The Graffiti Artist

To give you some context, I’ve been working for a large maintenance company for 10 years. In terms of our sectors of activity, we cover a wide range: industry, healthcare, agri-food, tertiary… We even work for private individuals and local authorities. In other words, we’re always busy. For my part, I work in a subsidiary specializing in tag and graffiti removal.

Let me tell you, it’s not the most exciting job in the world. It’s like pulling weeds in your garden: it’s a pain in the ass, and you never see the end of it. For every tag removed, three new ones appear the next day. Clearly, we can’t keep up with these tagging bastards. Despite this, cities continue to delegate this work to us. I don’t really see the point, but since they’re paying us, I’m not going to complain.

Having said all that, I’ll come to my testimony. It all started with a call I received six months ago. It was 8:00 pm when it happened. I was about to watch a film when my phone started ringing. Looking at the screen, I saw it was my boss. I huffed in exasperation. I wondered what it was going to be this time. A replacement? A last-minute job? You’d think I was the only guy available that night. On top of that, it was Sunday; my day off. He couldn’t have picked a worse time for this. Unfortunately, I had no choice. I had to answer:

“Yes, hello?”

“Hi, Marc! It’s Peter! Am I disturbing you?”

“No, not at all. What can I do for you?”

“A local councillor called us at around 7.00 pm. Some little prick thinks he’s Picasso and has covered the west wall of the town hall. Unfortunately, no one is available to clean up the mess. I know it’s Sunday, but could you take care of it?”

“No worries. It’s a good thing I left the sandblaster hooked up to the van. The rest of the equipment is inside the vehicle.”

“Great! Just try and do it quickly, okay? If it’s not done quickly, it’s going to be our party.”

“No problem at all.”

“Perfect! Thanks again; you’re a lifesaver. I’ll call you back later. All the best.”

“All the best. See you later.”

After that, I hung up. I sighed again and whispered:

“When you gotta go, you gotta go.”

I put on my outfit, grabbed my keys and phone, and walked out of my apartment. After that, I left the parking lot and headed for the town hall. When I got there, I parked along the sidewalk and started taking out all my gear. It was a pain to set it down near the west wall, but I managed. I then put on my mask and took the opportunity to contemplate the graffiti.

It was a far cry from what Sunday scribblers could produce. The level of detail was so impressive that it almost looked like a painting. On the other hand, something about this drawing quickly made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t know what. I’ll try to give you an outline.

The drawing showed a man at home, watching television. You couldn’t see his face, as he was sitting back in his armchair. The colors used made it clear that the action was taking place late at night. So far, I didn’t really see the point of this graffiti. Perhaps a scene from everyday life? A critique of consumer society? Or perhaps a reference beyond my knowledge? Right. Okay. I’d gone a bit far, but I couldn’t understand what would drive someone to produce this kind of thing. However, one detail quickly caught my attention.

Behind the window to the man’s left stood a red-eyed figure. Only his fingers and half his head protruded from the ledge. His gaze was directed at the figure in front of the TV. At the time, I found it strange but not frightening. I was about to start the sandblaster when something else caught my eye. On the wall behind the TV was a photo of a dog with a sky-blue collar and bone patterns. I didn’t know why, but it looked familiar. So I moved closer to take a closer look. I kept racking my brains to remember where I’d seen it before.

Finally, after a full minute, it hit me. The next thing I knew, my eyes were wide with terror. I swore:

“Holy shit!”

I’d finally put my finger on the source of my discomfort. The dog’s collar… I could have recognized it anywhere. It was Snoopy’s, a Labrador I’d had as a child. After he died, I decided to hang his picture in my living room.

Shivers ran through my body. I didn’t want to believe this was my home. I wanted to know for sure by scanning the graffiti. The plant by my door, the series on TV, the view of the building across the street… It never stopped. Each match plunged me further and further into turmoil. I wondered what kind of lunatic I’d stumbled on again. I was in such denial that I called my boss in a rage:

“Hi, Marc! Good timing. I was just about to call you. How are things at City Hall?”

“What the hell?! If this is a joke, it’s really not funny!”

“Whoa! Easy, Marc. What are you talking about?”

“Are you kidding me?! I’m talking about the fucking graffiti you did! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to, but I had nothing to do with it. And you’d better calm down. I remind you that I’m your superior.”

“How stupid do you think I am? You know I could press charges for what you’ve done?! Do you really enjoy drawing me in my living room?! What’s next?! My kitchen?!”

