“Why in the hell did you buy that picture, mom? That thing is creepy and it looks like that little girl is suffering.” I asked trying to tear my eyes away from it. My mom smiled and looked lost, “I went to go get my pills but I bought the painting instead, now I’ve spent all my money and I can’t get my medicine.” She whispered with her eyes wide with fear. “Fuck. I’ll go get them for you.” I said feeling annoyed. Her medicine was going to wipe out what little money I had in my account, but there was no way either of us would survive the night without her taking her meds. She got violent and delusional if she didn’t take them. When I got back from the pharmacy, with my arms full of what she needed, she was still sitting in the living room gazing deeply at the disturbing painting. “Mom, come on, stop staring at that damn thing.” I led her to the kitchen, made her a sandwich and got her to lie down. She was muttering something but I didn’t pay much attention to her, she was always muttering crap that had no real significance.
That night the scene from the picture haunted my dreams. From that first night, I knew it was pure evil. I never dreamed at night until that dreadful thing came into the house. I tried to get rid of it but my mother kept digging it out of the trash. ”Don‘t you dare throw away my pretty painting!” She would scream at me. Every time I walk past it I can feel its eyes on me. My mother said it was whispering to her, it drove her to the point of her cutting off both her ears. I had come home late one night from my shift and she was sitting happily on the floor with a pair of kitchen scissors slicing off her ears. She had a twisted smile on her face as she traced the painting with her bloody finger. I had no choice but I had to call in some professional help for her, I could no longer cope with the demands of her care.
I miss my mother, who has now been committed to an asylum. They keep her pretty well sedated most of the times. They were unable to attach both her ears and when she is awake she sits by herself smiling at nothing. I’m now alone in the house with the dreadful painting. I’ve done everything I can to get rid of it. I can hear the picture whispering to me now, even as I type this. I have a bad feeling that I am not going to ever get away from it. I am writing this story so that way, someone will know the truth if anything should happen to me. I don’t believe in the supernatural, to be honest, but there is something about it that’s just… eerie, possessed almost. I’ve even started to wear my mom’s rosary beads around my neck at all times, and I haven’t believed in God since I was a little girl, that’s how scared this stupid, hideous painting has made me. I was beginning to feel like I was losing my mind and that I should have listened to my instincts. I’m starting to think I should have joined my mom in the asylum. I am nothing like her, I have never had to take medication to help ‘control’ my thoughts, and let it be known, on record, that I love her dearly. I made sure she was taken care of by myself, up to the point where she cut off her ears.
There was one more thing for me to try to get rid of the painting, which was setting the entire house on fire, which I did, with me still inside. I didn’t even care if the fire claimed me as well. I could feel the pain as my body burned and blistered but by some cruel twist of fate like it was meant to be… the picture remained. The pain was intense and I could hear my skin popping and sizzling like bacon in a cast iron skillet. I couldn’t take my eyes off the picture as I lay there unable to move, as though some unseen power was holding me down. Agony wracked my body and I didn’t realize I was screaming. The flames licked my torso like an angry lover. The picture seemed to be taunting me. Suddenly I was thrown through the living room window. I’m telling you, it’s as though something came alive in that picture and threw me through the window from the danger of the flames!
I hit the sidewalk hard and I felt my bones snap with the impact. It was a horrible sound, hearing your own bones crunch. I started to gag and dry heave on the pavement, the smell of burning flesh was almost too much to bear. I was starting to smell like an overcooked hamburger that had started to burn on a grill. I watched my mother’s house burn quickly to the ground for a few minutes until I was greeted by darkness. I must have slipped into a coma when I woke up a year passed by since the house fire.
On my table by the bed was a card from a nurse at the asylum. My mother had died but not before she gauged out her eyes and took scissors to her tongue. I was at a loss, wasn’t the asylum supposed to prevent that sort of thing from happening? I could only hope that she was finally at peace, which also meant that I was on my own. It took a long time to heal up before I was released from the hospital. I had third-degree burns on most of my body but I didn’t mind. I never cared about my looks even though many people had once thought I was pretty. I had never even been out on a date before, I just never found the time for it, not with taking care of my mom all the time. The small price to pay to get rid of that damn picture, yes, I could live with the scars.
