm sorry, I whispered. But don't you think these paintings are just weird? Weird as some paint, huh? He said, but I could see he didn't like looking at them any more than I did. Let's just find the creeps bedroom so you can stay guard. Let's check the rooms in here. We had no luck on the ground floor, so we took the stairway up. We came out into a long hallway with more doors on either side and one at the far end, slightly ajar. I went to examine it and saw the old man sleeping in his bed, illuminated by a glimmer of moonlight. Okay, okay, good. Elijah whispered, you stay here and keep an eye on him. If he wakes up, just threaten to hit him with the flashlight. I'll check in with you every 10 minutes. I checked my watch to 30. Elijah checked the rooms in the hallway while I kept my eyes on the old man. After a while, Elijah came out of the last room and seemed confused, more than being confused. He seemed broken and in a state of shock. I approached him and asked him what was wrong. Everything's fine. Just make sure that freak doesn't wake up. I'm going to look upstairs. I really wanted to believe everything was fine indeed. But the look in his eyes told me otherwise. That was the last time I'd see Elijah alive. Time seemed to have frozen. As I stood there, trying not to freak about how insane this all was, the old woman from the painting kept popping into my mind. I'm going to try to explain this next part the best I can without sounding like a complete nut job. The thing is, whenever I thought about the painting of the old woman on the crossroad, I could never remember the painting itself. It seemed like some kind of memory. Like I was standing in front of that woman, watching everything and everyone move around me. The flying creatures screaming and hissing, the people walking around and ignoring the monstrosities around them. And that woman, laughing at me, almost like she was mocking me for not understanding what was happening. This happened every time I tried to remember that damn painting, even now as I'm writing this. I must have gone in a trance there. I usually wasn't like this, especially during a job. I felt my heart stopping for a second as I checked my watch, 255, where the hell was Elijah. My knees almost gave out as I made my second discovery. The old man wasn't in his bed anymore. In a state of panic, I shone my flashlight in his room, and it was completely empty. I didn't know what to do. My instincts told me to get the hell out of there, but I didn't want to leave Elijah behind. I snuck through the hall and up the stairs, opened the first door, and found myself in a library. Again, the strange paintings were all over the room. Only this time, they seemed to be telling a story. In the painting closest to the door, there was a child standing in an open field, hands raised to the sky, and clouds opening up. Behind him stood the old woman, her hands on his shoulder, like she was guiding him. In the second painting was a gigantic UFO descending down towards the child. The next painting filled me with dread. There was the same child, but taller in an alien landscape dancing with these creatures around a makeshift campfire. The things must have been three meters in height compared to the child, and their limbs were positioned in poses that were all but natural. The old woman was there as well, watching from a distance that same insane look in her eyes. In the last painting, the child was all grown up, standing in that same landscape, surrounded by other children. They seemed to be smiling, raising their hands, but if you looked closer, those smiles didn't seem real at all. It was like an expression of pure panic in their eyes. Far away in the background stood the gargantuan shape that I'd seen before, only in more detail now. It stood at least 80 meters in height, and had a snake-like body. The thing had no legs, but rested on its tail and hands. Its muscled arms were long and disproportionate to the rest of it. There was an outline of its wings folded on its back. I felt the grip of these paintings coming over me again and left that room. I stood very still, listening for any form of sound. It must have been my imagination, but I could hear slow breathing all around me. I wanted to get out of that house as fast as I could, but I didn't want to leave Elijah behind. God knows he always came back for me in bad situations. At that moment, I heard Elijah calling out my name from underneath me. I ran downstairs, and barged into the last room Elijah had come out of. I found myself in some sort of study room. There was a desk at the side and an armchair in the middle of the room with a coffee table next to it. If you were to sit in the chair, you'd have a perfect view of the painting that hung neatly in the middle of the wall. It displayed an island with a big pyramid in the middle. In front of the pyramid was a lake. People were swimming in the lake whilst objects stood around watching. Two of the people seemed so familiar to me. One was a child who was standing in front of