“Calm down, Marc! Why would I bother tagging a wall to send you off to clean it up? What’s more, a city hall wall? It just doesn’t make sense! So keep your cool!”

My anger started to subside:

“OK. I want to believe you had nothing to do with this. That doesn’t change the fact that some sick bastard is stalking me and drawing me on walls!”

“OK. Take a deep breath and send me a photo of the graffiti.”

So I did. It took him a few seconds to look at the photo. Then he came back to me:

“Marc? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Are you sure this is your living room? It could be someone else’s, or it could be a fictitious drawing…”

“I’m telling you, it’s my living room. There’s no doubt about it.”

“In that case, I don’t know what to say. Maybe you should call the police.”

“Is that all? That doesn’t reassure me at all. I can’t even go home anymore, and…”

I barely had time to finish my sentence when a noise startled me. I turned around. I could have sworn it came from behind me:

“Are you all right, Marc?”

“Anybody home?”

No answer. All I could see was the immense vegetation surrounding the wall. I was feeling less and less serene about staying here:

“Peter, listen. I’m tired, and I don’t feel comfortable here. Can I do this later?”

“Don’t worry, Peter. I understand. You can even take a week off if you want. I’ll work it out with city hall. In the meantime, go to the police.”

The light turned green. I put on my left turn signal and made a U-turn. I parked along the curb and got out. I entered the alley and looked at the right wall. I nearly decomposed on the spot. I didn’t have to look long to recognize it. It was my kitchen. Everything was there, even my fridge covered in magnets. I instinctively looked out the window. It was still there… that silhouette and its red eyes. I took my head in my hands and swore:

“Fuck! Fuck!”

That guy had found me. It was a catastrophe. In doubt, I looked around. There was no one around, but that didn’t reassure me. So I quickly made my way to my car and sped off. I didn’t go home that day. I just stood in the parking lot, waiting. I had to force myself to contact the police:

“Sir, please remain calm.”

“He’s found me! Holy shit! The sick bastard found me!”

“Where are you, sir?”

“In my car, in the parking lot of my building. Damn it! Fuck! Fuck! Damn it!”

“Very good, sir. Two policemen will be with you shortly. Stay where you are. Don’t get out of the car.”

The two policemen arrived after an hour and escorted me home. As on the previous occasion, they checked my apartment and promised to keep an eye on the neighborhood. After they left, I checked five times that the doors and windows were locked and took out a kitchen knife. That night, I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I spent my time watching every door and window. I think I even developed a knack for it. Can you imagine? I wasn’t even safe in my own house. And that was just the beginning!

After that, it only got worse. I started coming across more and more graffiti in my town. It could be in a public garden, near a school, on a public building, next to a cemetery… It got to the point where I became paranoid and saw it everywhere. Sometimes I could even feel a presence near my home. I can’t count the number of times I nearly had a heart attack at the mere sound of something. The icing on the cake was that the police were so fed up with my complaints that they refused my calls.

I was stressed, lonely, and tired. I was tired of protecting myself from a madman I never saw. My life had become a nightmare. And then one day, there was one graffiti too many. I was forced to make a radical decision. On the phone, Eric, my new boss, didn’t understand:

“Wait. What? Repeat?”

“You heard me. I’m quitting.”

“Everything was going so well. What’s got into you?”

“It would take too long to explain, but to cut a long story short, I’m having serious personal problems. I can’t stay in this town, or this country for that matter. I’ve got to get out of here right away.”

“You’re scaring me. Does someone want to hurt you?”

“Maybe… Actually, I don’t know. I just know I can’t stay here. I’m really sorry to break it to you like this. I understand if you want to give up on the contract.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll give you that. You’ve always been a good employee. Where are you going to go?”

“I’d rather not talk about it. You never know. I’ll drop by the office in the afternoon. See you then.”

“See you then.”

As promised, I resigned from my job and packed my suitcase. The next day, I boarded the first flight out of Brussels, bound for Poland. It wasn’t easy, but thanks to my savings, I managed to find temporary accommodation and obtain a work permit. Since then, I’ve been granted Polish nationality and am no longer in a precarious situation. For the first time, I was able to enjoy the pleasant surroundings of this country without worrying about my safety. Here, I was certain that no psychopath could get to me.

And yet, if I’m living in a seedy hotel today, if I’m sharing this testimony, it’s not without reason. This morning, I was horrified to discover another piece of graffiti on one of the walls of my residence. Only this time, I was no longer at home. All I could see was the silhouette, in a cemetery, in front of a grave, in front of my grave.