The Painting, by K. J. Watson

‘Your latest acquisition, Chas?’ Barry asked.

I nodded, admiring the painting I had just hung.

‘But why put it in the hallway?’ Barry continued. ‘There’s not enough light.’

Before I could reply, the painting began dribbling oil colour down the wall.

I stepped forward. The dribble became a gush that knocked me to the floor.

Barry grabbed the painting from the wall and carried it to the living room. The torrent subsided.

I pushed myself up and followed.

‘The light’s better here,’ Barry said, hanging the painting above the sideboard.

With caution, I searched for any leakage.

Not a drip.