Midnight Narrative - Episode 7 Part 1 - "Living Canvas and Dead Ends"

Episode 7 Part 1 - Living Canvas and Dead Ends

Chapters:
00:00 - Intro
00:20 - My friend and I got a job cleaning strange graffiti from an abandoned building. We barely made it out alive.

Tonight on Midnight Narrative, we venture into an abandoned building where the walls hold a terrifying secret. We join a pair of cash-strapped friends who think they’ve landed the perfect, high-paying temp job: painting over some stubborn, recurring graffiti in an old flea market. But as the dark, tar-like fluid begins to move, spread, and form horrifying human faces, they realize they aren't just cleaning walls—they are uncovering a grisly, murderous cover-up that refuses to stay buried.

Stories featured in this episode:

My friend and I got a job cleaning strange graffiti from an abandoned building. We barely made it out alive. (u/BadandyTheRed) https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/

If you would like me to narrate your story, please submit to: midnightnarrative666@gmail.com

Art Credit: Instagram @unexpectedspecter

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Transcript

0:19

My friend and I got a job cleaning strange graffiti from an abandoned building. We barely made it out alive. Another day, another job. It would be nice to find something more reliable one day, ideally with a low mortality rate and pay time off. Instead, Jake and I have made our way through so many career fields that I can barely keep track at this point. We have been crime scene cleaners, construction workers, bartenders, and hell, even one time amateur exorcists. Don't ask about that one, though I will say the Papacy might forgive our transgressions if they saw our results. Anyway, Jake and I have found ourselves in need of work again. This last job didn't last long, and it was strange, even by our standards. It was another cleaning gig, and we figured that despite the odd description and the admittably creepy location of an abandoned building near town, it would be alright. At least there would be no blood and bodies to clean up, and hopefully no cursed dolls hiding around in the basement either. It was a month ago. We were looking around and found an odd listing about a cleaning crew needed for an old flea market close to downtown. Just some cover up painting. Not a big deal considering what we had done before. And the pay was surprisingly good for such a simple job. We jumped at the chance when we found it, since it would be the first decent payday in a while. Jake and I took the van out to the building to meet the contact for the position. Jake was grinning like he always did when we were going to a new job. At this point, I figured he got some sort of masochistic joy out of the idea that everything might unravel around us like a curse. I was just excited for another paycheck, even if it was another cleaning gig. Come on, man, I'm sure this one will be on the level, Jake said, trying to cheer me up while frantically switching through songs on his playlist. He finally settled on battery by Metallica, and before he cranked the volume up he continued. After all, what's the worst? Don't finish that sentence I snapped back at him, but he just shrugged and drowned out my concern with the song. We rode on for a while longer, seeing the telltale signs of a dilapidated buildings, which assured us we were getting close. Jake checked the directions again. This is it up ahead. Old Mayhew's flea market. I'm shocked this place closed. Who could pass up such fine offerings? He chuckled sarcastically while pointing to an old defaced sign of an unpleasant looking man in an ill fitting suit. Jake had a point. The marketing sucked as much as the location. We parked in a lot just outside the condemned building. Now that we were closer, I saw that the place was fairly large, which made sense if it had been a bigger market in the past. The entire building was in a sorry state now though. Many windows were broken, boards were haphazardly nailed over sections, and the whole place looked like a light breeze could topple it. As I looked on, I saw nearly every square inch of the place was tagged or covered in graffiti. There was also a strange ring of what looked like white paint on the ground that seemed to circle the perimeter. I wondered why someone would want us to clean the place up and not just tear it down and start again somewhere better. But I supposed it didn't matter. We were there and ready to work. Assuming this job really was on the level, I wanted to get down to it as soon as possible. In the next few minutes another car pulled up. It was a well maintained, if not a little dated Oldsmobile, still looking sharp despite its best ears being behind it. A tall man wearing a cowboy hat stepped out of the car and walked over to us. Howdy boys, the name's Earl Mayhew. Good to meet ya. Jake stepped forward and immediately shook the man's hand and gave a sarcastic Howdy, Earl. Name's Jake, and this here's my friend. I cringed at the awful accent Jake was attempting and hoped it would not offend our new client. Instead, Mr Mayhew just laughed and slapped his knee. I held out my hand and before I could say anything, Mr Mayhew walked past me and towards the building. Well then, now that the introductions are out of the way, please follow me. I can show you the place and you fellows can decide if y'all are interested in the job. He moved on towards the building. We shrugged and followed. Mayhew rummaged through his pocket for a moment and