By VH
The car slowly took off as Marie Sinclair stood outside the Silvermoon Artist Retreat, a place that opened every ten years for only a week. It embodied every artist’s dream and it wasn't easy gaining entry; one had to meet several stringent criteria just to be considered. While one could apply, few knew it was invitation-only. Despite its allure, the retreat remained an enigma to the outside world, its exclusivity adding to its mystique. Marie was quite well-known in the art industry, she had made several art pieces which sold for a lot of money but that wasn’t enough for her, she wanted to make her mark on a global scale.
Just within the towering metal gates stood a petite, slender old woman. Half-moon glasses perched on her nose, her hair tightly bound in a neat bun, she was adorned in a grey pantsuit. Despite her stern demeanour, one might mistake her for a school headmistress were it not for the esteemed name she bore. Marie immediately recognised her as Martha Laurel Smith, the revered founder and owner of the Silvermoon Artist Retreat. Silence prevailed between them—not out of rudeness on Martha’s part, but rather in strict adherence to the retreat’s sole rule: no mingling, and certainly no speaking.
Marie was led to her cottage, a quaint, single-story wooden cabin. Stepping inside, she observed the absence of electronics, yet was delighted to find an array of amenities. There was a coffee-making station, a mini library stocked with every genre of book imaginable, and warm-toned decor that instantly enveloped Marie in a sense of coziness. A shelf stacked with games and puzzles caught her eye, but the pièce de résistance was the atelier. It was a treasure trove of paints and charcoals of every hue, with an abundance of canvases awaiting her artistic touch. Though slightly overwhelming, Marie knew that for the next three days, this was her sanctuary, and she couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect.
Marie opted for a stroll, aiming to acquaint herself with the surroundings, which would serve as her only source of inspiration for the forthcoming self-portrait she was tasked with completing over the next three days. The atmosphere at the Silvermoon Artist Retreat was intense, brimming with character, and demanded much from the artists it hosted. It wasn’t merely a venue for unlocking an artist's true potential, but rather a place that required those who stayed to unleash a part of themselves that they kept hidden. As Marie wandered, her thoughts turned to her parents.
Marie's drive to achieve greater success in her art career stemmed from a desire to prove herself to both her parents and the world. Despite her accomplishments, there was a lingering sense of dissatisfaction due to the disconnect between her passion for art and her parents' expectations for a more conventional career. Though her parents never explicitly expressed their disappointment, Marie discerned it through subtle cues—or perhaps it was her own insecurities projected onto them. Regardless, this unspoken pressure fuelled Marie's determination to validate her worth.
Marie paused at a crossroad, her path diverging between the garden to her right and a nearby structure to her left. Without hesitation, her steps guided her towards the building she instinctively recognised as the art exhibit. Its reputation preceded it; every artist who passed through the retreat contributed a self-portrait displayed within its walls. As Marie pushed open the imposing white double doors, a sense of anticipation welled within her.
The grandeur of the space was immediately apparent—the soaring ceiling held her gaze, with numerous sculptures that added to the room's vastness. A magnificent glass chandelier illuminated the space, infusing it with an air of elegance.
Marie's gaze swept over the array of portraits hung on the walls, recognising familiar names among the artists. Yet, an eerie ambience permeated the exhibit—each portrait bore a uniqueness that seemed to convey a shared sense of longing as if the subjects were reaching for something unattainable. Though she tried to dismiss the feeling, it lingered at the edges of her consciousness. However, her thoughts abruptly halted when her eyes fell upon a colossal mirror. Its beauty captivated her—the rustic borders adorned with intricate carvings lent it an air of mystique.
As Marie approached the mirror, she beheld a reflection that portrayed the very essence of her best self. Tears gathered in her eyes, moved by the sight before her. Positioned at the centre of the frame, with portraits aligned perfectly behind her, she felt a sense of profound connection. Gently touching her face, she felt a shiver ripple through her body, causing goosebumps to rise and the tiny hairs on her skin to stand on end. Her trance was abruptly interrupted by the strains of a violin playing through the speakers—an indication that it was time to return to her cottage. The retreat operated on strict schedules, particularly during the nighttime hours. As Marie made her way back, she couldn't help but reflect on the fact that what felt like merely fifteen minutes had, in reality, consumed three hours of her time within the art exhibit. "Weird," she mused, contemplating the uncanny passage of time.
Marie, intent on an early start the following morning, reached for a cozy book and brewed herself a cup of chamomile tea to aid in her sleep. However, upon opening the unmarked tome, she discovered it wasn't a typical book filled with stories or poetry. Instead, it was a diary bearing the name "Catherine Blackwood."
