The final night is here, and with it a story from a more personal place.
~~~~
Every night I passed by it, it
burned a hole in the back of my head with its stare. No one else seems bothered
by it, but I could never bring myself to ask their opinion. I hate how it
stands on the quickest path to my room. I hate how it looks, as though it were
possessed by a malevolent spirit. I hate that painting in the dining room, it
has haunted me for so long.
I remember when I wasn't afraid, how
often I played in that room. The room wasn't frequented by others in my family.
Too out of the way, too inconvenient a path. Back then half of the house felt
like my haven for play. Then my perspective changed so quickly. Those ghost
"experts" who visited the house. That spirit medium on the television
and all those horror movies I watched out of morbid curiosity.
Now I was afraid of every nook and
cranny of my own home, I was certain a dark spirit waited behind every corner.
Then there was that cursed painting. I was never particularly fond of it, but
after I became filled with fear it became something far worse. I could tell it
watched me, that it wanted to curse me. I knew it was no good, I could no
longer stand being in the same room alone with that image. I could barely walk
past it at night, I had to sprint so it wouldn't catch me.
I stayed away from the dining room,
and could only play in my own room. Eventually, I didn't even feel safe in
there. I would hide in the bathroom instead. It was enclosed with a locked
door, no creature could harm me in there. For years I lived in terror under
that cursed painting's watch, unable to return to those simpler days. It filled
me with frustration, but I valued myself more than my play.
It's been a long time since then,
and I'd like to say I've grown past it. In some ways I have. I feel no more
fear in my own room anymore. The cursed specters of monsters may try to haunt
my dreams, but I can push them away. I no longer feel the need to lock myself
in the bathroom to protect myself from the painting's stare. I can even walk
through the dining room with little issue. However, that painting is still
there, and I still cannot look its way. Sometimes, I return home late at night
and must walk through my pitch black home. On those nights a familiar chill
rolls down my spine as I enter the dining room. It's perhaps a childish and
irrational fear, but that is exactly the point. It has no basis in reality, it
has no thread of logic. It grips at the mind and refuses to let go, and I
oblige. I'd rather not find out I was right to be afraid.
~~~~
Based on a true story.Thus, the thirteen nights of one hundred horrors have come to a close. However, Halloween is right around the corner, who knows what may still lurk in the dark. Keep an eye out, there might be one last surprise this month.
Until then, Read, Comment and Enjoy
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