The teacher paused mid-sentence when all thirty children smiled at once. Miss Doyle slowly lowered the paintbrush she’d been holding up for demonstration. The children sat in complete silence, hands folded neatly atop their desks. Thirty unfinished self-portraits stared back at her from their easels. Every single portrait was smiling too. Exactly the same way. A cold prickling crept up her arms. “Okay,” she said carefully. “Who started this?” No one answered. A boy near the back raised one paint-stained finger and pointed toward the supply cabinet. “It did,” he whispered. The cabinet door stood slightly open. Miss Doyle frowned. “What did?” “The new paint.” The school had received it yesterday—expensive imported oils donated anonymously to the arts department. Rich colors. Smooth texture. Odd smell. She looked closer at the portraits. The smiles weren’t painted crudely by children. They were detailed. Almost photographic. And growing more detailed by the second. A girl gasped softly. “My picture blinked.” Miss Doyle stepped toward the nearest canvas. The painted child’s eyes moved. Tiny. Subtle. But unmistakable. The classroom lights dimmed. One by one, the painted mouths widened further than human faces should allow. Several children giggled nervously. Others simply kept smiling, as if waiting for permission. Then the wet paint began dripping upward. Toward the ceiling. Toward them. Miss Doyle lunged for the door, but her shoes stuck to the floor. Thick black paint had spread silently around her feet. The children stood together. Thirty smiles. Thirty portraits smiling with them. And somewhere inside the cabinet, something softly laughed. And for the first time all day, the silence finally made sense.