Once I got out of the hospital I realized that my mom had left me a small fortune in a bank account I never knew about. I didn’t have a home anymore due to the fire and while I was in the coma they had torn what was left of it down. I found an apartment in a small town about three hours away. I couldn’t stay in my hometown because I kept thinking of my mom. I didn’t have many belongings so for the first month I laid on the floor instead of sleeping in a bed. Over time I replaced almost everything and it looked like I was finally getting ahead in life once more. One day I received a letter saying my mother had left me something and I could pick it up at the post office. I was hoping for the locket she had worn she every day. When she died, for some reason she was not wearing it like she usually did, and it was declared as ‘lost’. Excitedly, I opened the box in the post office, there lay the picture in perfect condition. Screaming, I tore it to pieces, but it reattached itself back together right before my eyes. I knew then I was doomed to follow in my mother’s footsteps. I am not joking with you! It was like something straight out of a horror movie. Then the whispers started, only this time they were spoken in my mom’s voice. “Leave me alone!” I shrieked at the painting, causing the woman behind the counter to jump in surprise. Before I could stop myself, or give it much thought, I flung the picture through the post office glass door, shards of glass littered the floor twinkling in the light. Security came over and roughly escorted me out and a swarm of cops was on me within minutes. “It’s the painting! I have to destroy it!” I shrieked until my throat went raw. I kept trying to grab the painting but the cops tasered me and I crumpled to the ground like a dirty napkin. My last thought before my head hit the pavement was this wasn’t going as I had hoped. I came to in a jail cell that was dirty and, for some reason the smell reminded me of my Aunt Mae. I never could figure out why she smelled the way she did, and it always used to gross me out as a child. I had a huge bandage on my head and it hurt like hell. Suddenly, I projectile vomited, all over the wall and floor. I slumped to the floor beside the massive puddle of vomit as my body started to shake. I finally composed myself and took a ragged deep breath.
“At least I’m safe in here,” I muttered to myself, and I closed my eyes in relief. Quickly I fell into a deep sleep. At some point, while I was sleeping, the vomit had cleaned up and my bandage was changed. I thought about making sure that I didn‘t get released from jail, just to make sure the picture wouldn’t somehow find its way back to me, but I knew that was a silly idea. The quicker I got released the better, I wasn’t like I was some hardened criminal after all, and I needed to find a way to get rid of the painting for good. I loved my mom and really didn’t want to end up as she did. I got released from jail with a huge fine that I had to pay off within seven months. I went home and fell asleep in my clothes. I didn’t sleep well, I dreamt that my mom was screaming at me, causing me to wake up in a dead sweat. I’m not usually one to admit it but for the first time in my life, I was scared, scared of seeing the picture again. To this day, I still don’t have any idea as to why my mom bought the damn thing in the first place. The whispering continued, making my ears bleed from the inside out. I was not sleeping much and barely ate anything on most days. I lost almost 100 LBs within a few months and I was beginning to look like a disheveled crack head.
I was starting to really hate that painting and hated my mom for bringing it into our lives. Out of all the things in this world she had to fall in love with, it was a painting from Hell. I would catch myself staring at it because the cops were nice enough to make sure it ended back in my possession of course. It was the most grotesque thing I had ever seen in my entire life, but for some reason, my deranged mom thought it was beautiful. The picture showed a girl with her mouth open in silent agony. She had cuts all over her body and soulless eyes. The background was that of a circus where all the clowns were crying bloody tears. The people in the stands were all mutilated and body parts lay scattered everywhere.