Diary Entry: 27th September 1980
Day 1 - I'm thrilled to finally be here at the Silvermoon Artist Retreat. There's something enchanting about this place; even though I just arrived today, it feels like I've been here all my life. Surrounded by the beauty of nature, I find myself truly inspired. The only thing I wish I could do is engage with the other artists here, but I suppose I'll have to wait for the right opportunity. With just three days ahead of me, I'm hopeful that I'll have the chance to connect with them, especially if my work catches their attention.
Martha Laurel Smith, despite being only a few years older than me, exudes a wisdom that I find both intimidating and awe-inspiring. Truth be told, I'm somewhat terrified of her. Nevertheless, I'm eager to dive into my painting. It's strange that there are rules governing when we can paint; one would think a retreat would encourage creativity whenever inspiration strikes. Nonetheless, I'm feeling confident in my abilities, and I'm certain that I'll produce some great work during my time here. Until tomorrow, Cathy.
Marie couldn't help but smile as she delved into the diary entry, struck by its profound resonance with her own sentiments. It felt as though Catherine had articulated Marie's very thoughts onto the pages before her. The realisation that she was perusing the diary of Catherine Blackwood, one of the most renowned artists in the world, filled Marie with
disbelief. Memories of Catherine's magnificent self-portrait, proudly displayed on the wall of the art exhibit, flooded Marie's mind, leaving her in awe of the artist's talent and legacy.
Marie found herself inexplicably drawn back to the art exhibit, though she couldn't recall how she arrived there. It was as if she had been in a trance. Surveying her surroundings, everything appeared unchanged, except for a faint, haunting feminine voice that reverberated throughout the space. Though the words were indiscernible, the sorrowful tone pierced Marie's heart, sending waves of pain radiating through her chest until suddenly, everything fell silent.
Her attention was drawn to the mirror, now seemingly more enchanting than before. Sitting cross-legged before it, Marie couldn't tear her gaze away from her reflection. Yet, as she watched, a sense of unease crept over her as her reflection began to distort. With a surge of panic, Marie leapt to her feet, her breaths coming in ragged gasps, and fled. She ran desperately, only to find herself puzzlingly back in the same spot each time she attempted to escape. It wasn't until she finally awoke, drenched in sweat and trembling, that she realised she had been trapped in a disturbing dream, she shook it off blaming the travel and lack of sleep the past few days.
Marie sat before the canvas in the atelier, facing the daunting task of painting her first self portrait. Despite her affinity for challenges, she felt utterly lost, unsure of where to even begin. Closing her eyes in search of inspiration, all she could summon was the echo of that haunting voice from her dream. Her hand moved almost instinctively, applying a few tentative lines and squiggles onto the canvas. With a sigh, she realised that nothing coherent had emerged.
As Marie struggled to find her footing, her thoughts turned to Catherine's journey while in the retreat. She had watched Catherine's interviews and found her to be truly inspirational, speaking highly of the transformative experience at the Silvermoon Artist Retreat. Drawing strength from Catherine's example, Marie resolved to persevere. With renewed determination, she returned to the portrait, ready to confront the challenge head-on.
As Marie reflected on her progress, she realised that four hours had slipped away, yet all she had to show for it was a rough sketch of her self-portrait. Determined to permeate her painting with extravagance and depth, she resolved to delve deeper into her creativity. Known for her love of walks as a means to clear her mind, Marie stepped outside, only to discover her lunch, long forgotten and left outside her cottage. She must have missed the knock, lost in her artistic pursuits. Despite her grumbling stomach, she opted for a crisp apple and set off on her walk, hoping to find inspiration amidst the natural beauty of the surroundings.
After the unsettling experience of her dream the previous night, Marie felt a reluctance to revisit the art exhibit. Instead, she opted for a tranquil stroll through the garden, drawn in by its natural beauty. Passing through an archway adorned with cascading creepers and climbers, fragrant flowers enveloped her senses. The garden sprawled out before her, with a magnificent fountain serving as its centrepiece, the sunlight cause the cascading water to sparkle before her.
As she wandered, Marie was surprised to encounter other individuals—something she hadn't experienced since her arrival. At least three people roamed the garden - Although Marie was aware that only seven artists were present at the entire retreat, not counting the staff and Martha Laurel Smith herself - their presence was a welcome change considering all the cottages were quite a distance from each other. Some offered friendly smiles as they passed, though Marie knew she couldn't engage in conversation. Respecting the retreat's rules, she continued her solitary walk.
