Last night I had the privilege of leading a tour at the Seattle Art Museum.
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| I added a red censor since photos are not allowed in SAM(shhhhh) |
I was part of the "My Favorite Things" tour during the October 30th, 2014 "Community Night Out" at the museum. In the spirit of Halloween, I decided to make my false backstories have a bit of a spooky twist.
For anyone who couldn't make it, I will be posting my 4 stories in order on my website. The painting that helped kick off my tales of terror was Roy Lichtenstein's "Study for Vicki".
Study for Vicki! 1964
by Roy Lichtenstein
The old creaky house with the mailbox outside
is were Mr. Jones and his wife Vicki reside.
A worn welcome mat and their name on the door
The Jones’ had moved in a long time before.
As the red wallpaper tore and the carpets grew mold
their passion fueled marriage somehow grew cold.
As Vicki’s attention soon moved to her writing
Mr. Jones and his wife had to work through the fighting.
"We’ll go to a counselor, they’ll tell us what to do"
“Oh I assume you want me to pay for that too!”
So they never got counseled, they just stayed home
Two people present, but both so alone.
A traditional man, and stubborn as hell
he knew a divorce was what he had smelled.
“I can’t do that! Lose half of my stuff!”
So his next idea was a little off the cuff
He started to pace and ponder and sway,
"What if she dies? Then I don’t have to pay”
Without missing a beat, he planned in his head
the way in which he’d make his wife DEAD.
After breakfast the next morning, he kissed her goodbye
"Don’t wait up honey, I’m working late” he had lied.
Later that evening, upon Mr. Jones return,
Vicki was asleep and her husbands decision was firm.
He snuck to their room with only one thing he could see
The 6 figure amount on her life insurance policy.
As his hands dove into the space below her chin
Vicki’s future was beginning to look grim.
Normally in the story, the hero enters to save her
But Vicki’s fate was a just a little bit graver.
Mr. Jones was no doctor, and he wasn’t that strong
but the look in her eyes, he knew Vicki was gone.
With his hands trembling, the moon still in the sky
He retired to the couch, to get some shut eye.
Mr. Jones dreamt of his story, home invasion gone fatal.
He awoke to the sound of plates on a table.
The sun had come up and the room smelled delicious.
Someone had made breakfast, and was putting out dishes?
“Did I dream up last night? Is someone else here?
The police? The in-laws? my boss Mr. Grier?"
Then, what he heard was as clear as day,
“Breakfast is ready” just like his wife used to say.
In fact, it smelled how her breakfasts smelled, that certain way.
As he pulled back the door and his heart began to race
He didn’t know what he’d do if he saw that face.
His skinned turned white from it’s normal, spotted red
“Vicki! I-I thought I heard your voice!” he said.
It was her, alive, just setting the table,
In fact she looked healthy, happy and able.
The only thing off was the surprise in her stance
When her husband walked in and gave her a glance.
“Mr. Jones Found Dead” was the headline she had hoped to see
When she sprinkled the poison into his Wheaties.
"He said he’d work late, the end is nigh
He’ll collapse on the job and I’ll have my alibi"
Vicki had thought, the morning before,
Little did she know how slowly the poison would absorb.
By the time that cocktail reached Mr. Jones heart
He had already strangled his wife and was sleeping apart.
Now it’s not every day you can murder your own killer
But eternity with them sounds an oddly bit chiller.
The murder they thought would separate them from their spouse
Only caused the haunting of that old creaky house.
by Mike Oncley
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