One night after finally dozing off, since I had been awake for seven days straight, I woke up feeling ‘funny’. I felt like I was in pain, but at the same time, disconnected from my body. The strange thing was I woke up, outside, not far from a graveyard that was about a mile from my apartment. In my sleep, I had made huge and deep gashes on my arms, legs, and stomach. Checking my pockets, I realized that I hadn’t used a knife to make the cuts. The only thing I had on me was a bent corkscrew. I wasn’t really sure where I had got it from, I never drank alcohol. The corkscrew part was bent and covered in a slimy flesh that reminded me of blooded snot. Some of the cuts were so deep I could see greyish bone underneath the wounds. From a distance, I could hear my mom singing the lullaby she used to sing when she was no longer lucid. I never knew the words, the lullaby used to creep me out. I tossed the corkscrew into the cemetery and took off running. Luckily for me, the sun wasn’t completely up and I was able to stick to the shadows as I painfully ran home. Once back at home, the painting seemed to be mocking me. I hurriedly took a shower, cleaning my wounds as best as I could. Some of the injuries had started to fill with pus and turn black in some places. I had to get as far away from that painting as I possibly could. I threw some clothes, and a few other things, in a bag and headed to the airport, once there I bought a ticket to Ireland. There’s no way that picture could pop up there I thought to myself. The flight went ok but I didn’t remember really what happened before the flight as I taken as many relax pills as I could. When the plane landed, I was feeling rather groggy. I slept on the long flight dreaming of clowns and my mom screaming for me to help her. When I woke up I had dug my nails into one of the gashes on my arm. My nail had actually got stuck into between the tendon of my arm and the bone. Yanking it out, I ended up tearing off my entire nail. I watched as the tip of my finger, where my nail used to be, turn a dark crimson purple. I would love to say that it hurt like hell, but the truth is told, it didn’t. I felt nothing, not even any sort of emotion. I smiled, it was such a pretty color, I thought about ripping off the rest of my nails to match it. I even put another one of my fingers in my mouth and started to gnaw at the nail. I had to stop myself before I had chewed the entire thing off. What was wrong with me? Why was I thinking these absurd thoughts? The plane landed and I felt even more lost than before. Once more I could hear that lullaby being sung in my mom’s voice. I didn’t really have a plan at this point and honestly, I don’t know why I chose Ireland. I just had this urge to come here. I walked around aimlessly for at least an hour trying to get rid of my jet lag. It had been a while since I flew anywhere. I will admit I got lost and couldn’t find anywhere that could be called civilization. What I did find was an abandoned castle and that’s where I decided to camp. I would continue my journey, wherever it would lead me, in the morning. Sleeping under the stars in an abandoned castle wouldn’t bother me, not after sharing my home with that dreadful painting. I only hoped that I would be able to sleep without the nightmares that seemed to be plaguing me. All the nightmares of my mom only made me miss her that much more. Why did she have to die and leave me alone with the painting? I had never felt so lost and was so close to giving up. I thought about joining my mom in death. This was going to be my last attempt to rid myself of that painting. I was beginning to fear for my safety and was worried I was going to do something stupid or hurt myself more.
I found some water bottles that were full and untouched, probably left by other lost souls like myself. I didn’t care though and guzzled as much water as I could then laid down. For the first time in a long time, I slept with a tiny bit of hope. This had to work, there had to be a way I could live without that painting finding me. Light peeked through the tattered curtains waking me. I changed and went searching for a map or compass, anything that would lead me back to a town. I don’t know how I ended up so lost, it felt like I was miles away from any sort of life. Before I left the castle, I decided to trek down to the basement to see if I could find some more supplies. I found the picture hanging on a small shelf. Screaming I jumped and didn’t see the bear trap as it snapped shut, clamping itself around my torso. It had followed me somehow and was glowing against the dark basement. “What the fuck are you? Why won’t you leave me alone?” I screamed at the painting. Of course, it didn’t answer me, the painting just hung on the shelf glowing eerily. I started to wail and thrash around, I know it made me look like a pansy, but the pain was too intense. The more I moved the more flesh got scraped against the metallic rusting teeth, giant gashes deepened in my flesh that made it look as though I had been in a fight with a giant shark and lost. Hot blood started to rush out of the wounds, covering the floor. My feet started to slip and I crashed to the floor. The trap clamped down harder and I was able to see some of my organs exposed. My ankle snapped back at a weird angle with a loud crunch that sounded like ice breaking on a river. I tried to stand up but my only reward was more pain. I couldn’t put any weight on my ankle and looking down I realized that it was only attached by a small thread of flesh. The bone protruded through my flesh like a bloodied grey knife.
