The Teacher's Tales of Terror Read Online Free PDF

anything but calm. ‘You – you’re in that painting,’ spluttered Simon. ‘How can you be in the painting and here? How?’
    The man smiled.
    ‘Calm yourself,’ said the man. ‘Please.’
    ‘The guide said you are . . . that you are . . . S-S-Satan,’ stuttered Simon.
    ‘The guide is misinformed about many things,’ said the man coolly.
    ‘But that painting is hundreds of years old,’ said Simon. ‘How? How? You’d have to be a ghost.’
    ‘I am a mortal man,’ said the man with a smile. ‘I assure you that I am no ghost. Nor Satan for that matter.’
    ‘But –’
    The man moved a little closer and dropped his voice.
    ‘Will you listen to me?’ said the man. ‘And I will tell you how this happened. There is a logical explanation.’
    ‘I want to go back,’ said Simon. ‘Let me go.’
    ‘Let me explain first,’ he replied in a tone that left no doubt that he would brook no argument.
    ‘How?’ said Simon, trying to work out the chances of getting past the man and through the doorway.
    ‘Parts of the painting are many hundreds of years old,’ said the man. ‘And parts are not. Much is by Duccio. Some . . . is not.’
    The man smiled crookedly and his deep-set eyes twinkled like water in a well.
    ‘What do you mean?’ said Simon.
    The man took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking out across the city.
    ‘Look at this city, my young friend,’ he said. ‘This is my city. But they do not know me at all.’
    ‘I don’t understand,’ said Simon.
    ‘When Duccio painted his great altarpiece, it was carried to the cathedral in a torchlit procession. Can you imagine? Can you?’
    Simon did not reply. The man indicated the whole city in a great sweep of his hand.
    ‘What would it be like to be that famous?’ he said. ‘To be so loved? To have this whole city at your feet.’
    ‘What has that to do with you?’ said Simon. ‘I want to go down.’
    ‘Many years ago a Duccio panel came into the hands of my father,’ said the man. ‘He was the most skilled and trusted restorer in all of Tuscany – of all Italy, perhaps.
    ‘It had been bequeathed to the city by an anonymous benefactor. The panel was damaged – badly damaged – and he had been asked by the Council of Siena to repair it so that it could be presented to the museum.
    ‘But the truth was my father was not the craftsman he had been when young. His eyes were weak, his hand unsteady. More and more, he passed on the work to me – while still claiming credit, naturally.
    ‘And so it was with the Duccio panel. And whilst I was engaged in its restoration my father became seriously ill. As I continued the work on my own, a thought occurred to me.
    ‘The notion that I might be able to pass my work off as that of the great Duccio began to obsess me. I knew the great man’s work as well as anyone and I knew that I could match him. I would show my father. I would show them all!’
    His eyes blazed as he said these words and Simon took a step back.
    ‘There was a damaged section – the section showing figures next to Simon Magus when he meets St Peter. I decided that I would paint a self-portrait over that damaged section.
    ‘Of course I was a fool,’ he continued. ‘If my father had died, my contribution would have been revealed. But he did not, and I was so caught up in this scheme I worked feverishly until it was completed.
    ‘My own father’s eyesight was so weak he did not even notice what I had done. He handed the panel over and the Council were delighted, of course. Days later my father died and I could not even attend the unveiling ceremony for fear that someone might recognise me and my crime.
    ‘I moved away from Siena and found my true vocation in a life of forgery. It has been very lucrative. I am a wealthy man, my friend. But I had always wanted to return and see where it all began. It was a risk, of course, and now here we are . . .’
    Simon’s heart began to calm as he realised that he was in the company