Echoes from the Art classroom

Arkadi was not scared. He dealt with spirits and unnatural entities before. Why was he so scared? He took a deep breath. Maybe it was the thought of stepping inside that room that was so frightening. Arkadi adjusted his coat, steeling himself against the cold that seeped into his bones. He made a mental note of what he knew the ghost. All of them were rumors, of course. The ghost, a student in life, died with a spirit plagued and by unfinished works. Students claimed to hear the ghost's brushes at night, desperate to complete the paintings scattered around the dim room. Arkadi knew he was not dealing with a malevolent presence, yet the ghost's unrest tugged at old instincts. His eyes scanned the paintings, canvases filled with fragmented dreams. Each work bore a haunting beauty, yet something always seemed incomplete, urging Arkadi closer. As he touched an unfinished canvas, an icy breeze wrapped around him like a whispered plea. The ghost's name, Alexei, surfaced in his mind, accompanied by a muddled sense of purpose and sorrow. Arkadi sensed a story yet untold, one requiring his help to be brought to light. All of the canvas seemed old enough, but some had recent adjustments, as if someone scrolled once more the brush on the old painting. Who, though, was the mystery. Instinctively, Arkadi brought a hand up to touch one of the paintings. It was a picture of a night sky, full of stars, over a city. It was a mystical, beautiful picture, almost magic. The colours perfectly blended into each other, the details so tiny yet so important.... 'When did I become an art critical?' was Arkadi's thought. His eyes glanced over the room, scanning every thing out of place and taking mental notes of the state of the entire room.