Her Picture



It was August 1999 and my family had just moved into this colonial house, originally built in 1853. It was one of the first subdivision-esque communities in northern New Hampshire at the time, and my dad, being the history aficionado he is, fell in love as soon as he saw the memorial emblem on the side of the house. We didn't know what made the house so special aside from it's ancient age, but the house itself was quite magnificent, so my parents eagerly accepted the 550,000$ price and we promptly moved in.

I was always a shy kid, and, especially with my weight problem during this time, never really socialized or got to know my community. This was the fourth time I had moved since I started my schooling career, so I never really understood the point of socializing if I had to say farewell to those people anyway. All these factors considered, my first few weeks there were surprisingly enjoyable. I loved walking around the neighborhood and investigating my new surroundings, playing with the neighborhood pets as they were let out for playtime by their owners, and just being a staple in the community. I wasn't used to so much attention, and actually feeling loved was quite fulfilling.

After a few weeks, I grew familiar with the area and decided to do some exploring of the house. I was checking every nook and cranny, looking for ancient texts, spiders, whatever weird stuff I could find. I found a couple old coins, some dusty abandoned corners that no one else noticed, and other such trivial discoveries, none of which piqued my interest. The only thing that really caught my eye was a hidden door I had found in the kitchen.

I viewed this as my discovery, so I always kept it to myself. It was hidden behind the fridge and no one really noticed it. I was extremely strong for my age and could move the fridge away from the door with only a minute's effort. I only did so when I knew I would be home alone, as to not be discovered. Ahh, child's play. The door was locked, so I couldn't get past its barrier, but just investigating it was exciting. It was very dated compared to the rest of the house; a knocker as a doorknob, aged and extremely dense wood, the whole nine yards.

My parents told me that they were going out on a dinner date, and that they would trust me for the night. I decided that, this night, I would finally crack the code of the mysterious door and see what lies past the horizon. As soon as they left, I set to work.

My parents loved watching TV shows and movies about crime; therefore, there were a lot of scenes explaining how to pick locks. I tried swiping with an old BlockBuster card my mom had, to no avail. Grunting and anticipating the hard work ahead of me, I straightened a paper clip and began plucking at the lock. After ten minutes, I grew frustrated at my failure and slammed the paper clip into the lock as hard as I could. For some reason, that alone cracked the lock and opened the door.

The door creaked loudly as I slowly pushed it open. An odor filled the kitchen area as more and more of the hidden room became exposed. I still can't exactly put my finger on the source of the stench; it seemed to just reek of age. Even though the kitchen was brightly lit, the area behind the door was purely black; almost as if the basement was sucking up the light and destroying it as the waves came into contact with the secret room. I grabbed a flashlight and shone it into the abyss to find a decayed flight of stairs with a broken rail. In the very distance, I could barely make out a decrepit floor that seemed stained by something, but I wasn't sure.

I felt a captivating feeling of dysphoria as the aura of the room flooded me. Something told me to turn around and run, but I had already come too far. Terrified and apprehensive, I took my first step into the abyss that would soon become my new home.

The stairs bellowed below me with every step I took. I became wary of the potential reality that the staircase lacked structural integrity and that I would go plunging through the wood at any moment to my injury or death. Determined to push on, I rushed to the bottom of the stairs and slammed my feet against the cold ground.

I shone my flashlight around me to reveal the details of this secret room; and, to my astonishment, the room was extremely posh. The floor was made entirely of marble, the walls had fine art on them, veils were hung from the ceiling as decoration, and the room was lined with gold. There was nothing in the high class room aside from the paintings. For some reason, the room reminded me of an old time barbershop or something. It seemed too nice.

Noticing that there was a hallway in the corner of the room, I skipped over to it. As soon as I arrived at the passageway, I noticed a distinct change in the quality of the decorations. The hallway was just a dull grey all around, obviously made with cheap rock, and had no decorations whatsoever. Getting to this hallway flooded my brain with anxiety, and I really wanted to turn back then. But I couldn't. I knew what I had to do.

I began stepping down the hallway. The hallway wasn't very big to begin with; despite this, it continued to grow smaller and tighter as I walked more, seeming almost to be slowly collapsing into itself. I thought I had found the mother lode; this was a secret passage that obviously extended past the house. There had to be something really good at the end of this tunnel. Maybe treasure, maybe ancient remains, maybe even Heaven. I had to find out.

Just when the tunnel almost became impassable due to its small stature, it quickly opened up into a room about seven feet wide by forty feet long. The room was creepy to say the least; spider webs with egg sacs littered the room, cockroaches seemed to have found a new world order here, and the walls themselves were stained and cracked. Three particular cracks lay side by side on a side wall, almost looking like claw marks. At the very end of the room, in the center of the back wall, was a picture frame.

Advancing to the picture, I grew more and more terrified. I finally mustered up the courage to lift my flashlight and gaze at the picture that stood before me. I lifted the flashlight, and literally felt the life flush out of me as my eyes met the picture.

The picture seemed to be of a woman. She had been brutally tortured and beaten. She bore a chelsea grin extending all the way to her ears, her left eye was dangling out of its socket, her hair had been clearly burned off, her upper lip had been cut off and removed; revealing her entire gum line (which was also clearly plagued with extremely severe gingivitis), her nose was split in two, her entire face was covered in blood, cuts, and bruises; in addition, her ears had also been cut off and removed. What was most disturbing, however, was her skin. It varied in hue; sometimes a human peach, sometimes a moldy green. It seemed as if her skin began to grow a fungus and that said fungus was causing her skin to rupture. Numerous boils plagued her complexion and it almost seemed like her skin was peeling or melting off. Despite this obvious horrific torture, the picture bore a haunting smile, almost as if the subject enjoyed the torment.