produced a key that he used to open a large padlock on the front door. Before stepping inside, he peeked in and looked around as if expecting something. Then he finally moved in and gestured for us to follow. I know she doesn't look like much these days, but we had a lot of good times. I just can't bear the idea of selling the place. This used to be one of the most successful flea markets in the county. We had people from all over the state with hundreds of vendors and clients. But that was then. Mayhu sighed ruefully and looked like he had forgotten we were there for a moment. He snapped back to the present and regarded us. Sorry, boys, lots of memories. Anyway, come this way, and I'll show you the real meat and potatoes of what I need done. We followed him down a dimly lit hall and into a wide open central plaza that was covered in debris. Almost every surface was plastered with some measure of graffiti. Definitely a fixer upper, Jake mumbled. Mayhew must have heard him and his eyes narrowed. Jake caught himself and blurted out apologetically. But it has good bones, good character. No wonder you wanted to preserve it. Mayhu nodded and continued on. Jake shot me a lame thumbs up and I rolled my eyes. We stopped again, and Mayhu looked around, examining particular walls and parts of the floor with care. I was about to ask what he was looking for when he held up a hand and then pointed at a spot on the wall. There, right there. That is what I need you gentlemen to take care of. I looked at the odd spots on the wall and was confused. What is that? I asked, unable to hide my confusion. That is what you will need to clean. This place has been turned over recently. Believe it or not, I even have a crew working nights out here. No matter how much we cover it, it comes back. I need you two to cover it up before he paused, looking nervous. Before what, Jake asked. Before it changes, Mayhew finished. And we both looked at him incredulously. Changes? I tried to clarify. Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but this art, if you can call it that, can change. It spreads all the time, slow and steady like. If it's not cleaned up, it eventually transforms. When the images start forming, Mayhu paused, and it looked like he was trying to suppress an involuntary shudder. Well, it's best not to let it come to that. We have had some incidents before when it did. I didn't like the way he said incident. But it won't be an ish if you were thorough. I just need you fellows to handle the paint. It has to be paint that covers it and not any cheap paint. It seems as long as we use decent stuff, it holds it off longer. We tried throwing paint thinner at it in case it might work to wear it down faster. Unfortunately, it wouldn't stop the spread, so I was left with gallons of the stuff that I had to store in the main hall. Once I get the funds ready, I'm going to wallpaper the bejesus out of this place and replace all the flooring and see how the thing likes it. He slapped his knee and laughed again, but stopped to cough awkwardly. I was confused. What was that thing he was referring to? It felt like there was a detail he was omitting. Mayhew straightened his jacket and continued. So fellows, what will it be? Just a few weeks of painting and I'm willing to pay you the whole salary of the last crew of five people. He held out a piece of paper, and I collected it before Jake could. He looked over my shoulder and mumbled a soft woe when he saw the pay. I tried to suppress my own excitement. It was double what we made on our last job for only a couple weeks of work. Count on us, sir, we said almost in unison. Excellent, boys, happy to do business with you. You can start tomorrow, I just have to work out a few things with the other crew, and you guys will be in business. Come by Brighton early tomorrow, say six AM, and we can go over the particulars. We arrived early the next day as requested. I was still feeling groggy, and I hammered back an energy drink before stepping out of the van. Jake seemed oddly energized and leapt out as soon as we arrived, nearly tripping as we went. Mr Mayhew was there waiting for us. He looked disturbed by something and was kneeling down with a tape measure and shaking his head. There was an odd patch of what looked like dark paint that was on the ground near the white ring. As we approached, I heard him mumbling something in frustration about an artistic bitch. I cleared my throat to get his attention and I called out. Hey mister Mayhew, good morning. He looked up, and the look of concern vanished, replaced by his practiced businessman's smile. Hey boys, thanks for coming. Alright, so down to business. I am going to go over a few things, so please save your questions for the end. I need you all to listen and remember these things, alright? We both agreed, and Mayhew continued. You will be spending most of your shift painting, not some normal painting job. Try and think of this one as having a moving target. For a little backstory on how we got here, a long time ago we had a vendor here. She claimed she was an artist, but she was really more of a witch. I know it sounds crazy, but it's the god's honest truth. She caused a lot of trouble. Eventually she cursed this whole place when things changed in a way she didn't like. At some point she disappeared. Ever since then, this paint keeps finding its way onto the walls, the ceilings, even the floors. He gestured around, and then I noticed the outline of the three human faces staring down at us from the ceiling. They didn't have