After finishing Verdant Breathes, I headed over to DeviantArt and began thumbing through images. I’m glad I didn’t start with my backlog of prompt material, because I stumbled upon Autumns Ghastly Ghouls of Haunting Visions by jeffdoute, check out below. While it seemed more unsettling than the images I normally gravitate toward, the scene called out to me. From the windswept leaves to the drifting ghost, everything compelled me to write a story. Though the artwork might look like it would spark a horrifying tale, that’s not where my mind went, and I hope you enjoy the results.
Art is always more than color and canvas. It’s a way of capturing what hides beneath the surface. In quiet places, it can uncover truths that history might prefer to bury. Yet sometimes those truths refuse to stay hidden. They demand to be seen.
Here, I invite you to join me in a secluded glade, where silence weighs heavy and the air itself seems to pause. At its center, a traveling artist sets brush to canvas as she chases fleeting impressions of the world around her. Yet in the act of creation, she finds herself standing on the edge of something older and deeper than she could ever imagine.
What begins as a study of shifting light and leaves becomes something much more unsettling, and profoundly human. In this tale, art is not just a reflection, but a revelation. A place where canvas becomes the meeting ground between memory, myth, and the unquiet echoes of the past.
As Cora’s brush flowed across the canvas, she studied the whipping leaves entwined in the undulating smoky tendrils. She tore her eyes from the shade to study the palette in her hand. Her gaze returned to the ghost, autumn swirling behind its floating form. She bit her lip, mixing two colors before using the blend to intensify the burst of foliage flowing like a cape from the ghost’s back. The glade held its breath with her. Only the scratch of her paintbrush and the restless stir of leaves broke the silence.
Cora painted with great energy, her strokes pursuing the leaves’ sweeping gestures. She wasn’t choosing their colors. Instead, they seemed to choose themselves. She layered sienna for sorrow, a tinge of gold for longing, and heavy black for what was lost. When she finished the being’s last embellishment, the ghost vanished, dropping the swirling leaves like a falling clump of water.
A moment later, another shade emerged from the earth, freezing in its own position. Cora twisted her neck, sending a series of small pops and cracks throughout the glade. A quick glance told her this fresh ghost belonged with all the others that had insisted on joining her landscape.
She swapped her brush for the stick of charcoal as she began sketching the latest model in her work. After she roughed the new addition to her scene, she tucked the temporary implement behind her ear and reclaimed her paintbrush. She rinsed the bristles and wiped them dry on her pant leg.
Cora drew it through the mound of dark gray paint and started filling in the specter’s form. Halfway through creating the frozen character, someone stepped up beside her. Cora paused, the bristles hovering over the painting, and looked to her right, finding the park’s caretaker studying her artwork. After a quick glance at the latest ghost, she brushed her nose as she inclined her head. “How are you doing today, Ephraim?”
“Cora, you have a wild imagination,” he said, glancing past the canvas to the captured trail. “Where did these elaborate phantoms come from?”
Cora’s eyes widened as her gaze flicked between the friendly caretaker and the most recent ghost still holding its stance, waiting for her to complete its addition. “You can’t see them?”
Ephraim’s head turned toward her, a quizzical expression filling his face as he fingered his chin. “The ghosts?”
“Yes.”
Soft laughter filled the trail as he rose to his full height, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ve never come across them. But they’ve made themselves seen to people before.”
“Who are they?”
“Lost souls,” Ephraim said, touching the painting’s edge. He peered past the canvas and looked right at the ghost despite not seeing the floating figure. He turned back to her and walked beside her. “The myths state that much. They also say they’re waiting for someone to balance the scales.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I’m not familiar with the stories altogether,” the caretaker said, chewing his lower lip. After a long moment he tousled Cora’s hair, flashing her a wide smile.
“But from what my memory can retrieve, it’s regarding broken oaths. Provided I haven’t mangled and mixed the tales, several hundred years ago two groups of people strove for the same resources. They both pledged mutual collaboration. Perhaps that’s why they linger, bound to promises carved into the very earth.”
“Let me guess, one of them decided it would be better to betray their oaths and exterminate the competition.”
“According to legend,” Ephraim said, patting her shoulder, “provided I’m not mixing my stories.”
“What happened to those who survived?”
The caretaker gestured toward the nearby town. “Again, if I am correct, the place outside the forest was settled by those betrayers.”
“How far off is it?”
“That’s right, you’re a traveling artist,” Ephraim said, his gaze returning to the work. “You know, despite this being unfinished, this is fantastic. Perhaps the ghosts have appeared to you because of your talent. You’ve captured a sadness in their expressions that would melt even the most hardened of hearts.”
“It isn’t finished,” Cora said, glancing toward the ghost. It shook its form before sinking into the ground. She stepped up beside the canvas and glanced at the undisturbed earth. “Maybe I’m done after all.”
Ephraim pointed at the unfinished shade. “Do you want to leave it incomplete?”
“I believe the ghosts consider the piece to be perfect,” Cora said, dropping her brush into the water. She backed up, studying the image after Ephraim’s story. It was no longer a landscape, but a representation of loss. The shades crowded the canvas, their outlines somehow clearer than they’d been just a moment ago, each one turned its back to the viewer, shunning whoever looked upon it.
Her breath caught as the painting seemed to breathe with them. “I’ll also guess they want me to leave it behind, to remind everyone about the ancient and broken promises.”
“If you’re hoping to share it with the townsfolk, consider donating it to the local museum.” His lips curled into a sorrowful grin. “It’ll strike them, but in a good way.”
With a nod, she packed up her equipment and grabbed the drying canvas. Her gaze drifted from the specters to the forest, and she nodded. She hadn’t painted ghosts at all, but witnesses of a terrible past. These were the ones who remembered the buried truth in leaves and shadow. She glanced at the caretaker and inclined her head. “Thank you for everything. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy the image hanging in the town’s museum.”
As Ephraim watched her rush toward the town, his outline flickered. The air grew colder, and the other shades emerged, circling their kindred spirit. Their murmurs rose like wind through dead leaves, carrying fragments of the long-broken oaths. Ephraim met each set of ethereal eyes, their sorrow and relief reflecting off his. “We found the one to give voice to our grief, allowing those who need forgiveness to seek what we yearn to grant.”