The Painting

I jumped up, awakened by a loud scream. This scream was so piercing that it echoed throughout the house. I ran down the stairs, not looking where I was going. My wife was slowly walking up to me. Her deathly pale face and empty gaze could have frightened anyone.

“What happened, Grace?” I asked.

She walked past without paying any attention to me.

I climbed to my room and thought about what to do next. This had been going on for a week.

I glanced into my wife’s room. Grace was dancing to the music that was playing in her head. We used to sleep here together, but after her constant nightly bouts of madness, I was forced to move to another room. At night, I heard her screaming in a fit of rage, breaking dishes and furniture. It was impossible to sleep.

The sales agent was due to arrive any day now with documents for selling the original painting by a famous artist. Last time, Grace had refused him, not wanting to part with the family heirloom that had been kept in their family for several generations.

I asked the agent to come again in a couple of weeks, hoping to persuade my wife during this time. But she stood her ground.

Then I turned to my "business partner", with whom we had previously done dirty deeds when we needed to earn some extra cash. For a considerable sum, he supplied me with poison that would send Grace to the realm of eternal sleep.

“Pour it all into her glass!” He handed me a vial of clear liquid.

That same evening, when my wife and I were getting ready to have dinner, I took out the vial. Grace was admiring the sunset from the balcony, as she usually did. As luck would have it, the cork in the vial was stuck fast. I grabbed it with my teeth and pulled with all my might. My hands trembled - a good half of the poison spilled on the floor. Cursing myself with the last words, I poured the rest into her glass. Grace returned, and we began to eat. I tried not to watch her drink. This made my calm seem even more false.

“Is something bothering you, my dear Liam?” She turned to me.

“No, dear, everything is fine.” I smiled.

My wife had already finished everything that was in the glass, and it seemed that she was not going to die at all.

“Maybe we should have children?” She asked suddenly.

“Children?”

“Well, yes. I thought our life is short, and I would like to leave everything that is mine…” Suddenly, Grace fell silent. She froze in one position with a fork in her hand. You could see how the muscles on her face tensed up, and her eyes were bloodshot. Suddenly, she jumped up and, clutching her head, screamed so loudly that I almost lost my hearing. Her whole face was distorted with unbearable pain. She rolled on the floor, screaming and scratching her face. I tried to hold Grace so that she would not hurt herself even more. She writhed in wild convulsions for another minute and then lost consciousness. I did not sleep all night, keeping watch at her bedside. At that moment, I already regretted my decision a hundred times.

In the morning, Grace woke up. She either did not answer my questions about her health or limited herself to “yes” and “no”. I called the doctor. By the time the doctor arrived, Grace had more or less perked up. She walked around the castle, sometimes dancing like a ballerina. After examining her, the doctor concluded it was “an ordinary attack of fatigue”.

The day passed calmly. But at night, a nightmare began. I woke up in the middle of the night because Grace was sobbing, standing in front of the mirror, and looking at herself in the light of the lamp. My attempt to console her resulted in her breaking the mirror in anger. I decided that from the next night, I would sleep in another room, locking the door. The next day, my wife again behaved blissfully, walking around the castle and dancing.

At night, I heard the door handle to my room turn. Although I knew the door was locked, I was terrified. Grace pulled the handle harder and harder.

“Go to your room!” I shouted. Grace was quiet for a second and then burst into a terrible laugh. She soon became silent, but I am sure she stood outside the door all night. This repeated itself for several days. A rumble and inarticulate sounds came from her room at night, and there was a “calm” during the day. It was all too much to bear.

On a day when a severe thunderstorm began and the entire sky was covered with clouds, Grace went out into the pouring rain onto the balcony as usual "to admire the sunset." I watched her getting wet in the rain. Throwing aside all fears and worries, I came up to her from behind and pushed her in the back with all my might. Grace flew off the balcony but managed to grab the railing with her hand. I caught her look, full of amazement and fear. I tried to unclench her fingers, and my wife screamed and tried even harder to grab the wet and slippery railing. Her strength left her, and she flew down with a wild scream. She fell from the fourth floor and screamed my name all the time. Soaking wet, I fell to my knees and cried. Finally, this nightmare was over. As I later told everyone, she simply slipped.

The day after the funeral, the sales agent came, and the sale was completed. We both shook hands, happy that we had each achieved our goal. Later, I sold the house too. With the money I got, I moved to another city and bought a small house on the outskirts, away from the neighbors and closer to the forest. With the rest of the money, I could never work again. I led a solitary life; I had no friends, and the nearest neighbors were an hour walk away. I was sad and reproached myself for what I had done to my wife. Sometimes, I went to the local bar and had a couple of tequila shots. After a year, I began to forget what I had done to Grace. It seemed to me that I would live the rest of my life in peace.

Walking home from the bar one night, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around, but seeing anyone in the darkness was impossible.

“Who’s there?” I shouted.

There was no answer. I walked on, but faster. I ran. The house was already very close. I ran into the house and slammed the door behind me. An instant before the door closed, I saw bony hands reaching out to me from the darkness. Horror made my hair stand on end. I pressed my face to the window to see who was there. It was my wife! She stood patiently and waited for me to come out. Her face was distorted by a chilling smile, in which rage and anticipation of her imminent reprisal against me were combined. She stood like that all night. When the day came, she did not leave as I had hoped. She stood all the next day and the next night. She did not go anywhere. Then she started looking in the windows, knocking on them, scratching at the door, and laughing madly. I heard this laughter all the time. I started going crazy.

***

“Someday, I’ll have to go out; I can’t sit at home forever. She won’t leave until she’s waited to punish me for what I’ve done.

I found a strong rope. I think the beam under the roof will bear my weight.” A police officer read the suicide note aloud.