Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25078895-20140619170012

So, I wrote a creepypasta. It's sort of short, but I think it has a nice build up. It also has some foreshadowing. Tell me what you think!\

The Old Painter

"But I don't want to go!" I yell at my mother.

"Too bad, Jake. He's an old man who needs some company! How would you feel if you were an old man and no one visited you?"

My mother is making me spend a few hours at some old man's house today. She says he was in World War II and lost his left leg, his left eye, and his right ear. She also said h e was Russian. The thing is, I really don't want to go. There's nothing more I hate than the elderly. They smell, they're annoying, and they complain about everything! Every time I forced to visit my grandparents, they are always complaining about something.

Reluctantly, I hoped in the car, and we were off. After about half an hour, I looked out the window only to see a large, old, wooden house. But something else caught my eye. It was really hard to see through the trees, but I could have sworn I saw the old man standing in the window. Looking at me. Waiting for me to get there. I almost felt his good eye, as well as is glass eye, staring at me.

We arrived in the dirt driveway and my mom gave me a kiss goodbye. "Bye, sweetheart. Have fun. Please make this man feel like he has a friend. The only family he had left died in a car crash, mind you."

I watched as my mom's car sped away. Some dirt collected in the air as she drove away.

I approached the tall, wooden door and knocked on it. After a few moments of silence, I heard slow footsteps lightly beating on the house's floor. The door slowly swung open, and I was greeted with a pleasant smile.

"Hello there, boy. Come in." the old man said. I walked through the threshold of the door and noticed how cold it was.

His house was actually quite beautiful. Paintings of what I assumed to be old family and friends hung along the very large and tall walls. Old furniture was laid out along the house.

"Have a seat, young man." he said.

We sat in his living room, on a cold, hard couch. There were books and old movies everywhere.

"Your mother told me you name, but I forgot. I have short-term memory loss, you see. I almost forgot you were coming!" He let out a chuckle followed by a great cough. "Darn this cough! I've had it ever since the end of the war. So, tell me about your self, uh, Cake? Bake?"

"Jake." I interrupted. "My name is Jake."

"So it is." He replied. "So what do you like to do? Play sports? Ride bikes?"

"I like video games." I told him. "You know, XBOX and stuff."

"Oh, lord. You kids and your darn games! Back in my day, we would be outside everyday. We couldn't go back until the sun set and our parents called us in for supper."

Typical. This is why old people annoy me. They're alright until you say one thing about one piece of technology past circa 1980. Then they never stop talking about how horrible video games and High Definition TVs are.

I looked over at one of the paintings. It was signed 'Jim Goop.'

"Who's Jim Goop?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"I see you looked at my paintings. I'm Jim Goop." he replied. "On top of my hundreds of badges from the military, I am a portraitist."

"That's pretty cool." I lied.

I was so bored. I feel like I'm going to die from boredom.

"After the war," he began, "I find great comfort from panting. Would you mind if I asked you something?"

"Sure." I said.

"Could I paint you?"

I froze up. Standing still for hours is the last thing I wanted to do, but I heard my mom's wishes ring throughout my head.

"I guess." I sighed.

"Alright then! I'll be right back.!" he said, venturing off into his elaborate hallway.

I began to wander around this huge house. I looked at each of the paintings. Each of them looked like they were painted by Rembrandt. Some of the paintings were of children, but I had to look at all of the paintings for quite some time to see their flaw. Each of the faces in the paintings were missing one ear. Some of the eyes also looked odd. It's like one of the eyes were perfect, but the other one had less detail.

"Beautiful aren't they?" Jim said, with a cold, deep voice. I felt his retched breath on my neck and ears. He was standing inches behind me.

"Whoa!" I yelled. "Sorry, you startled me."

"Sorry." he replied.

He was arms full with three paintbrushes, an easel, and some blank canvas. "Those are paintings of my family. The ones that died in the car crash."

He started to set up his supplies in an orderly fashion. "If you could sit right over buy the desk, that would be just fine."

I walked over to the desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down.

"Look directly at me. I need to see every feature of your face and neck." He told me.

I did as I was told and looked into his eyes. His glass eye was really obvious. I tried my hardest to avoid the glass eye by only looking at his good eye.

He began painting right away. Looking up to my face and back down to the canvas constantly, he would mutter quietly to himself. I saw that he would go from a light pink color for my face to a dark blue color for my eyes. But I saw something that made a knot tie in my stomach. He used a few shades of red. But I wasn't wearing any red, other than the stripes on my shoes. But he wasn't painting my shoes. He was focused on my face. I shrugged it off as the color for the background, but a part of me still thought that something grim was going to spill out on his canvas.