As Marie observed her surroundings, she was startled by shuffling noises emanating from a nearby tree. Her heart quickened as she approached cautiously, hands trembling with apprehension. What if it was an animal? But she quickly reasoned that the retreat wouldn't harbour any dangerous creatures, especially with the large barricade enclosing the area.
To her relief, two birds emerged from the tree and took flight, dispelling her fears. Marie chuckled inwardly at her own overreaction. Spotting an unpaved path nearby, her adventurous spirit stirred within her. With a sense of curiosity driving her forward, she decided to explore. The path was narrow, overgrown, and somewhat neglected, but Marie pressed on, relishing the opportunity to indulge her explorer's instincts.
To Marie’s dismay, the path led to the art exhibit, “The more I avoid you, the more you want me here," Marie muttered aloud to the imposing structure. Just as she turned to leave, a piercing scream shattered the tranquillity of the surroundings. Startled, Marie hesitated, torn between the impulse to investigate and the fear of what she might discover inside.
Before she could make a decision, Martha Laurel Smith, the retreat's owner, appeared and gestured for Marie to remain outside. Relief washed over Marie as she watched a girl of similar age emerge from the exhibit, wearing an apologetic smile. There seemed to be nothing visibly wrong with her. As Martha stood behind the girl, her demeanour reassuring, she gave Marie a brief nod, dispelling any lingering doubts.
As Marie stood before the mirror, her hair still damp from the shower, she was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Curious, she opened it to find a dinner tray laid out elegantly, the silver gleaming under the dim light, accompanied by a note. Taking a seat, she picked up the note and began to read it.
“Dear Marie, I apologise for the event that startled you this evening. It appears one of our artists was startled by a bird inside the art exhibit, leading to the scream you heard. I hope it didn't trouble you too greatly. Please accept the extra dessert as a token of gratitude from The Silvermoon Artist Retreat. Regards, Martha Laurel Smith.”
Marie savoured the extra dessert, finding solace in this small gesture of communication from the retreat. It wasn't that she had been particularly spooked by the evening's event, but rather she welcomed any form of connection in this otherwise silent environment. After finishing dinner, she returned to the atelier with a paint-soaked brush in hand. Today's walk had ignited a newfound inspiration within her—to incorporate elements of nature into her self-portrait. Though she didn't have the entire picture in her mind yet, she had a budding idea taking shape. With each stroke of the brush, she began to bring her vision to life on the canvas.
Marie sank onto the bed, her eyelids growing heavy with fatigue. Despite her weariness, she felt a compelling urge to delve into Catherine's experiences on her second day at the retreat. Reaching for the diary once more, she eagerly flipped through its pages.
Diary Entry - 28th September 1980
Day 2 - Things have taken a strange turn, and I'm starting to feel unsettled about being here. Despite my initial excitement, I can't shake this nagging feeling of unease. I keep hearing strange noises and whispers almost, and I'm beginning to question my sanity. Today, I painted, or at least I think I did. There's a canvas with brush strokes and what appears to be my face on it, but I can't recall much of the process. The paint stain on my hand serves as a tangible reminder, though, dispelling any notion that it might all be in my head.
Tomorrow marks my final day here, and I must admit, I'm counting down the hours until I can leave. As much as I had hoped to find inspiration at this retreat, it seems to have brought more confusion and discomfort instead. Until tomorrow, Cathy.
Marie closed the diary, a sense of confusion lingering in her mind. What could have transpired in just one day to make Catherine lose interest in the retreat? While Marie herself had experienced some peculiar occurrences, most of them had rational explanations— except for the mysterious voice. Did Catherine hear it too? Marie pondered the possibility of auditory mirages, typically associated with optical illusions, but couldn't find a satisfactory answer. Shaking her head, Marie decided not to dwell on it further. With tomorrow marking her final day at the retreat, she didn't want to overthink things. Resolving to make the most of her remaining time, she set the diary aside and prepared to rest, hopeful for a more peaceful night's sleep.
Marie closed her eyes, seeking solace in the darkness, but her peace was soon shattered by the haunting melody of the voice, humming once more. Determined to unravel the mystery, she rose from her bed. This time, the voice seemed to come from within the room itself, its ethereal notes echoing off the walls. Navigating through the darkness, Marie's search led her to confront her own reflection. A furrow creased her brow as she realised her reflection wore a crooked smile, but the thing is Marie wasn’t smiling at all. The breaking point came when her reflection tilted its head, locking eyes with her in an unnerving display of familiarity. Trembling with unease, Marie struggled to comprehend the surreal encounter, her mind racing with unanswered questions.