it. There were tears running down his face. The other was a young man looking from a distance at the scenery, his eyes filled with fear. Suddenly it hit me where I'd seen the crying child before. It had been on the news for weeks. The child had been abducted while playing in the forest and was never seen or heard from again. I remember vividly because of the mother's heartbreaking plea on the evening news begging her son's kidnappers to return her child to her. It was because of this that my mind drifted back to the girl in the painting of the Eiffel Tower. She disappeared while her parents were visiting Europe. Only she looked years older in the painting than at the time of her abduction. I shivered at this realization. None of this could be real, right? How could such things even exist? How can light still exist while such darkness opposes it? There was a name plate under it that read, Day Paradiso Die. I almost felt the breeze of the island. When a voice pulled me out of it again, only this time it wasn't the familiar voice of Elijah. I turned around. The old man stood in the door opening. I froze with fear at the sight of him. At first glance, he was just a regular old man, but there was something about him. Something sinister. He placed himself in front of me, smiled and asked, You like my works? He had a proud look in his eyes as if he was expecting me to applaud him. I tried to speak, but couldn't. The man beckoned me to sit down in the chair, and I obeyed him without any question. There seemed to be static in his voice as he spoke, Ah, where are my manners? It's been so long since I had guessed. I sometimes forget the formalities. Can I offer you a drink? He said, as he smiled politely at me, hearing those words and watching him stand in front of me, filled me with more fear than I ever experienced in my life. It took all the courage I had to ask him two simple questions. Where's my friend? Who are these people in the paintings? The old man chuckled, I am afraid your friend had grown weary. He decided to let his eyes rest for a bit. As for the people in the paintings, you can consider them as my private collection. I was like you once, an ignorant child who didn't understand the universe, but she showed me the way. He turned around and looked at the painting of the island. I saw this as my chance. I got out of the chair and tried to make a run for it. Before I knew what was happening, the old man had grabbed me by the arm and made me sit down again. What's the rush? You come in my house in the middle of the night, awaken me from my slumber and don't even have the manners of sitting down for a nice chat. His words were cold and stern. I could feel his strong grip around my arm long after he let go of me. I'm sorry. Let me just take my friend and we'll leave immediately. He looked at me with disgust and started hissing these strange words. N'gazalame t'junga andrafande andahunja t'jung. These words are still burned inside my mind. I started feeling dizzy and felt I was drifting away. I couldn't have closed my eyes for more than a second, but when I opened them up again, I was standing on the island. I looked behind me and saw the pyramid. It mesmerized me. My body felt so heavy and all I wanted to do was to lay in the grass and let myself drift away. I nearly did until the young man who I recognized earlier in the painting started to yell at me, Wake up, you idiot. He yelled. It was Elijah. Only he seemed ten years younger. None of this made sense. Where are we? I asked him, fighting against that suppressing feeling of sleep. It doesn't matter. You need to wake the hell up and get out of that house. He screamed. I found myself closer to that warm embrace of sleep. As I closed my eyes, his fist came towards his punch felt like a hammer hitting my face. But when it connected, I was back in front of the old man. His sinister look was gone and was replaced with utter shock. How did you get out? I use this moment of confusion and adrenaline and kick the old bastard right in his chest. He stumbled backwards and I made a dash for it. I ran out of the house and kept running towards civilization until I threw up from exhaustion. The guilt I've felt for leaving Elijah in that cursed place never subsided. Weeks later, I saw a missing person article in the newspaper with Elijah's picture. Only his name was displayed as Morgan Fletcher. Guess I never knew him as well as I thought. I thought about going back to that cursed house ever since, 35 years later. I'm still thinking about it. 10 years ago, I got as far as the parking lot, but fear always got the better of me. I never went to the police. There was no way in hell they would have believed me. I would have taken this story to the grave. But yesterday, I saw a news report of three teenage kids that were last seen hanging around the area of the house and disappeared without a trace. I have the worst feeling that the old man is behind it. Curse our foolish minds forever thinking we were going to find such riches without paying a price for it.