A New Home( Short story)

I stare miserably at the window. Me and my Mum have to move house because Mum got a new job and her work place is nowhere near our old house. I felt distraught and I also felt like I was put under a lot of pressure. I didn’t want to leave. I’m so quiet in class and I only just made friends with a really nice girl who seems to understand me. I tried to explain this to my mum but she simply said “I’m sorry but it’s simply too far for me to travel if we were to stay at our old house. So we basically have no choice.”

I’m always worrying about how I don’t talk a lot and my mind is always focusing on things to say to people before they end up thinking I’m too quiet. If I’m not thinking about that then I’m probably panicking or thinking about something else to worry about. So now I have a new thing to add to my list of worries.

“It’s time to get out of the car now.” My Mum says softly. “We're here.” I step out and examine our new house. It was tall, old brown and had various chimneys. 

As me and my mum, walk up to the front door. I decided straight away that the front door looks ugly. It was white! Out of all colours why white? It will get dirty too easily. The inside of the house was nothing compared to the door. It was very posh, shiny, new and looked like very rich people lived inside of it. 

“You can go upstairs and pick your room if you want.” Mum says tiredly.

I toss and turn in my bed. I couldn’t sleep. New thoughts keep coming into my head. I couldn’t control it. My sweat became a whole pool. I was practically swimming in it.

Out of nowhere, I heard a noise.

A noise that made me shiver.

A noise that made me feel agitated.

A noise that made my pool of sweat grow bigger.

I slowly walked towards the noise. Feeling my way in the dark since I had no torch or candle. I suddenly tripped on something which made me fall to the ground making hair get all over my face. I pushed my hair back as I continued my search for the noise I heard.

Once I find what I think is the stairs, I stop and look on the floor.

I could make out a shape on the ground but I couldn’t tell what it was. I bent down and squinted. When I realised what it was, my heartbeat quickened. My head pounded. I felt faint. My legs and arms became heavy and painful. Without realising I fell to the ground tumbling down each step of the stairs. When I landed at the bottom of the stairs, I pulled myself up and took on my surroundings. I squinted in the darkness and I started to breath heavily remembering what I saw at the top of the staircase. It was something I used to dream about when I was six. This shadow. Now my dream came to life or am I just hallucinating? I could be dreaming. I tried pinching myself but nothing happened.

The shadow I saw appeared in front of me. How…? Where did…? These are questions that will probably never get answered. It lifts its arm and whacks me on the head. I didn’t even have time to process the pain of the hit. I immediately fell to the floor and everything went black. 

When I opened my eyes everything was black. For a moment I thought I wasn’t awake yet but then I realised I could see the front entrance to the new house and the staircase and some of the living room. I thought at first that maybe I’m just pinned to the wall or tied to something that is making me see from this angle but then Mum came down the stairs and she paused in her tracks and looked towards me. “Huh.” She says. “This painting looks exactly like my daughter Lora.” Her eyes suddenly went wide. “Is that….? Lora if you can hear me answer.” I wanted to tell her that it is me. I tried to tell her what happened but my mouth wouldn’t open. I managed to open it after many efforts but no sounds came out. 

My mum suddenly talked. “Silly me, why would lora be in a painting?” But I am in the painting. MUM! 

As the months went past, Mum assumed I died and I had to watch each day as she was upset about it, as she lived here not knowing my true location. When it came to the day when Mum turned 75 she died and for a long time the house was empty and deserted but then after what I think was 3 decades a new family moved in and I watched as the shadow each night trapped their 3 children in paintings like me. I couldn’t warn them, couldn’t help them. All I could do was sit there and watch. 

2 centuries later, thousands of children were trapped in  paintings all over the house. We were never discovered and the shadow was never caught. This process was continued for many years to come.