Marie ran in fear and took shelter under the covers, her breaths ragged and chest heaving as terror gripped her tightly. The haunting melody ceased, leaving only a harsh silence which was broken by the sound of her own laboured breathing. Above her, she sensed the presence of her reflection, lurking and waiting. Dread knotted her stomach as she resisted the urge to open her eyes, knowing what awaited her on the ceiling desired to be seen. Her heart pounded furiously within her chest, drowning out all other sounds as she summoned the courage to face whatever awaited her. With shaking hands, she tentatively opened her eyes, only to be greeted by the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains. Confusion washed over her as she sat up, realising it was already the next morning.
Marie knew it wasn’t a dream, her conviction wavered as she struggled to comprehend the boundary between reality and the haunting scenes of her nightmares. She turned towards the mirror, half-expecting to find something amiss, but saw only her own real reflection staring back at her. The reassurance was fleeting, overshadowed by a deep-seated terror that gripped her heart. She wasn’t confused anymore, she was terrified. Her eyes landed on the diary next to her, she opened it to day three, hoping to uncover some semblance of understanding amidst the unsettling events unfolding around her.
Diary Entry - 29th September 1980
Day 3 - If you're reading this, pay attention to my warning: leave this place immediately. Run as if your life depends on it, because it very well might. What you witnessed was no dream—it's a grim reality lurking within these walls. Every shadow, every whisper, every
unexplainable occurrence— they're all too real, and they are hungry for something beyond our understanding. Run before it's too late. Escape this twisted nightmare before it takes you. Run. Cathy.
If Marie wasn’t scared before she was absolutely terrified now. She should escape but there was another entry, she couldn’t help but read it.
Diary Entry - 30th September 1980
Leaving day - Yesterday morning I was a bit out of it. The rest of the day, however, was far from ordinary. I completed my self-portrait and received confirmation that it's now hanging at the art exhibit. With my bags packed and anticipation coursing through my veins, I’m eager to show everyone how great of an artist I am. Farewell, Silvermoon Artist Retreat. It’s time to step into the real world. Love, Catherine Blackwood.
Marie's unease deepened as she reflected on the terrifying events of the past days. Nothing seemed right since her arrival at the retreat, and the recent unsettling encounters and Catherine’s last diary entry only heightened her sense of dread. She had made up her mind to leave, she was determined. However, her attempt to flee was thwarted when she found herself unable to locate the exit, and the eerie silence of the deserted retreat compound only fuelled her panic, that’s when she heard voices. Desperate, she followed the voices, which ultimately led her to the art exhibit where laughter and conversation echoed from within. Going inside seemed to be the only way out, her heart pounded with apprehension.
As Marie stepped into the art exhibit, she was met with an eerie silence, devoid of the laughter and conversation she had heard from outside. The atmosphere felt unchanged from her every past visit, with the portraits lining the walls in silent vigil. Making her way through the exhibit, she found herself drawn to Catherine's portrait once more. Staring at the captivating depiction, Marie couldn't help but admire the beauty of the artwork. A sense of longing welled up within her as she whispered softly to the image before her, "I would love to meet you, Catherine... once I get out of here." Despite the silence that surrounded her, Marie felt a budding connection to the artist behind the painting, a connection that transcended the confines of the retreat.
"Hey," a quick voice whispered in Marie's ear, causing her to become startled and spin around in alarm. "W-Who was that?" she stammered, her voice trembling with fear. Yet, there was no one there, just the empty expanse of the art exhibit. Feeling a sense of trepidation, Marie's gaze drifted towards the mirror, where she noticed an eerie glow emanating from its border. Despite her instincts urging her to look away, her legs seemed to move of their own accord, carrying her closer to the mirror. As she stared into her own reflection, Marie's eyes widened in horror as she realised that the figures from the portraits had manifested behind her, their expressions vacant and haunting. Paralysed with fear, she stood transfixed, unable to tear her gaze away from the chilling sight before her.
Marie's piercing scream shattered the oppressive silence, reverberating throughout the expansive room as tears streamed down her face. Overwhelmed with fear, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, as if hoping to block out the terrifying apparition behind her.
When she finally summoned the courage to open her eyes again, Marie was met with the unexpected sight of Martha Laurel Smith standing behind her, a concerned expression etched upon her face. With an arm extended in a gesture of comfort, Martha gently approached Marie.
