Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27361742-20160408201335

As I left the apartment complex that I live in, I saw a relatively small painting with a gold-colored frame. I took a look at the painting. It was of a creek in a forest, with a young girl sitting next to the creek, facing away. Her hair was a dark brown, and she was wearing a white t-shirt with a red skirt. The painting was beautiful, and well-painted. I was about to walk away when I saw a small note attached to the side of the painting. It said, ‘free’, which was written very poorly and shaky. I took the painting in and hung it up in my apartment. I hung the painting in my living room, where it fit in very well. As the day ended, I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I felt tired, as I feel many days. I felt like I hadn’t slept at all, even though I fell asleep very quickly after heading for bed. I made some coffee and went into the living room to watch TV. I looked at the painting. I felt like the painting looked different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. That is, until I saw the girl. Her head was turned, so I could see the side of her head, but not her face. The only way I noticed it was that I saw the outline of an ear (which was barely noticeable), and changes to the hair. I thought it was there because I was tired. It wasn’t a big deal, so I ignored it. The next day, when I woke up, I was less tired. I felt a lot better. When I looked at the painting, I was taken aback. The girl’s face was completely turned around. I knew it wasn’t me making this up. The girl had brown eyes and a slight smirk on her face. I thought something was up.

After seeing that the painting had changed, I walked away with a look on my eyes that showed nervousness. It wasn’t that scary on its own, but still, the painting had changed. That’s not normal. After further examination of the painting, my fears were confirmed. It wasn’t something with the paint or anything. I grabbed the painting and took it outside, note still attached, so I would never see it again. When I entered my apartment after dumping the painting away, I heard a giggle. Anyways, I went to bed, scared but relieved that it was gone. I fell asleep. I was in a dream. Inside a forest. It seemed surreal. I kept going forward until I found a clearing, with a creek. A girl just like the one in the painting, turned her head, grinning, revealing sharp teeth. I woke up, my clothes wet, from my sweating. I had a very bad headache. I looked at the clock. It was 2 AM. I fell back asleep. And when my consciousness slipped into the dream, I heard a childish giggle.

My dream was in the same place as my last dream, and it was exactly the same. Until the end of the dream, though. The same girl was by the creek, grinning. This time it was not a grin of joy. It was a grin of evil. Her sharp teeth were partially red. The girl charged started to walk towards me, with a limp that was painful to look at. It looked like her bones were broken; the way she was walking. I tried to run away, but my legs would not move. As she got closer and closer, I could feel the girl’s light breathing more and more. And then I woke up. Hearing whispers, I turned to my left. I saw the girl from the dream, in a grotesque form. Her skin was deathly gray. Her eyes had gray pupils, her hair looked weak, and her body was covered in scars. She stood still for a few seconds, looking at me and sending chills down my spine. Then, she ran away, laughing ominously. Her bare feet left footsteps. I looked at the clock. It was 5:30 AM.

I turned on the lights and followed the footsteps to see what was up. Was this a game? A person secretly living in my house? I wanted answers. A second after the lights came on, the bulbs exploded. The glass did not hurt me badly, but one shard cut my face, drawing a slight bit of blood. I kept following the footsteps. The footsteps went into the living room, and ended at a wall. The wall where the  painting hung. When I looked at the wall and saw the painting hanging up, I took a gasp of shock and horror, and I found it difficult to collect myself. I got rid of that painting! I didn’t bring it back in. The girl moved again. She looked just like the girl in the last dream. I saw her grinning, sharp, teeth. They were covered in red. Now that I could see better. I saw what the red was. It was blood covering her teeth. She was also closer to the viewer, I could see little  but her face. I heard a girl’s scream. I started to turn around and run away, but hands grabbed me, and pulled me back towards the painting. I turned around, the girl was even closer to the viewer. I saw nothing but her grotesque face. I fought the hands. They were a girl’s hands, but they were much stronger than any girl’s hands, and they were pulling me towards the painting. I fought back. I thrashed my arms and flailed around. I got a grip and hit the hands as hard as I could. Then, the hands stopped grabbing me. I heard a cry, and I looked at the painting. The girl was nowhere to be seen. I felt nauseas, and very sick. It may have been from the lack of sleep. I was extremely angry. I was going to smash that painting. I grabbed my golf club and whacked the painting. The glass broke with a satisfying sound. I looked at the wreckage and I saw the painting was now completely red. Nothing but red. I gave the canvas a few more whacks, but that did nothing.

I walked to my bed. I saw the girl from the painting on the bed, looking just as terrifying as before. I started to run away, and I got a head start. The girl followed me. She didn’t run, she just floated a foot above the ground towards me, not moving at all. I tried to wrench open the apartment door. It wouldn’t budge. The girl floated towards me, with a grin on her face, but one of triumph. She grabbed my throat. I felt the life draining out of me. It’s over.

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<span style="font-size:14.6667px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-weight:400;white-space:pre-wrap;">This man was never found again. A missing person report was filed, and his disappearance was investigated by police for potential murder, but they found nothing, except for broken glass, and a torn paper that said in shaky handwriting, ‘free’. The painting is on the street, with a paper that says that it’s free attached to it, waiting for someone to let it into their life... <ac_metadata title="The Real Girl (in need of a review and some feedback)"> </ac_metadata>