The Exhibitionalist 9

Issue#9
CuratedbyTheExhibitionalist
LayoutbyTheExhibitionalist
EditedbyTheExhibitionalist
PublishedbyPopRecMedia
Photography꞉
AGhostintheHousebyPauloValente
Fragrance꞉
SauvageEauFortebyDior
Song꞉
TimebyHansZimmer
Book꞉
TheMindsofBillyMilliganbyDanielKeyes
Place꞉
Scotland
Story꞉
TheGhostsintheHousearePlayingwithmyDeamons
(P)(C)2025

TheExhibitionalistisadigital
magazinethatintegratesAIdrivenstorytellingwith
authenticphotographytocreate
uniqueshortstoryepisodes.
Eachissuepresentsa
compellingnarrative,
accompaniedbyvividimages
thatcomplementandenhance
thetext.
Themagazineaimstoshowcase
thecollaborationbetween
writersandphotographers,
providingafreshplatformfor
creativeexpression.
Byfusingliteraturewithvisual
art,TheExhibitionalistoffers
readersaninnovativeand
immersivestorytelling
experience.

Ghosts
the
Playing
with
my
inthe
House
are
Deamons

Thewindhowledthroughthecracksoftheabandoned
Lawsonhouse,anancienttwo‐storystructurethat
loomedattheendofthestreetlikeasentinelof
forgottenmemories.Itswindowswereshattered,open
gapsthathowledandcreakedunderthepressureofthe
expiringnight.Jacob,ayoungmangrapplingwiththe
chaosofhisownmind,feltaninsatiablepulltoenter.
Therewereghostshere,notjustofthehouse,butof
himself.
Hestoodnakedbeforethethreshold,asymbolic
sheddingoflayers—bothhisclothingandthesocietal
expectationsthatlefthimfeelingsoexposed.Theold
woodenfloorboardsgroanedinprotestbeneathhis
barefeetashesteppedinside,eachcreakstirringthe
shadowsgatheredaroundhim,flickeringlikewhispers
ofliveslonglost.
Theairwasthickwithdustandsilenceashewandered
throughtheempty,hallowedrooms.Mirrorsreflected
onlydarkness,yetJacobsawmorethanemptiness;he
sawflashesofhisownlife—fracturedmemories,
voicesclamoringforacknowledgment.Hewasno
strangertotheturbulencewithinhim,arelentless

?

stormthatchurnedwithmultiplepersonalities,each
vyingforcontrol.
“Welcomeback,”avoicesneeredfromthedepthsof
hismind,resonatingfromashadowonlyhecould
see—adarkerversionofhimselfthatthrivedon
conflict.“Youthinkyoucanavoidusforever?”
Jacobwinced,grippinghisforehead.“Notnow,
Aaron,”hemuttered,strugglingagainsttherisingtide
ofantagonism.“I’mtryingtobebetter.”
“Better?You’rejusthiding,”Aaronshotback,his
voicedrippingwithdisdain.“Let’sshowyouwhat
hidingreallylookslike.”
Inaninstant,Jacobfoundhimselfimmersedinthe
storm,standinginthelivingroomwithwallsclosing
inaroundhim.Glassshattered—adistantechoof
gunshotsandsilentscreamsfromthepastthat
reverberatedinhispsyche.Thefragmentssparkled
likestarslitteredacrossadarkcanvas,eachonea
pieceofpainhehadtriedtoignore.
“I’mdonerunning,”Jacobshouted,feelingtheweight
ofAaron’spowerpressingagainsthim.Then,almost
13

§

instinctively,hereleasedhisanger,andtheroom
transformed.Shadowsmorphedintophysicalforms,
eachrepresentingthepersonashidingwithin
him—angry,sad,lost.Thefirsttoemergewasafigure
drenchedinmelancholy,eyesbrimmingwithuncried
tears.
“Whatifyoufailagain?”itwhispered,sadness
floodingthespacearoundthem.Jacobfelthimself
falter,worryrisinglikebile.
“No!”heshouted,propellinghimselfforward.“I
won’tletyoudrownme!”Hechargedathissorrowful
counterpart,grapplingwiththeweightofhisown
despair.Thetwoclashed,emotionspillingintoa
physicalfightfordominance,acollisionofgriefand
determination.
Ashisgriefretreated,furysurgedforth—inaflash,
Aarontookshape,castingasmirkwithfistsclenched.
“Isthatallyou’vegot?”hetaunted,lungingatJacob
withthesharpnessofrazor‐thornedanger.They
collidedinaflurryofrage,Jacobresistingthe
overwhelmingurgetoletangerconsumehim.Hehad
beenheretoomanytimesbefore,tangledindisputes

∆

thatlefthimmorefractured.
Butthistimewasdifferent.Witheachstrike,with
everyjarringblow,Jacobfeltashiftwithinhimself.“I
won’tsuccumbtoyou!”heyelledashemaneuvered,
deflectingAaron'spunchandcounteringwithajabthat
strucktrue.Theangerfaltered,andforafleeting
moment,JacobsawthefrustrationbehindAaron’s
sneer—howtiredhewas,desperateforrecognition,
forunderstanding.
“Iknowyou’rescared,Aaron,”Jacobgasped,fighting
tocatchhisbreathamidthechaos.“Butyoudon’t
havetofightme.
”Withaglance,Aaronfaltered,hisbravadocracking.
Justthen,thechaoticswirlofotherpersonalities—an
anxiousvoicelostinconfusion,aplayfulspirit
laughingthroughpain—surgedintothefray,their
embodimentvulnerableyetpowerful.Jacobrealized
thateveryaspectofhisidentityrequiredcompassion,
notconflict.
“Together,”Jacobcalledout,“wecanbestrong!”
Inthatmoment,thefightshifted.Insteadofbattling

¡

againsthisdemons,Jacobembracedthemeachinturn,
acknowledgingtheirpresence,theirpain.Acacophony
ofvoicesfloodedhismind,andratherthandrowning,
heanchoredhimselfwithinthem.
“Iamallofyou,”heshouted,afierceclarityigniting
withinhim.“Andtogether,wefacethis!”
Itwasrawandoverwhelmingaspiecesofhimmelded
backintoonecohesivespirit.Theemptinessofthe
house,onceforeboding,transformed,becomea
sanctuaryofreconciliation.Theshatteredglasswasno
longerahauntingechoofdestructionbutamosaicof
survival,eachshardglintingwithpotential.
AsCalebstoodamidsttheruinsofhispast,achorusof
voicesharmonizedratherthanclash,eachpersona
becomingapartofthewhole,afluidrepresentationof
themanheaspiredtobe.Thegunshotsfadedintothe
shadowswhencetheycame,silencetakingtheirplace,
apromiseofpeace.
Inthestillness,Jacobrealizedthattheghostinthe
househadnotbeenthespiritsofthepast;theywere
echoesofhimself.Hehadfoughtwithhisdemonsand

House
Ghosts
Playing
inthe
Deamons
with
my
the
are

emergednotonlyalivebutliberated—nakedand
exposedyetbeautifullywhole.
Asdawnbrokeandlightspilledintothecracksofthe
oldhouse,Jacobtookadeepbreath,steppingforward
intoalifeunfurlingbeforehim,teemingwith
possibility.Here,hewasfreetowritehisownstory
andreclaimthehouseashisown—ahealingground
fortheghostswithinandasanctuaryforthemanhe
wasborntobe.