Nightmares of Stone

The abnormally large wooden doors of the Vasdenia Museum made Tanzen feel smaller than he’d like. He gripped his backpack tighter, unclenched his fists and walked in, blending into a small crowd of tourists. No doubt they were here to gaze upon the work of Ladnis. Ladnis Mayenhaein. The man who created sculptures that…aged. His fame had spread throughout Vasdenia, into the outlying cities, dragging in thousands for his exhibitions every time a sculpture aged. Tanzen had seen his work many times, but not with the same fascination as others. He viewed it with suspicion. Great suspicion. Not many people saw the pattern, but recently, each time Ladnis announced the unveiling of a new piece, it was almost always a year after someone went missing. 8 months after, 7 months, 10 months… Almost always a year. One year was enough for most people to forget a face, but not Tanzen. His theory? Ladnis was taking actual people, keeping them somewhere and bringing them out when they grew some. Of course, that sounded absolutely ridiculous, so he came to get proof, using his position as an independent journalist as cover. He did not know what he was looking for, but he knew he had to find something. If Ladnis was indeed a serial kidnapper/artist/killer, someone would go missing again very soon. He listened as the tour guide explained the inspiration behind each sculpture. They were allowed two minutes each to touch and admire the latest one; a young woman twisted into what was supposed to be a sensual pose. When Tanzen got his turn, he gazed at the woman intently, hoping to catch something. He did. Her pupils slowly dilated. She saw him. He put his hands in his pockets to hide how fast they were shaking. He was right! Ladnis was taking real people and somehow turning them into art. He leaned closer, as if he was examining her shoulder, but really wanting to see if she could hear him. “I want to expose him. Breathe, if you’re really alive,” “Sir, you have one more minute,” the tour guide announced. Tanzen nodded. Just as he was about to step back, a light breath brushed his neck, followed by a whisper so faint, he almost missed it. “K….aia”