“I don’t see why it’s such a problem, Susan. This is my study, not yours.”
I polished the glass with a cloth.
“Yes, Jeffrey, it is. But that thing is very creepy.”
She raised an eyebrow and took a step away from it.
“I like it. It helps me concetrate.”
She shook her head at me and left the room.
I found it in a junk shop near the house. I hadn’t noticed the shop before, even though I must have passed it every day on my way home from work. I crossed the road and bump shoulders with a young man on his way out of the shop, his head hung low. I don’t think he even noticed me.
The shop was filled with the usual bric-a-brac you find in these places. I headed straight to the back, as though something was calling me to it. I rounded a corner, and there it was: “The Eye of Horus.” A thin layer of dust covered the painting in its simple metal frame.
Three days after I brought it home was the first time I realised that there was something odd about it. Susan was in the shower and I was sitting at the breakfast table. I was doing the crossword as I drank my coffee when it blinked.
I dropped my cup and stared at it, opened-mouthed. The painting blinked again.
“Well, I never.”
I took it off to the framing shop that same morning. Now it watches me, approvingly I like to think, as I construct my model pyramids in the evenings.