The whispers from the picture became unbearable and I watched in horror as the girl in the scene came out of the painting. Standing in front of me, she whispered, “Be bold as you pass by, as you are now, so once was I. Prepare for death and give me your last breath.” She placed her stinking finger that smelled of death, onto my forehead. She poked at the bandage and her fingernail scraped open my sutures. “Get away from me, you putrid bitch!” I screamed as I struggle to break free. She smiled a sickly evil smile, showing off her blackened gums. She shoved her hand into one of my many wounds. Her hand dripped maggots into my wound as she pulled out what looked like my heart. She held it up for me to see then stuck her decaying finger in it and tore it to pieces. Chunks of my flesh and heart stuck to her dirty fingers which she put into my mouth causing me to gag. Maggots filled my mouth as she explored with her finger. I watched in horror as my mom appeared in the painting close to where the girl had stood. She was dressed in a white nightgown that was stained with blood. Her mouth was opened as though she was screaming, and her eyes were in her pale hand. Bloodied eye sockets were all that was left. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail to the point where I could see the scars where her ears used to be. Finally, the girl took her fingers out of my mouth and brought her face close to mine. “Your souls belong to me, forever and eternity.”
I didn’t care about my soul and I screamed: “Release my mom and take me instead.” The girl just shook her head at me and started to rip out the sutures in my forehead one by one with her finger. Bits of her flesh stuck to my face, which made me gag even more. It had the consistency of slug stuck to my face and smelled like wet garbage on a hot summer day. I felt my blood drip down my face which started to sting. She smiled and licked the blood from my face with her black, rotting tongue. My skin started to sizzle and crack everywhere her tongue had touched me. Then she continued to run her tongue around the bear trap on my torso. My skin peeled off like it had gotten hit with battery acid. You could see what has left my remaining organs, muscle, and bones. I screamed in pain and tried to push her off of me. She laughed, grabbing a hold of both of my arms, and snapped them in three different places until they looked like a bendy straw. She pushed me back and I could feel the hard frame of the picture dig into my back. My blood hit the painting like it was in a car wash. Strangely enough, I could feel my mom dragging me into the picture. “NO!” I screamed and tried to fight back but it did me no good.
Suddenly all the pain stopped but I soon realized to my despair I had traded places with the girl in the picture. She stood there looking at the picture with a smile on her face and slowly transformed into a beautiful woman. “Trade your hell for beauty to escape. Until then you are forever stuck like a drape. I curse for all the time. You must pay for your crimes.” She laughed then blew me a kiss. I tried to yell and tell her that I had no crimes, but my voice only whispered back to me. I could hear my mom singing her lullaby and the people from the circus in the painting screaming. I listened closely to the lullaby as I tried to ignore the pain I was in. “Did you ever think that when a hearse goes by, you would be the next to die?”
So, there I was, stuck here still in my bear trap in the painting I hate more than anything, listening to a song about death from my mom. I was shipped back to the store where my mother had bought it. The store owner winked at me then put me in a glass display “This shall fetch a nice penny.” He said as he cleaned the glass in the display. To my horror, I recognized the store owner as my own dad. For a split second, he smiled at me and his eyes started to glow red. Figures my own dad would end up really being the Devil. I could see the painting reflected in the glass, it was more hideous than before. The gruesomeness was beyond words and truly looked like a picture from Hell. Anyone that does come to buy me, I will start my whispering to let me out. As soon as I can touch them to pull them in I will be released. At least I hoped it worked that way, I could still feel the pain of the bear trap. I could feel the seams of my reality slipping away slowly. All that existed was my own personal hell and the pain. I started to hum the lullaby with my mom. Someone will eventually buy me, I hope.
[bctt tweet=”OCTOBER TERROR 2018 Short Story Award – Entry #40 ‘Picture Perfect’ by Allisha McAdoo – Enjoy all this terrific, disturbing material you have in your hands, lots of horror stories at your disposal for your dark delight and vote!” username=”theboldmom”]
On October 23rd we’ll close submissions and open a poll for the readers to choose their favourite one! You’ll have a week to make your choice and on October 31st we’ll announce the winner!!!
