MuseConnect
Be careful. This muse don't play.
2:20 a.m.
Alma scrolled through her social media feed, unable to sleep. Dim light cast eerie shadows across a dozen unfinished canvases hanging in wait. Her creativity had dried up weeks ago. All that was left was anxiety and a sinking feeling that her parents were right.
Art isn't a way to make a living.
2:22 a.m.
An ad for MuseConnect appeared. It blocked Alma’s scrolling, refusing to close.
She stared at the screen, eyes wide.
Have you lost your edge?
Need to do something spectacular to silence the rents?
If you're a creative soul of any kind—painter, musician, writer— try MuseConnect.
"Wow, I was probably whining out loud. You're always listening, aren't you?" Alma snorted at her phone.
2:33 a.m.
A twisting spiral. The MuseConnect logo pulsated softly, urging her to make a move.
"Oh, what the hell. It's worth a shot."
Alma tapped the icon, opening a series of symbols. She frowned, trying to make sense of them as they shifted and swirled before her.
2:44 a.m.
A melodic voice.
To unlock your Muse, first, you must unlock the runes.
"Uh, okay," she sighed, "it's like a game, I guess."
Alma began arranging a grid of runes as instructed until the last one fell into place.
3:33 a.m.
The overhead light flickered, dimming until the room was a sickly yellow polluted haze. A low hum filled the air, almost imperceptible. It made Alma's head buzz at the same low frequency.
“Alma,” MuseConnect whispered her name. “You are connected.”
Shadows stretched, elongating into… she could see subtle but unmistakable movement in the darkness.
Shallow breaths.
Pounding pulse.
Alma checked the time. "What?" Over an hour had passed in what felt like a couple of minutes.
4:44 a.m.
The temperature plummeted.
Alma's breath hung in the frosty air. Her skin prickled. The screen displayed a countdown, ticking ominously toward zero.
Alma caught her breath at the touch of an icy hand on her shoulder. Cold seeped into her skin, spreading like frostbite as a flood of images burst into her mind.
At first, the montage warmed the Muse's icy touch. Sitting near the seashore, waves rolling in, people dressed in brightly colored summer clothes. Scenes shifted to reveal red and white checkered blankets, wicker picnic baskets, couples lying on a lush grass lawn—a perfect picture—every detail mapped out.
Inspired for the first time in months, Alma painted, driven by a higher force.
12:12 p.m.
Inspiration surged through her, and something else.
An unbearable agony.
Alma's mind wandered through dark forests, twisting hallways, ancient temples, and endless voids. Each image MuseConnect shared was more vivid than the last.
She tried to pull away.
The Muse's grip was unrelenting.
Alma could feel the Muse draining her, siphoning her life force even as it filled her mind with new, disturbing visions. The shadows grew dense—cloaked. A figure slipped in and out of focus, like a half-remembered dream.
It stepped forward soundlessly, eyes glowing embers waiting to be stoked.
2:20 p.m.
The timer stopped.
Close the door to end the session. Or do nothing to continue. The choice is yours.
MuseConnect pulsed.
Alma's skin was on fire, and her fingers refused to move. The paintings on the wall were the only evidence of what had happened. Where there had been dozens of unfinished canvasses now hung masterpieces of terrifying beauty.
Brushstrokes, hauntingly precise.
Colors, impossibly pure.
She wanted more.
Alma watched the timer click down, waiting for the Muse to return.
2:22 p.m.
MuseConnect opened.
She impatiently arranged the runes. Her frantic movements seemed to make the timer speed up. The buzzing in her head continued to grow, drowning her thoughts.
3:33 p.m.
Alma's heart races. She throws paint violently onto the canvas.
Crimson red.
Indanthrone blue.
Yellow ochre.
The colors blend into one another, creating deep purples and yellows with blood-like drippings.
Grotesque shadows twist and writhe.
The thick air makes it hard for Alma to catch her breath. She pants, tongue hanging from her mouth like a weary dog. Her hair sticks to her forehead, but she can't stop.
No rest for the wicked.
A faint ticking echoes mercilessly as an unseen force compels her to continue. The images now seemed to torture her with untold tales of terror. She continues with deep, painful strokes, as the compulsion to create relentlessly pushes her.
2:20 a.m.
The timer hits zero. The room plunges into darkness, except for the MuseConnect app pulsing on Alma's phone.
She falls to the floor.
2:22 a.m.
MuseConnect opens.
Alma reaches out to close the app but can barely move her arm. She can't think straight. The runes appear, and a moment later, they begin arranging themselves.
"No!" Alma shakes uncontrollably.
A figure emerges from the dark, fully formed this time. It towers over her, its eyes on fire.
You have opened the door. The Muse is with you.
The figure steps closer. Its presence tugs at her core. Her vision blurs. Her mind shuts down.
Thoughts disappear.
No struggle.
3:33 a.m.
Alma awakes, gasping for breath. The room is full of freshly finished paintings, a lifetime of work.
Alma. You are connected.
The countdown begins again.
This time, instead of ticking to zero and stopping, the numbers flash rapidly.
Repeatedly restarting. Mocking.
Alma tries to break free, to stop creating. She attempts to resist the urge to paint.
How can you give up the very thing that defines you?
She has no choice but to follow the Muse.
4:44 p.m.
Alma's breath fogs the air. Her skin prickles. The overhead light flickers. A hum fills her head, buzzing a low vibration. She mixes paint, cleans her brushes, and uses charcoal to draw an image on the canvas before painting it.
The charcoal lines seemed to shift on their own. The image becomes that of the Muse. Heavy black cloak, burning red eyes. Its hands extend out, inviting the viewer in. The painting seems to breathe as Alma makes room to hang it on the wall.
12:12 a.m.
Alma can't stand up.
She has visibly lost weight and has not even had a glass of water in days, maybe weeks. She lies a fresh blank canvas on the floor, pours the paint, and collapses into it.
2:20 a.m.
Alma's heart stops beating. She drowns in a sea of original artwork.
2:22 a.m.
MuseConnect opens.
Congratulations. You are finished. The Muse has left the building.
MuseConnect was inspired by this prompt from Reedsy Prompts Contest #266: Write about someone who summons the creative muse through a convoluted ritual or method.
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