House in the night

A strong, cold wind blew, which slammed the slightly open door loudly. A loud blow, like a heavy hammer on an anvil, responded in the head and abruptly brought out of sleep.
Looking at the door, and realizing that the cause of the noise is a draft, I try to get up. Some kind of incomprehensible state, or the unfinished phase of sleep, and maybe the usual hangover.
Look around where am I? It did not immediately realize that I was in an unfamiliar place. Quite a spacious room, with a lonely table at the window, and a pair of chairs. Bookcase, with a lot of books, a quick look, caught the names of Balzac, Flaubert, Voltaire, familiar names! Various pictures hang on the wall, united by one common theme of a person who absorbs loneliness.
The wind still howls into the already wide-open window. Climbing from the couch, I feel a slightly uncertain walk, but when I reach the window, I’ve completely come back to normal, close the window, and peering into the distance, trying to find out where I am, but impenetrable night which the moon does not even light, does not allow this to be done.
It is necessary to think, and as soon as possible.
On the table is an almost empty bottle of French wine from the valleys of Nancy. Wall clock shows 1 hour, 45 minutes of the night. Trying to remember what happened yesterday. I am at home in Lyon, painting a picture that was ordered to me by one of the respectable people, the city prosecutor, the portrait of his wife, to give him to his wife in honor of her birthday. Over this picture, it has been spent for almost a month now, without one day, and small strokes remained. Last memories, this is a deep night, and yes, a bottle of wine, but local wine! Lyon!

Okay, that's not the point, the question of where I am at the moment is still relevant. It is necessary to look around the house, perhaps I am not alone here, and it would be a joy to meet a familiar person, this all explained then! Squeaking softly, the door opened, leaving the room, finding a long and almost dark corridor, apart from the fact that in some places there are lampshades on the walls. Not a soul. Absolute silence. Yes, I understand that it is deep night now and maybe the owners of this house are sleeping, but I still don’t recognize the house. Apparently, this is a six-story house, and I am currently on the fourth floor. I do not remember which of my friends could have had such a tall house. We need to look at other rooms, there are a lot of them here, and the question arises, is this a house? Maybe this is some kind of clinic or shelter? Doors do not give in, are closed. I try to open the doors on the floor. Click! And lo and behold! One, single door on the floor opened.

It is dark, but it is still clear that in this room there are two beds, a small table on which pencils and drawings are lying, similar to the ones painted by the hand of children. They seem to depict the family, the sun is shining, the grass is growing. The next picture is not so bright and rainbow. Clouds obscure the sky, pouring rain, thunderstorm. The third drawing caused light goosebumps all over the body, a strange-looking man in dark clothes hanging over painted people. I look at the next picture with care, there is darkness. Simply shaded completely drawing. Scary. I went up to the window, but almost nothing is visible, it seems that the tops of the trees, probably the house, are close to the forest. No thoughts about your whereabouts.


**

It was already dark outside the window, the night had passed unnoticed. The picture took a lot of time and effort. Yes, and a strange customer, through his servant, sent an old, worn photo, at home, saying that you need to draw this house, always at night, without the light of the moon. Leaving a good deposit and promising a decent fee for the work done. And finally, the picture is finished. Brushing away the sweat from his forehead, and after sipping a little more wine, I look at the clock, at a quarter to two, two nights. I went to the window, very dark, even the moon is not visible. And then the glance is transferred to the reflection in the window, in my room, on my just finished painting, I notice a person who looks out the window, I hear a voice, he says, don't turn around! It can not be madness! I'm probably just tired and drank a lot of wine! But the voice continues to speak, do not turn around! It becomes uncomfortable, but I do not believe in ghosts and anything supernatural, so I begin to turn my head in the direction of possible noise, but it was too late ...