The Portrait

!!TW: Gore, Paranormal Horror, Disturbing Imagery

Something was wrong with her.

She wasn’t normal. Normal doesn’t—normal doesn’t look like that. She looked positively… cursed.  Diabolical. Sinister.

Yet no one paid heed to my words. 

“Broken? She doesn’t look broken, what could you ever mean?”

“Such cruel words you say to such a beautiful lady, have you no shame?”

“What nonsense are you spouting? Abhorrent? To such a lovely woman?”

“How can you say that? Have you been blinded? Her beauty is undeniable.”

“That is your great grandmother! How dare you ask to take her out of this house?” Mother screeched the day I told her about how uncomfortable she made me. “I will not hear such things come out of your mouth again, do you understand, young lad?” 

I nodded.

I never brought it up again.

***

I don’t understand.

Gracious? Beautiful? Exquisite?

I don’t understand.

***

I’m sorry Mother. I’m sorry Father.

I threw her out. I couldn’t help myself.

I had to.

***

She came back. She’s hanging on the wall again. Did Father find out?

***

Dinner was fine. No one said a word about her. I don’t think they knew that it was me.

But, something was wrong.

I think I see more of her teeth now.

Her smile seems… wider. Maniacal.

Were her eyes always looking right at me?

***

I’m sorry. I threw her out again.

I hope they don’t find her.

***

Something. Is. Wrong. With. Her.

She got bigger.

The frame is as tall as me.

She got bigger.

They don’t believe me.

I see her in my nightmares.

They don’t believe me.

No one does.

***

I think I’ve gone crazy.

Father took a picture of me today. Me and Mother. Well, me, Mother and great grandmother. She was behind us.

She looked beautiful.

I don’t understand.

Am I seeing things?

***

I don’t care.

I threw her out today.

She fell into pieces. Five distinct pieces. Her head, her eyes  — each one slipping free, her nose, and her mouth. Shattered. They can’t get her back.

She is gone now.

Peace.

***

Bigger.

She takes up two-third of the wall now. She wasn’t big when we came here. There’s no doubt. It’s bigger.

Her mouth is open. I can see inside. Grimy.

Is it just me or does her tongue look like a snake?

Probably just me.

I think her eyes are going to pop out.

I hope I’ve gone crazy. I hope this isn’t real.

***

I can’t move.

I can’t move.

I can’t move.

My hands are stuck. My legs are stuck. I can breathe. I can’t move. I can see.

I can see.

I can see.

She’s there. She’s there.

I can see her.

She’s looming at the end of my bed. 

Her mouth was twisted into a deranged smile. Satisfaction. Satisfaction was evident on her face. Her distorted, broken face. Her teeth, yellow and cracked, glowed. 

I can see her.

Her skin was pale, translucent even. Her veins black. Her eyes were hollow. Literally.

They were hanging by a string.

I can see her.

Her hair — stringy and tangled — was long. Almost as long as her. It stuck to her skin, matted, unmoving. Her limbs were long and unnaturally thin, bending in ways that defied logic, as if her very bones were bent and fractured beneath the surface, her long nails scratching at the palm of a hand.

That wasn’t her hand.

It was mine.

I can feel her.

Her nails scratched, and scratched, and scratched, and scratched.

They tore my skin.

Blood.

I can’t move.

She moved closer, her eyes never leaving mine. Slowly. Inched. Closer.

I can’t move.

Her hand reached out to me. To my face.

I can’t move.

Foul.

She smelled foul.

Like burning flesh.

I can breathe.

She giggled. 

It sounded child-like. High-pitched. Innocent.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

I can’t move.

She looks happy. 

Please.

Stop.

help