Creeped Out

So anyway, Lucy didn't like her room.

She never slept in it. Her family noticed, but they didn't mind too much as she was "only a young girl.” When her friends came over, she closed the door and quietly muttered out an excuse about "reconstruction" in her room. Naturally, the lot of them was suspicious when her room was placed under "reconstruction" for a large number of years.

"What DO you keep in your room, Luce?" Karen pounced on her friend playfully. It was Lucy's 12th birthday, and her good friends were eager to keep the party going on.

As usual, Lucy immediately turned solemn and assumed the expression of one visiting a funeral. "Nothing, nothing," she murmured out softly. "It's not about what I own in there." Her voice stressed the "I" rather long.

Karen stared at her. This was the most Lucy had ever given away.

Lucy must've noticed, for she turned away and changed the subject quickly. "So which present should I open first?"

And the party went on. Lucy stuffed herself full, her friends didn't go away until 11:00 (way past her "sleepy-sleepy" time), and Lucy was forced to shovel all her new presents into her parent's room. But this time, something was just a bit different.

"Honey," her mother said rather hesitantly, "your father and I have delayed talking about this subject for a very, very long time... but don't you think it's time for you to sleep in your bedroom?"

A ripple of fear went through Lucy. Her vocal boxes forced her to protest, and her lungs screamed at her to breathe normally. She opened her mouth into a painful grimace, but nothing came out.

Her father placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "Lucy, think about it. You're 12 now! You're on your way to become a teen. Trust me," he added rather hastily as Lucy leaned forward, as if retching, "You'll feel much better once you actually go into your room and start to like it. It's only haunted-looking and dust-filled because you haven't slept in it for a while." Lucy was to understand that by "a while," he meant 12 long years.

And that night, Lucy stared up at the ceiling. Every now and then, her eyes would adjust to the strange colors that bounced around rapidly. Her eyelids would close gradually, and then she'd jerk herself awake. Lucy didn't dare close her eyes in the room: she was afraid.

Having nothing else to stare at (the ceiling was getting boring), her eyes flickered to the creepy oil painting directly above her bedstead. It was horrible enough knowing that the ghastly painting was there; but to actually see it! It was terrifying. Lucy sank down deeper into her covers.

Even while covering her forehead, Lucy could see the painting. The painting of a guy grinning.

Sure, her parents saw nothing wrong with the picture, and truthfully, neither did Lucy. But there was an aura about him that was very frightening. At first, Lucy had studied the picture closely. She regretted this almost immediately; after a close examination, she discovered that there was just a little bit of blood dribbling out of his mouth. It was a very small detail that you could miss easily, but there was no mistaking the bubble of blood dribbling out. In fact, now that she knew it was there, she could catch it almost immediately.

Lucy did not know when she fell asleep. Her breathing steadied gradually, her eyelids slid down, and she dreamed while thinking, the painting above her head.

The dream was gruesome. The guy from the painting was eating some meat that looked suspiciously familiar. It wasn't until Lucy woke up that she realized he was eating her leg.

Thank goodness for the morning. Lucy rolled off her covers, and leaped away from the room. She didn't stop running until she saw someone familiar: her mother.

"Had a good night, my little dog?" she asked, using her personal endearment for Lucy.

Lucy thought for a while before answering back casually, "Not the best sleep I ever had."

"It's okay." Lucy's father had entered the room, and it seemed that he had overheard their conversation. "You'll get used to the room." He petted her on the head affectionately before yelling at the newspaper route boy for ruining his new shrubs.

"Maybe," said Lucy, but she was unconvinced.

That night, before Lucy fell asleep, she noticed a flicker of movement. She stopped yanking her pajamas on and stood there, watching the painting stupidly. It did not move again, but she felt a cold breeze brush against her as she realized that the guy's eyes were now focused on her, and her only. Who else could it be, in the middle of the room? She froze before crawling into her bed, whimpering.

Her suspicions were right. When she finally worked up the courage to look up at the painting again, the guy's eyes were now staring out underneath him, where she should be. His grin seemed larger.

"What do you want with me?" Her voice was shaking. She was freezing. Who put the temperature down that low? Lucy steadied herself before directing another sharp sentence towards the guy, "Why are you trying to scare me? What have I done?"

The guy didn't reply. He continued to stare down at her. This time, she thought she could see a mixture of drool and saliva slowly... dribbling... down. But instead of feeling fear, she felt contemptuous rage towards the guy. Did he seriously think she was so easy to get?

"What's wrong with you?" The loud outburst was so sudden that her voice cracked. "Get away from me, you freak! Don't you dare try getting to my nerves again!"

This time, the guy seemed to be getting bigger and bigger. Lucy couldn't help but noticed how his arms seemed to be reaching out for her. And she also nervously realized that he was carrying a knife, the type that butchers animals easily. It was unnerving in so many ways that she shrieked, despite herself.

Luckily, panic lent her strength. As the guy leered closer and closer, she gave out another shriek and grabbed the knife out of his hands.

"I'm warning you! Get away!" She stabbed out blindly. Was it her imagination or was the guy's grin fading just a little bit? But still, he was staring at her in that creepy way.

Lucy stabbed him. His mouth opened into a wail, but no sound came out. His mouth continued on, gaping at nothing, his hands scrabbling at the blood splattered chest.

Just then, Lucy's eyes opened. Was it really a dream? But it had felt so real... In fact, she thought she could feel blood dribbling down her eyes and arms, but that could've just been sweat from her nightmare. She stretched out and cast a wary eye towards the painting.

He was gone. All that was left was a blood-filled painting. What was even stranger was that when Lucy reached out to touch the frame, her blood turned ice cold. It was real; sticky and oozing.

Suddenly, she grinned. She had a sudden appetite for people.

Author's Note: You can interpret the ending however you'd like to; I personally like to think that the painting was a curse brought down upon unlucky people. Sorry if it's confusing!