"Almost done!" He said with a cold, calm voice. That's one thing that I noticed about him. He would always have that calm, low voice, as if he were up to something.

"Done!" He yelled. "Come over here so you can see my masterpiece!"

Heart pumping, I slowly walked over to where Jim was sitting. It felt like forever before I got to where he had is supplies and utensils set up. I looked at him, and he gave a maniacal, devilish look. I slowly turned my head to see what was painted, and my heart sank. I new something was up. I new this man was insane. I should have jumped out of the my mom's car when I had the chance.

On the once blank canvas, was a picture of me. But that was not all. My face was ripped with scars like paper in the clutches of an angry cat. My jaw was ripped off and my tongue was hanging out, dripping blood. My left eye was gouged out, and my right ear was missing.

Jim looked at me. "Look how beautiful!" His mouth began to contort into a long, demonic grin. "Now it's time for the moment I've waited all night for!"

He grabbed the lamp sitting on the table next to him and hit me with it. I staggered. My vision was blurred. I fell down on his hard, cold floor. The last thing I saw before I passed out was his black shoes and brown slacks inching closer to me.

..........

I woke up in a what appeared to be a basement. It was very cold, and I was strapped down. I saw Jim walking back in forth. He was arguing with himself. I looked over to my left and saw a hacksaw, a meat cleaver, and scalpel. I was panting, my heart was beating right out of my chest. I didn't know for sure what he was about to do to me, but I had a feeling that it had something to do with the portrait.

"Hello there, Jake." Jim said. He was wearing a T-shirt with some gloves on his hands. "I'm going to make you look similar to me. So you are happy. Don't you want to be happy, Jake?

"N-no," I started to stammer. I was sounding very weak and helpless. "please don't."

He grabbed my neck and squeezed very tightly. "LISTEN, YOU WORTHLESS BOY. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME UNTIL YOU SUFFER THE SAME FATE I DID IN WORLD WAR II. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I WENT THROUGH. WHAT I HAD TO DO TO DEFEND YOUR PARENT'S LIVES AND YOU PARENT'S PARENT'S LIVES."

He let go of my neck. I quickly gasped for air and began to breath heavily.

"I think we should start with your left leg. I remember the day I lost it. Stalingrad was filled with Nazis. One of my own tanks ran over my leg and snapped it clean in half! I made sure the idiot who was driving it was punished like you are being.

He grabbed the hacksaw, placed it on my leg, just between my knee and ankle, and began to saw. I screamed out louder than I ever have before. I have never felt pain like this. He looked me in the eye with his bloodshot right eye and his emotionless left eye. I heard a devastating crunch and a fleshy plop on the ground. My leg was gone.

"Now, the eye!" he screamed. "Bullied by my own men in the training barracks! They held me down and cut out my eye. On a scouting mission, I gouged out all of their eyes and killed the all. I blamed it on the enemy!

He grabbed the scalpel and began to slowly pierce the fragile outer layer of my eye. The pain was so intense that the entire left side of my face went numb. I couldn't see anything but white in my left eye.

"You look so amazing now, Jake!" he told me. I saw him plop my eye on the table next to me. "Now time for the finale!"

I knew what was about to happen. My right ear was about to be severed from my head.

Jim grabbed the meat cleaver and hacked my ear clean off. Some blood spurted from my head onto the wall adjacent to me. He never said how he lost his ear. I assume that he just forgot to tell me.

He unstrapped me. "Get up! Now!" he commanded. Of course, I couldn't walk properly, so I fell to the ground.

"Let me show you my other masterpieces!" he said

He swung open a wood door with old, rusty hinges. A horrible, pungent smell came from the wind of the force of the swing. Inside the small room, were bodies chained from the ceiling. There were two little girls, who appeared to be twins, an older woman, an older man, and a young boy, which looked to be my age. I took a closer look with my right eye and saw that they looked exactly like the portraits hanging on Jim's wall.

"I-I though they died in a car crash." I told him.

"Oh, no." he started. "I recreated their image, one by one. I wanted my family to feel what I went through. What happened to me. Sadly, my playtime is over. Time for your fate! The last thing you'll see is darkness! The last thing you'll smell is the rotting corpses of my old family!"

He grabbed some leg irons and chained them to my leg.

"Please don't do this." I asked him, sobbing. Almost bawling. I didn't want this to happen. This has to be a dream. A horrible, horrible nightmare.

"Too late. Soon you'll be one with the others!" he replied. He had to lift me upside down and chain me to my post. "Goodbye, Jake."

The last thing I heard was my mom knock on the door and Jim ask her, "He's in the other room, but would you mind If I painted you first?"  