No matter which way I moved, the picture's only functioning eye seemed to follow my every move. Horrified and freaked out, I dashed out of the room and tore down the hallway at full speed. I ran into the fancy room and darted up the stairs, slamming the door behind me and quickly pulling the refrigerator over it. I seriously felt like I was being followed. I soon realized that, in a way I was; one of the spider webs had caught into my hair and a family of 100 freshly hatched baby spiders and their mother were making a new home in my locks. I grabbed a can of raid and brought that family to their end quickly.

I started school two days later, and I noticed that I began deteriorating as a person. I became weaker, more sluggish, quite depressed, and just extremely out of it. My appearance was heading to hell in a handbasket; it was as if puberty punched me in the face with a fist made of ice and crushed metal. I just felt horrible. I had enough of this after a week and headed to the nurse's office.

She ran a small battery of quick tests on me to determine a cause of illness. My temperature was normal, I didn't have any obvious skin discoloration, and I responded well to the eye light test. My reflexes and such were also normal, which didn't make sense as I felt like I was dying. She referred me to the town doctor, who also found no obvious fault.

In spite of these optimistic diagnoses, I grew sicker and sicker. I began hallucinating and hearing voices that told me to end my life and join the ranks of the dead. I could barely run and began coughing extensively. My entire body ached and felt like it would fall apart at any moment. Alarmed, my mother rushed me to the state hospital. After they ran a bunch of tests and heard about my mental symptoms, they suggested that I might have a severe somatic mental illness and referred me to a private asylum for treatment.

I was diagnosed schizophrenic. After a month or so of inpatient care and heavy medication, I was let out. The voices had stopped but the sense of malaise only grew stronger. I began seeing the tortured woman in my dreams, smiling at me, gesturing at me, and walking towards me. I remember her even trying to kiss me one time, which shocked me. I couldn't possibly relay these episodes to anyone, for I'd just land back in the hospital again. I hated that place.

One day, the stress became too much. I went out for a brisk walk with the public library as my destination. I had to know what was going on. I missed the library's closing time by a few minutes. I angrily hit the door and stomped down the stairs when an old woman stopped me and asked me what was wrong. Figuring I had nothing else to lose, I explained the events that occurred within recent time; breaking into the room, seeing the picture, feeling fear and dysfunction in my soul, watching my body fall apart, and just not seeming like I was on this planet.

The woman's eyes widened with horror as she let out a piercing scream. She jumped back from me instantly, sending me into a stupor. She pointed a shaky finger at me and told me to stay back for she knew who I was. Utterly confused, I blurted out that I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about. She sighed and pulled out an ancient looking book from her purse. Strange, I didn't notice she had one until that point.

She flipped to one page in the beginning of the book and showed it to me. It showed a picture of my new house. She asked me if that's where I lived, and I confirmed. She flipped more pages and showed me a picture of the secret room. Suspicious, I again confirmed that such was the beginning of the room. My eyes widened as she flipped more pages and showed me the depressing hallway. Again, I confirmed that I had traversed its length. I nearly collapsed to the ground when she showed me the picture of the tortured woman. I confirmed that I saw her picture. She slammed the book shut and asked me if I really wanted to know what was wrong with me. Again, I confirmed. She sighed deeply and began.

The house that you live in isn't just any ordinary house. The person who lived there was a very sick and demented woman. She would deliberately enter hospitals and poison the water supply just to hear newborn babies scream in pain. She dated many men and ended up with most of their severed genitalia, a psychotic fetish she frequently indulged in whenever her significant other disobeyed her. She used various pole-like objects to sodomize other women that got in the way of her dark goals. Ultimately, her goal in life was to terrorize the world. As soon as the community got wind of her sickness, they went to her house and tied her up. She was tortured brutally for her crimes. Then, they then dug a tunnel into the earth, starting from the basement. They made the tunnel long enough so that, in her starved state, the insane woman could never have enough energy to make it to the end of the tunnel. As further protection, they built an additional room at the end of the tunnel. They cut it in two and put her in the farther half. They then made an indestructible wall between the two parts, sealing her in with only the voices in her head to keep her company.

The only thing she had to the outside world was a revolution in construction; a window that was made of a glass so indestructible that, when looked through, the other side looked as if it was a painting. She has been looking for a soul to attack for centuries, waiting for her chance to finally escape.

It seems she found someone. I bid you good luck in life.

With that, the old woman left.

I fell into a state of catatonia after that. I refused to move for two days from where I stood. Once I finally moved, I began attacking people with any sharp object I could find. I'm currently writing this from the inside of a mental hospital where I am to be incarcerated for the rest of my life. I have become a danger to society and am no longer fit to live in the world. Apparently, I am so terrifying that my current hospital cannot handle me; therefore, I am being transferred soon to be cemented into a lonely wall for eternity. My cellmate has been there for years and apparently is waiting for company. Aside from her, I will get no water, food, or anything and will die of starvation and loneliness. The only salvation I will get is a revolutionary window that makes the other side look like a painting.