features, but the lack of eyes and mouths made them even more unsettling to look at. Like those? I pointed up above us, and Mayhew looked up and cried out. Oh Jesus H Christ, yes like that. Let's step out of here for now, fellows. We followed him up as he rushed out, with the look of genuine fear clinging to him as we fled. We moved out into the parking lot and he let out a wheezing gasp. Sorry about that. Just startled me is all. Anyway, this artist. She's been leaving these paintings, and I've been having folks cover them up every day. They just keep coming back. For a while I decided to leave it, but then bad things started to happen. Sellers started to leave, calling it unsafe. He spat on the grounds and grimaced. Then people started seeing things and getting hurt. Finally an incident happened that ended up closing us down. Since then, I hold out hope that something can be done to save the place. But I can't just leave it. That thing, it's not content staying here. Every day the art creeps a bit closer to the outside, and the details become a little clearer. When those details are clear, if you see them, well something bad happens. Something that is better covered up. That's why I need you boys and the other cleaners. He cleared his throat and looked troubled. I was trying to digest the crazy story, and so was Jake. Mayhew asserted his confidence again and continued. Whatever this stuff is, it's unsafe. As bad as black mold and just as spreading. Paint over any and all of that you see. Just be careful it don't spread out beyond the circle. Cover that mess up first. He pointed to a line in the lot snaking out from the building, and the most important thing, if you see any faces or outlines like back in that room, cover them up right away. Don't wait, if I start to form or worse the mouths, he paused again, suppressing a shudder. Well just cover them up, and don't listen to anyone or anything else besides each other and me. Otherwise easy as pie, right? You guys do this well, and it looks good after the first day, you can even get a bonus. But I do need y'all to sign this contract. I like to offer my people true employment. He held out some papers and Jake scoffed. We are independent contractors first and foremost. The indignance in the voice surprised me, and for a moment I thought it might actually be a deal breaker. Then Jake chuckled as Mayhu looked dumbstruck. Just yankin' your chain, yeah, bring on the paperwork. Do we get health care? Mayhew smiled again and laughed along. Fill out the paperwork and you can be eligible for health coverage, LTD, and life insurance. Mayhew showed us to a small picnic table set up near the outside of the building and we filled out the paperwork. I saw something odd in the life insurance policy. It indicated that the placeholder beneficiary was Mayhew Industries. It seemed a bit odd, so I asked him about it. Mr Mayhew, this paper says that the company holds their life insurance policy first. When does that change? Oh that, he said dismissively. It's just standard policy, first two weeks. We hold the account and securities until it transfers to your beneficiary. It seemed odd, and I was about to tell Jake to hold off, but I looked over and saw he had finished and was already handing his completed papers to mister Mayhew. I sighed, and then finished signing my own. After all, how bad could a painting job be? After it was all settled, mister Mayhew showed us to a small storage shed that had dozens, if not hundreds, of cans of white paint inside. There were also rollers, pans, brushes, anything a painter might need. This should be good to get you started. Use as much as you need. Thicker coats seemed to take longer for that damn stuff to show through. Have fun, guys, and be careful. I would hate to lose you too. He walked out to his car, moving in an odd pattern, as if avoiding the path we had taken to get in. I noticed the line of paint that had been there before was gone, or rather it had curved off in a new direction, oddly pointing towards the way Mr Mayhew was leaving. I ignored the eerie sight and asked Jake, are we worried about the last thing he said? About losing us too? He shrugged. I don't know, but what I do know is I call not it for painting over the creepy face ceiling. He nearly doubled over laughing and I held my face in my palms. I could already tell this would be as exciting as watching paint dry. We started working quickly. All the supplies were conveniently located, and it was not long before we had covered up the oddly snaking trail of dark paint that had been creeping out of the building with the white cover up. Not sure what that guy was talking about, this is going great. It's not like this stuff is actively moving. Come on, let's go inside and work on the other rooms. Jake was right. Since mister Mayhew didn't care about how careful we were, it was coming along nice and quick. We opened the front door and nearly fell back in unison. There, inside the entryway, which had once been a fading white just an hour ago, now showed murals of dozens of people and dozens of empty faces in that streaking black paint, all of them looking at us from the walls, ceiling, and even up from the floor. Okay, so that's not ideal, I mumbled as we observed the impossible change. The new paint glistened and seemed to have an eerie aura, like it had only stopped moving because we had arrived to look at it. Well shit, Jake exclaimed. Always has to be something, though at least the old guy was honest with us. Seems we just need to cover this stuff up, or at least do as much as we can, so let's go. Suddenly he rushed forward with a paint roller in his hand and dragged it along the surface of one of the new paintings. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I felt a disturbing sense of pressure build up when he covered the area where the eyes and the face of one of the images had been. I was disturbed, but in the moment I managed the same resolve Jake had. We were there, we had seen some crazy stuff before, and we needed the money. I took a deep breath, opened a fresh can of paint, and got to work. At the rate we were going, we could get a lot done by the evening and get that bonus. But we were wrong, so wrong. Nearly ten hours had passed, and only one room looked complete. Jake and I were reluctant to leave the room unattended, since we both suspect that as soon as we did, the insidious black paint would come washing back in to undo all of our work. This is crazy, man. What the hell is going on? Some kind of haunting direct this guy's resell value? I mean at least it's not attacking us, but it just keeps undoing our goddamn work. Jake shouted at the wall and kicked a can of paint towards the corner he had just finished. It was already starting to show new black streaks beneath the surface. I know this feels hopeless, but we get paid by the hour, so even without a bonus, the money is still good. Come on, I think the evening shift should be here soon, I said, trying to reassure him. We left our supplies in the hull and walked out to the parking lot. As we neared the exit, we heard a voice shout out from outside. Nathan, where are you? You need to get out of there. It's not safe. Jake and I looked at each other, confused. We exited the building and saw a truck park next to our van and a man shouting at the building, but not moving past the painted perimeter. Hey, there's no Nathan in here, but are you one of the evening crew here to take over? I asked him, but he seemed surprised at my assertion and looked confused, then horrified. No, oh no, no, no. He brought other people here. Oh God, please tell me you saw Nathan in there. We need to get him out. He's been in there since last night. Whoa, slow down, dude, Jake said, trying to reassure the panic stricken man. We have been painting all day here, and your friend's not inside, we would have seen him. Who are you and what's going on? Mayhew said a night shift would be here to take over. The man took a deep breath and spoke in a strained whisper. My name is Roger. Nathan is my friend and fellow painter. We were hired to paint over the weird art in this building by Mr Mayhew. That was what we were doing until something happened last night. Nathan did not get out. Something happened and I can't remember. He looked confused, then frightened again as he struggled to recall. I don't know what happened. When I woke up I was back home. I tried to call Nathan, but he didn't respond. Then I started to remember things, flashing images, faces, and Nathan staring at a wall with his eyes all messed up. I don't know what the fuck is going on, but we need to get him out of there now. Before we could ask him another question, Roger forgot his apprehension about the paint perimeter and bolted past us, shouting for his friend. Shall we? Jake smiled and ran after the screaming painter, back into the haunted building to look for his friend. I groaned and then followed him. As soon as we made it into the building, something felt off. The smell of fresh paint was stronger, but it also had a bizarre, acrid tinge, like something else was in the air. I looked with disturbed fascination at the areas we had just painted over and saw the black, tar like fluid oozing down the walls. Jake ignored the disturbing sight and rushed ahead, trying to catch up with Roger. I caught up with him around a corner, but Roger was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly there was a shaking in the building's walls, and we retreated back to the front door, fearing a structural collapse. After a tenuous moment, I looked at the front door. There was a snaking line of paint emerging from the ground and merging into an inky black canvas that had erased most of the door's features. It was so much worse, actually seeing the paint move. It was like a living creature, and watching it gave me a terrible headache. Jake was staring at it too, a little too intently. I shoved his shoulder and he blinked and shrugged off the effect. Let's prop the door open, I suggested. I didn't like the idea of this image forming on the door and being stuck in here with it. I pulled at the handles and the door held firm. There was a disturbing squishing sound, and suddenly I fell back gasping as a living portrait of a face opened its eyes and looked back at me from where the plane door had been. I was horrified, but oddly mesmerized by the shifting patterns in the faces. I know I shouldn't be looking at it, but how could I not look at something so miraculous? I started leaning closer to the face. I needed to see more. Suddenly a hand fell on my shoulder, and I was pulled backward and onto the ground, landing hard and snapping out of my daze. None of that possess and shit, man. Don't look at that thing. Come on, let's try a window or something. This place is fucked and whatever's happening, I don't want to be stuck here, Jake whispered. I staggered to my feet and shook my head. I almost looked back at the undulating face on the door, and I swear I felt some invisible hand reaching out to touch my mind. I shuddered and backed away.