"What was that?" Marie whispered, her voice strained from the earlier scream and the sleepless nights that had plagued her since her arrival at the retreat. Her trembling hand reached out, grasping for reassurance.
"Shh... You're okay now," Martha's soothing voice cooed, her words enveloping Marie in a sense of calm. As Martha held her, Marie found herself gently rocking back and forth, finding solace in the warmth of her embrace."Are you ready for the real world?" Martha asked, her smile radiating warmth and reassurance. Despite the lingering unease, Marie nodded in affirmation. "Yes," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Martha took Marie’s hand and guided her towards her cottage, it was almost dark out.
"I thought we weren't allowed to talk," Marie stated, a hint of confusion in her voice. "You have an extraordinary voice, use it for your self-portrait," Martha replied with a warm smile before departing, leaving Marie with a newfound sense of confidence and determination. Throughout the night, Marie poured her heart and soul into her painting, fuelled by Martha's encouraging words. As dawn broke, Marie beheld her completed self-portrait with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Indeed, her experience at the Silvermoon Artist Retreat had been transformative, and she felt a profound gratitude as her portrait joined those of world-renowned artists on the walls of the exhibit.
One month later, Marie stepped into the Charleston Royal Hall, where her first solo gallery opening was being held. Excitement bubbled within her as she surveyed the bustling venue. In the past, she would have been consumed by nerves, but her time at the Silvermoon Artist Retreat had instilled in her a newfound confidence and sense of self.
The gallery was filled with esteemed guests and art enthusiasts, including many influential figures from the art world. Marie's heart swelled with pride as she observed the reception to her paintings—most of them already on the verge of being sold. Each canvas was a
testament to her dedication and passion, each one telling its own unique story born from her creativity and experiences. As she mingled with the attendees, Marie couldn't help but reflect on how far she had come since her time at the retreat. With a sense of gratitude and fulfilment, she embraced this moment as a testament to her growth as an artist.
Marie's smile widened as she spotted an elegant old woman dressed in a resplendent red gown, her white hair styled in an elaborate updo. "Ah, Catherine Blackwood, I'm so glad you could make it," Marie exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine joy as she greeted Catherine with a quick hug. Catherine Blackwood's presence added a special significance to the occasion, and Marie felt a surge of appreciation for her support and encouragement, “All this is very inspired. Lovely work, Marie.”
“Thank you. You know funny thing, I found your diary at the Silvermoon Artist Retreat. I guess we were placed in the same room, forty years apart,” Catherine laughed, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “Oh yes, I forgot I wrote that little thing.”
"But I've got to admit, your entry on day three freaked me out quite a bit," Marie admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of apprehension."Whatever do you mean, child?" Catherine questioned, a look of confusion crossing her features."Well, the dream and the voices. I'll be honest, I heard them too," Marie confessed, her gaze meeting Catherine’s with a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity. Catherine hummed thoughtfully. "You don't hear them anymore?" she inquired ominously, raising her eyebrows.
Fear etched itself across Marie's face as Catherine drew closer, her whispered words sending a shiver down her spine. "I mean, I'm only asking because we never escaped, did we? Only our reflections did.” Catherine's words hung heavy in the air, casting a spell of uncertainty over Marie.
Suddenly, the surroundings around Marie began to morph and shift, the familiar sights and sounds of the gallery fading away as if they had never existed. In the blink of an eye, she found herself transported back to the art exhibit at the Silvermoon Artist Retreat, but this time, she wasn't standing. It was as if she was viewing the scene from a completely different perspective, a realisation that sent a chill coursing through her veins.
As Marie observed her surroundings from this unfamiliar perspective, she noticed a young girl, roughly her own age, approaching with excitement radiating from her. The girl glanced around before she whispered, "Marie Sinclair. Self Portrait, 2020. Oh, of course! The reason I even became an artist. I can't wait to meet you one day, Marie.” she gushed, her admiration evident in her voice.
As Marie attempted to speak or move, she realised with horror that she was completely immobilised. She couldn't even feel her own body, yet her consciousness remained acutely aware of her surroundings. Her gaze was drawn inexorably to the mirror, and what she beheld within would haunt her for eternity.
Reflected back at her was not her own reflection, but the self-portrait she had painstakingly painted ten years ago at the retreat. The realisation struck her like a bolt of lightning, sending chills down her spine. At that moment, Marie understood the true nature of her
existence—an eternal embodiment of her own artistic creation, forever trapped within the confines of this evil place called the Silvermoon Artist Retreat.
By VH
Intriguing hmmmmmm