Small Stories

Horror - Freedom in the Dark

Class - CRWR 200 - Intro to Creative Writing

Trigger warning for domestic abuse

Some wallpaper had peeled off just under the painting, and he pasted it back up.

The oil painting in the foyer was the one great thing about being stuck living in this ever-changing and oppressive house. It was done by him. Every proportion was measured to the millimetre with not a detail out of place. It was a portrait of his bewitching wife to outlast the ages.

He had captured her likeness perfectly. Dark curls framed her pale heart-shaped face and swept her waist. Her excellent posture drew his envy, and the gentle curve of her small rose-petal lips hinted at her compassion and endless generosity. Lavender perfume lingered in the air, and the woman blinked her wide eyes at him before going still.

His skill was unrivalled and the painting never failed to get him reminiscing. Oh, how his wife had loved him when she was human.

The transformation had started slowly.

The plates began filling the sink. Her side of the bed became constantly empty. She kept secrets, stayed out late, avoided him, and then got obsessed with checking his phone and whereabouts.

Her calm demeanour descended into impatience and greed. Her demands piled up as high as her spending. Wrinkles scarred her unnatural grey skin, her eyes reddened, and strange blotches covered her face. Then she'd snapped, taking the phone and having a screaming breakdown. She only got more psychotic from there. Mood swings, bursts of anger, sobbing, lying, delusion, violence...everything.

She was no longer the same person. But whenever he saw the monster, she wore his wife's face over her real one.

The last straw had long broken his reserve. At some point, he had to do something about her, and he knew today he'd succeed.

The landline was still missing the buttons and handset, the cut cord uselessly curled up beside it. That was fine. Not like he could call anyone anyway. Who would believe that his wife was possessed? He himself wasn't sure what had gone wrong, or how he'd let the darkness take over his house and make everything more disorienting.

He made his way to the front door and pointlessly tried the handle, but of course, it was locked from the outside. The keyhole was the only place you could see the outside world in this windowless house. And as always, no one could get out without a key.

Today, he would trap her. Maybe then she would finally let him live and he could expel this dark nightmare of hers that she'd made in this house.

The stairwell led up to darkness. It wasn't clear how she had done it since any light switches had long disappeared from the walls.

She liked the dark. In it, she could creep around, plotting his painful end where he couldn't see.

He got chills just imagining what horrors she was up to now. The only weapon he had in this bare house was a heavy flashlight, which he kept with him always.

The ballroom was the first room that greeted him on the second floor, and he slid inside. At one point or another, she would show up.

Revealed in the harsh beam of his flashlight was the intricate carpet of swirling patterns. He stopped in the middle of the room, under the unlit chandelier. With all his practice, he could surely navigate the place.

"Matthew," a hoarse voice rasped.

He spun. A hunched silhouette stood by the doors, backlit by the light from the foyer.