The Portrait at the Parlor

The evening was initially like any other, with the sun setting gracefully on the horizon and painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. However, the atmosphere quickly changed as ominous black clouds gathered menacingly, casting an eerie darkness over the once lively streets. The suddenness of the change sent an uneasy feeling down my spine.

Walking along a muddy, seldom-trodden path, I cursed myself for not checking the weather forecast that morning and for forgetting my umbrella. As the rain intensified, soaking me thoroughly, the paths and landmarks I was so familiar with became disorienting. The whole town looked different, as if I was seeing it through a darkened lens.

Out of the dense mist, a shadowy structure began to take form. As I got closer, the ancient-looking house stood tall, revealing its architectural details. Its cracked walls and worn-out bricks hinted at centuries of existence, and even though it was evidently abandoned, its past opulence was palpable. The house seemed to beckon me, inviting me in, and with the rain showing no signs of abating, I reluctantly decided to seek shelter there.

Pushing the entrance open, I was immediately engulfed by a waft of musty, damp air, as though the house had been sealed off from the world for decades. My footsteps echoed eerily in the empty hallways. The silence was almost deafening, punctuated only by the distant sound of rain and thunder.

My clothes clung to my skin, and desperate for warmth, I found my way into what appeared to be a parlor. It was here that I first encountered the portrait. Dominating the room was the painting of a young girl, her pale face beautifully rendered, but her eyes... they were unnaturally bright and seemed to be staring right at me. Even as I tried to focus on other details of the room, I was continually drawn back to her gaze.

Beside the portrait was a massive, dust-covered bookshelf. Its shelves groaned under the weight of ancient tomes, children’s tales, and forgotten fairy stories. As I leafed through one of them, a soft whisper of laughter, like that of a child, brushed past my ears. Chalking it up to my imagination, I continued exploring, though my sense of unease grew with every passing second.

Drawn to further explore the house, I carefully tread through a winding hallway which led to an opulent bedroom. And there, to my growing horror, was the girl from the portrait again. Her likeness hung directly above a grand bed, which was curiously adorned with a collection of dolls. One doll, in particular, caught my eye – an eerily lifelike replica of the girl, with the same dress and haunting eyes.

As I reached out, curiosity getting the better of me, the doll's hand shot out, gripping mine with an icy, vice-like grip. Panic and terror surged through every fiber of my being. With great effort, I managed to throw the doll onto the bed, but what followed was even more horrifying. Every doll in the room turned its head to look at me, their glassy eyes staring unblinkingly.

Whispers filled the room, their soft, eerie voices pleading, “Don’t go, stay here. Please play with us.” The chilling beckonings were almost hypnotic, but the instinct to survive was stronger.

With adrenaline pumping, I ran for my life, navigating the maze-like corridors, propelled by pure fear. Reaching the main entrance, I pushed the doors open and darted outside, gasping for air and trying to process what had just occurred.

As I distanced myself from the mansion, so many questions plagued my mind: Who was the girl in the portrait? Why were her spirit and essence trapped within that doll? And what about the other dolls, what stories did they hold? But above all, why was the house abandoned, left to decay with its haunting inhabitants?

Although I managed to escape the physical confines of that cursed mansion, the memories remain deeply etched in my psyche. Every stormy night, every whisper of the wind, every shadow in the corner of my eye brings me back to that harrowing evening.

While I had always considered myself a skeptic, that night forced me to reconsider everything I believed in. The line between the real and the supernatural had blurred in the most terrifying way. Even now, the mere memory sends shivers down my spine, serving as a chilling reminder to never stray into the unknown again.

The Lost Shade

Winter had almost ceased, and the festivities of spring were taking their turn. Grace’s graduation day was knocking on the door. It was a weekend, and she was in her room, tucked in the bed with her beautiful golden hair caressing against the soft velvet pillow. Her eyes widened with curiosity as she turned the last page of the book of her favorite author, Dan Brown. Suddenly, she heard a doorbell and scuttered downstairs. “It must be Dad,” she muttered. Grace loved her father very much. He was not only a father to her but her friend, her guide, her mother, her advisor, her everything.

Her father said, “Grace, my dear,” hugging and kissing her on her forehead, “I missed you greatly today as I needed someone on this heart-rending and desolating day to share my feelings with for today is your mother's death anniversary.” Afterward, her father freshened up and after dinner, at night, called her to his room. She scampered into the room, pondering over why her father had called her so late at night.

Grace entered the room and her father said, “Dear, I was just rummaging through my old things, and I have something very precious to show you. You already know I have a passion for collecting sunglasses. This,” he said, showing her a box and opening it, “is the first pair of sunglasses I ever wore, given to me by your grandfather. Although these are not so much of economic worth, nor that fashionable considering the time, they are very close to my heart, and I will give them to you on your graduation day.” The glasses looked quaint and were probably of the 20th century. The shades were oval, impenetrable black, and highly reflective. She said that she would treasure them forever and returned to her room.

 That night, Grace was talking to her mother's picture as she often did on special occasions and saying, “Mum even though you are no more, Dad has never let me feel your absence. Today he said that he will give me his most prized possession, his sunglasses given to him by his grandfather. A week later, I will be graduating. Bestow upon me your blessings so that I embark on an efficacious and burgeoning journey ahead.” The week was by as fast as light. On Sunday, which was the day of her graduation, Grace was busy practicing her graduation speech. She had been chosen as the valedictorian for the graduation ceremony.

At the ceremony, when Grace was called on stage, she gave a speech talking about the significance of school and, how education was the movement from darkness to light. She ended the speech by thanking her father for all he had done for her and by saying the best preparation for tomorrow is doing our best today. When she came down from the stage, her father slightly wept but there were tears of joy. While returning home, the road was as busy as a bee. Suddenly, a car driving at an enormously high speed came in front of them, but it was too late for her father to apply the brakes. Grace and her father could not process what was happening and the next moment everything darkened.

Grace woke up in the hospital to see their housekeeper, Mrs. Watson in front of her, in tears. “The doctors could not save him,” Mrs. Watson said. Grace could not believe her ears. The entire world shifted beneath her feet. It was like the shade-her father- who protected her from everything in her life was lost. When she was discharged from the hospital and returned home, she rushed to her father's room, still shattered and despondent, and opened the drawer of her father’s cabinet. On top of it was a long box, and inside it was the letter that read,” dear Grace, today is the day of your graduation. I have dreamt of this day from the day you were born. Today is the day I feel my little girl has truly grown up. I wish you a lifetime of happiness and prosperity. Beneath this letter is something very close to my heart. I say a lot about a person and these sunglasses have helped me -at times when I was weak-to hide my emotions from people who would not understand me. Hope there will be a friend in need of you too. I love you, my dear.” Grace closed the box, held the sunglasses tightly in her arms and a trickle of tears dropped down her cheek.