Once again the early 1900's building that holds my studio space has not let me down. It is currently 2:32pm in the dead of afternoon and while we are closed, I am not alone in here. There are at least 5 other artists present with me currently. With the construction going on in the upper and lower floors, there have been changes with how the building feels. Today I was working in my studio on a new canvas piece. I wear headphones to cancel out the outside noise so I can focus. Batman has never let me down before. I usually look up to see someone has opened my door and is staring at me make a fool of myself as I listen to music.
Behind the vocals of Brad Delp, I started hearing a strange sound that normally isn't in "Don't Look Back". I pause the music to see if there is a data corruption in the file. I heard it again. It was a soft sobbing. In my 11x10 studio space, I know when I am by myself. I removed my headphones and listened for it again. I heard it from outside of my studio. Let me give you a floor layout of the space outside of my little area. Immediately outside of my door, which has a peephole, there is a massive green carpeted room we use for classes and seminars. Immediately to the left is a giant bank vault which houses a fellow artist's space. He keeps it locked. To the right will take you toward the front of the building and past a couple more studios. I use the peephole in my door to look out first. By now I am no stranger to think first, look first. I see two other artists across the room using the tables we leave out to create. Neither ladies seem to hear the crying. I hear it again, this time from the left. I open my door and step out quietly as to not disturb anyone. I turn to face the vault and the bars that create a door. I hear it softly echo from the space within. Inside the vault, there are two areas. One decent sided space a little bigger than my studio and one smaller space that is used as storage. I step closer to the ramp leading inside. A feeling of dread starts to strangle the breath in my lungs. I wait and listen. A loud yell comes from inside. I turn and look back at the other artists. One is in her studio with the door closed and the other went into her space where she has music playing. Once again neither of the ladies heard it. I nearly jump out of my skin as my studio neighbor touches my shoulder. "Was that you?" She asks. I could see the fear dilating her pupils. I shake my head and look back inside the vault. "It came from in there. I had heard crying and came to see what it was." We exchange a glance. This woman is double my age and I can imagine she has seen and heard a lot. She is pretty matter of fact when she wants attention and doesn't hold back. The genuine fear in her eyes made my fear creep dig deeper into my soul. She removed her hand and backed up toward her studio door, which was 3 feet to the right of mine. "Maybe we should leave her alone." I nodded and walked to my door. I look back toward the vault and see the shape of a woman in a long dress standing at the sheer curtain leading to the storage area. Coldness raced up my spine and I shivered in a muggy building. A few minutes after I closed my door in a hurry and was trying to settle my nerves, my studio neighbor says bye and leaves for the day. I could tell in her haste that she was shaken by what happened. I turn back into my room and release a deep breath. I look at my laptop's dark screen to hear "After You're Gone" play out of it's speakers. When I left, I had my headphones plugged in and I swear I closed the laptop.
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Author34 years of life below the Mason Dixon line leads to a lot of stories of old and new. Archives
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