The painting moves!, the little girl would often say.
It was only kooky Aunt Elsa who believed her. Everybody else thought it was just a phase.
But Aunt Elsa knew better—
The little girl had always been Grandpa’s favorite.
Not even the locks on the dead man’s old room, where the painting hang, could keep him from taking what was his.
So when the little girl finally disappeared, it was only Aunt Elsa who knew why.
She could see them—
A grinning old man and a scared little girl, blending in with the otherwise vibrant colors of The Marketplace crowd.
*Inspired by the prompt the artist’s eye from The Daily Post.