Each piece of art will be paired with a short story of 200-1000 words. The art will be at the bottom of the chapter.
The prompt list I'm using can be found here: https://www.instagram.com/p/CUSzT18LbFp/?utm_medium=share_sheet
Not to knock it. Really. It's just like any other form of art, but well, personally, it unsettles me. Maybe it's the eyes. So obviously plastic, a contrast to the natural fur surrounding them.
Normally, I would never go into a taxidermy shop, but I'd made a promise to a friend. Her husband was a hunter, and had sent a buck to a taxidermist out of town. I had mentioned going to the area for a business trip, and she'd asked me to check in with the taxidermist. Apparently, he hadn't been answering her husband's calls. I agreed, thinking I'd just have to pop in for a few minutes at the most.
I pushed open the door of the shop, exposing its dim interior. There were no windows except for the ones up front, so as I descended further and further looking for a register, it got darker and darker. The walls and shelves were practically teeming with taxidermies of different animals, all with those shining plastic eyes. I tried not to look directly at them.
I eventually came to a desk at the back of the store, positioned in front of a cracked open door. It was empty, but I caught a faint chemical scent. I waited for a second, but no one came to the sound of my footsteps. I called out hesitantly.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" For a second, the store was quiet, and then I heard a shuffling come from behind the door. It swung open, and I couldn't help but gag. A scent spilled out with the person who opened the door. It was similar to that chemical scent, but there was something under it that it failed to conceal. It smelled like that time a raccoon had died in my garage. Like rotting meat.
The person who stepped out did not look well. He was very skinny, and his clothes practically hung off of him. He had dark circles under his eyes, unnaturally pale skin, and sunken cheeks. It looked like he hadn't sleep or gone outside in weeks. He squinted at me, or more likely, the light coming from the front window. The doorway behind him was shrouded in darkness.
His voice was raspy as he spoke. "Yes?" He said slowly, like it took effort to even pull the word from his throat. I choked for a second, either from surprise or from disgust at the still-lingering scent, but managed to complete a question about my friend's husband's buck. He didn't look at me the entire time I spoke, and when I finished, he simply said, "It will be done soon. I have... more pressing orders to take care of."
It was at this moment I noticed the stains on his leather apron. They were slightly rusty, like the color of dried blood. That only made me feel more uneasy. Something wasn't right here, and I had a feeling it had to do with whatever was in that back room. Something in my gut screamed at me that I needed to leave immediately.
But I didn't run screaming. I thanked the man, and promptly left.
His glassy eyes followed me as I walked out.
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