My name is Kellyn and i just moved into our new house.

The picture always bothered me. I mean, it was a lovely painted picture; it had no author however, and how we attained it is unknown. While we were moving into our present home i found it in our junk box. Mom hung it up in the living room to be admired by us and our guests.

The painting depicted a woman, who seemed around the age of forty, with seven kids, perhaps about eleven years old ( I was also eleven) sitting around her, almost like they were listening to some old tale that the woman had to teach them from which she learned from life.

The picture didn't bother me at first. Then it started to change.

They were subtle changes at first. I noticed the pale blue shawl the woman was wearing was now a dark blue. Not too terribly different; but It still caught my eye.

Later on, there were bigger changes. One kid was laying back instead of sitting up. The woman's face turned ever so slightly...and her eyes. Her eyes bothered me the most.

They seemed to follow me. Not like those stupid trick photos where it makes it look like it. They were really following me. I asked my mom about it. She said it was just a dumb 'ole painting and didn't know what I was getting so worked up about.

I started to not like to sit in the living room. I know it was just a painting but I felt that woman in the painting looking at me; watching me. I felt her stares. Piercing me..

Late at night when I'd be on my moms laptop playing internet games I'd hear laughter..children's laughter. Was it them? The kids in the picture? It couldn't of been. Yet when the light casted from the laptop onto the painting it showed her eyes; those god damn eyes.

I hated it.

I got up and grabbed a sharpie from my moms junk drawer. I slowly approached the painting. Uncapping it, in a moment of almost insanity, I started to block out their faces. First the woman, then the children's. In my madness I didn't even realize that the children's faces turned, watching me as I desolated their faces...their horrible, hideous faces with the pen.

Black marks now covering the painting, my heart was at ease. The noises ceased. I dropped the pen onto the ground, and fell asleep on the couch.

In the morning, I yawned and grabbed some breakfast. Mom left me some toast with a heart of jam. She always did little stuff like that. It was nice.

I walked into the living room.

Impossible.

It is impossible.

The eyes glared at me menacingly, and i swear she was smiling. Her and those damn kids. No trace of black ink across a single inch of the painting.

All i hear is their laughter and their whispers. Oh the whispers as they ring in my ears. How no amount of blaring music or droning it all out in my pillow can stop me from hearing it. It's everywhere. When i go to school; it follows me. When i sleep, i dream of it. The woman and a long slender finger beckoning me.

And her eyes. Her damn eyes!

It's going to drive me insane this picture. I feel like it's becoming a part of me. Like I'm in it. Like it wants me...calling me to the painting.


My name is Angie and I just moved into our new house.

When i was helping my mom clean out the junk in the attic i came across a box with a painting in it. I'm not sure where it came from, but it is a pretty painting of a woman in a pale blue Shaw and eight children sitting around her...