The little boy's eyes suddenly flicked open and I heard a loud scream in the background.
Slowly opening my eyes, I felt something hard on my back. Realising that I was lying on the floor, I tried to sit up.
'Jamie?' I croaked out.
The lamp lay neatly next to my satchel. But Jamie was nowhere in sight. I closed my eyes, and touched my head, but all I could see, were dark blue eyes. They were not innocent eyes that one finds looking back at you. It had a story to tell. Whatever they had to tell, they looked distressed, painful, fear reached his eyes, yet there was a touch of anger and revenge. Revenge? But it was powerful. I blinked a few times, but the eyes floated in front of me. I looked at the painting; his eyes were closed once again. Although, this time there was a smile etched across his face.
I had this sudden burst of energy. It felt as if I could do anything. I jumped up and picked up my trusty lamp. The lamp that I was criticising a few moments before, was now giving off a stronger light. I pushed passed everything. So, not just a sudden burst of energy, strength had decided to come into the equation too.
Reaching the door, I made a short prayer that it wasn't locked. It clicked open, and I stepped in. A short walk led to a tight staircase. It swirled down. It looked completely different from the house. A secret passage way. Did my own room have a secret passage? That could be on my list too. Right now, I was marveling at the bricks. Bright yellow light shone from my lamp and made the bricks look rusty yellow. My fingers fit into the gaps however, the bricks showed no sign of breaking apart. There was a simple panel. After placing my foot on the ground, I realised that many rooms did indeed have a way that led to this long passage.
Excitement ran through my veins. A huge smile had replaced any dot of fear I held. It was crazy. There were several rooms. One by one, I opened each one. They all looked the same. All empty. I reached the fifth door and walked in. There was a long table in the middle. The last door seemed to also lead to this room. There were shelves full of candle holders. Although they were rusty, scratched and what not, they still looked beautiful. Then I put all my focus on the table, it was black and burnt. Sliding my palm across the table, my dream came back.
The young boy was tied to the table and everyone began dropping hot wax. That was when I looked up at the wall. A similar painting was hanging on the wall. Part of it was burnt, and most of it had invited dust to stay.
I started feeling anger within me. My dream and this room were exactly alike. The only difference was that the bricks were worn out. If this was in my dream, then the boy was burned to make money. The priest lied, and his lie led to the death of an innocent child. Is this how they practiced their religion? I had learnt about the Salem Witch Hunt in America, but they practiced the same thing here. Anger would have consumed me if I had a dream of a woman being accused of being a witch, but this was on another level.
I placed my lamp on the table and walked towards the painting. Reaching up, I was about to touch it. My fingers hovered above it. Did I not become unconscious? The dark blue eyes appeared again. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and debated within myself. That's when I felt a small hand wrap around my wrist. I let out a high pitched scream.
YOU ARE READING
The Boy in the PaintingMystery / Thriller
'Death is our best friend from childhood. It is just lost in this cruel world. When it finds its friend, what happens, only it decides. Has Death found its best friend? We will find out tonight,' Father Jones calmly stated. I like drawing, so yes, t...