text: "I think the fear of being blind comes from feeling as though you'll miss the world around you." Detective Stevens sat across from the painter, a chill in the air. The frost of December glazed the lone window obstructing the view of the yard beyond. Accompanying the conversation was the occasional pop of a log from the fireplace. Standing on an easel on the far side of the room, was a painting draped in a dark cloth. "Sir, you do understand that people are going mad after viewing your painting?" Detective Stevens stared into the cloudy eyes of the man, "some have even resorted to suicide." The silence hung in the air like a bad odor. "Do you even know what you painted?" Still the painter refused to answer. Detective Stevens climbed out of his chair and slowly approached the covered artwork. The soft satin cloth glared at him with it's blank expression. For some reason he couldn't explain, Stevens felt afraid to reveal it. One trembling hand reached forward. "Don't!" The painter yelled, standing up from his chair "do that detective" For a moment his hand hung in the air. An eternity passed in those few seconds. The room seemed to stand in suspended animation as he decided if he would obey the painter. His hand dropped. The painter spoke. "Do you know what it's like to create art you can't see detective?" The painter raised his slim figure from the leather backed chair. Slowly, he felt his way across the room to a bottle of whiskey setting near the fire place. He removed the cap. "Drink?" He asked as he poured himself a glass. "No thank you" the detective responded. The clinking of ice cubes rang out in rhythm with the painters steps as he approached Stevens. The aroma of the drink gently made it's way into his nostrils. God he wanted a drink. This whole investigation had him on edge. "I may not be able to see my work detective," the painter sipped his drink, "but I know every single line I paint. The abstract visions of a blind man granted me sanctuary after my accident. There was no guarantee anyone would like these images detective. But I was blessed." The familiar silence filled the room once again. A strong breeze rattled the windows. A storm was brewing outside. "So I decided to show everyone my blessing detective, and the world couldn't handle it." The painter walked back towards the fire. Detective Stevens remained glued to his spot, the covered artwork taunting him. Every single person who has viewed this painting became incoherent, their native tongue degraded into a string of nonsense. Numerous tests were ran but it was impossible to get any information from them. Because all of the viewings had been in private at the artists request, no one could explain what they had seen. Now Stevens was so close to solving the mystery. "Look at it detective." The painter had his back turned to Stevens as he talked. Stevens looked over his shoulder at the painter before returning his gaze to the painting. He felt his heartbeat at the tips of his fingers. Once again he reached towards the cloth. This time he would commit to removing it. Between his thumb and pointer finger, he grasped the cloth slowly pulling it off of the frame. A gentle thud came from the sheet as it landed on the hard wood floor. Detective Stevens wasn't sure what he had expected to see beneath that cloth, but he was certain it wasn't the mirror that greeted him. "What the hell," He stared at his own look of surprise as he spoke. His eyes widened as he glimpsed the painter behind him. The painter stood still with his hand dangling by his side still holding his glass of whiskey. But something else was there. A dark figure appeared to protrude from his back just below his neck. Two arms as dark as midnight wrapped around the painters head. "Now you see it detective." The painter slowly turned around to face Stevens. Clawed hands clasped around the painters eyes completely covering his face. As he made his way closer to the detective, the second face became visible. A twisted mass nearly void of features save for a mouth kept it's lips pressed close to the painters ears, lips moving as though whispering endlessly. There was no body , instead it seemed to protrude from within the detective like a parasite. "This is my blessing." The painter rested his hand upon Stevens' shoulder once again. Detective Stevens was completely petrified as he stared into the mirror. He could do nothing but watch as the head slowly placed it's lips up to his ears. Then the whispering began. Whispers of secrets no man should hear. Whispers that shattered Stevens mind leaving him staring dumbfounded at his own reflection. The painter slowly walked past Stevens. He stooped down and retrieved the cloth from the floor. With great finesse, he hid the mirror once again. "Now you see it detective." The painter ushered Stevens to the door. "My blessing IS my greatest work of art.