Clark couldn't help but admit that he was happy to see the artwork gone from Aunt Hannah's house. The place was crammed with paintings that had always been the worst in the world, in addition to the dusty art and furnishings that one would ordinarily find unsettling.

In the family house, Aunt Hannah, a retired archaeologist, resided. The woman had formerly travelled the world and led a life fit for an explorer, but she had now gone back home. She gathered bizarre and macabre items from far places, as did many travellers of her day, and arranged them on every surface of her home, giving it the eerie, unmoving weight of an art gallery.

Hannah's sister, Clark's mother, had passed away only a few months earlier. Aunt Hannah was now the only family he had because he was an only child and had never met his father. The majority of his weekly visits were more for her benefit than for his own. She was 89 years old and was rapidly losing her sense of reality. She wouldn't require further long-term help for much longer, as Clark predicted, and he was right.

In front of a crushed, greenish sofa that he had just painted, Clark set out tea and cookies from the kitchen on a table. When he came, his Aunt was dozing off and staring off into space. He roused her and sat down next to her on the couch.

"Auntie, Where did the painting of me and the picture of you and my mother go?" He held up his hand to indicate a blank wall.

As if she were not paying attention to anything in particular, Aunt Hannah cocked her head slightly and cast her glazed eyes in the general direction of his comment.

"My sweetheart, do you want to paint? There had never been an artwork there ".....

Unconcerned, she splashed a sizable amount of tea over the rim of the cup as she poured the tea into it. She was about to arrange the crockery on the tray when Clark grabbed the pot and helped her.

"Do you agree with me that there was a picture in that room? It was clearly present when I came to see you last week. I felt inspired."

Unlike the previous time, Aunt Hannah looked directly at Clark instead of at the wall, her confusion having been replaced by comprehension. She appeared to have completely broken through the fog since she was unobstructed and appeared clear.

I remember thinking, "It was your mother who came over and took it away." Since you didn't like it, she explained, it needed to be transferred to a different spot.

As he felt this sensation, every hair on Clark's body stood on end.

"N...

Keep in mind, Auntie, that my mother, Nonnie, is no longer with us. The woman died."

His Aunt, on the other hand, had once more disappeared, this time painted to appear strangely floating, as if her head had once more been filled with helium.

After another hour of attempting to respond to the queries, Clark ultimately gave up. On that specific day, His Aunt was unable to penetrate the barrier of her insanity for even a single second longer. It seemed as though she was speaking to herself about a wonderful night she had once had in Cambodia and then thinking about the orange man she had seen on television who didn't perceive things the way she did. She reached into her purse and brought out a picture book, which opened with an audible creak, as Clark tried to shift the conversation back to his mother. Aunt Hannah seemed to vanish from reality whenever Clark brought up what she had said about her sister, as if she were showing him a collection of blurry pictures from their younger years.