The Lady’s Room

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The Lady’s Room

Photo via Wikimedia Commons under the Creative Commons Licence

Photo via Wikimedia Commons under the Creative Commons Licence

Photo via Wikimedia Commons under the Creative Commons Licence

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For the Halloween holidays I went to the house of one of my dad’s friends in a small, forgotten village. Their house was enormous and isolated, surrounded by the woods and a large field. I really liked it when I first visited. It was very quiet in there; nice, warm and well furnished.

Our friends showed us the main apartment which once belonged to their great-grandfather.We then visited the other part of the house, which was huge and very, very cold. As we reached the highest room, the youngest of the three daughters pulled my sweatshirt and whispered:

“You know, before our grandpa bought it, this house belonged to a lady that became crazy. There are still her creepy paintings in her bedroom. But don’t worry, I haven’t seen any ghosts since I came here.”

She then ran away. I stood petrified with an astonished expression.

When I asked her mother if the story was true, she said yes.

She made me follow her downstairs and opened a very small metal door. As I entered in the room, a strong smell of humidity violently attacked me. It was small and it only had one bed in the center of it, all covered in dust.

Then I noticed the walls. All four were covered with random doodles, portraits, poetry and paints.

“There are very strange stories about the lady that inhabited this house in 1814. Some people said her father locked her inside her own room and left her there for years. Others say she was not crazy, she just loved painting on walls and she chose this room as a canvas. Our grandpa found it interesting so he decided to keep it this way. Or maybe he was just afraid of her ghost…”. She smirked and then walked out, leaving me alone.

I stared at the beautiful yet quite disturbing paintings for a long time, touching them and reading the poetry she wrote. It was in French. I was fascinated. “I would like to talk with you. I don’t think you were a bad person.”

I slowly went downstairs, but I could not find anyone. I couldn’t remember where the main apartment was. I was alone, and I soon started feeling afraid. I started walking quickly, looking for the communicating door that could bring me back to the warm part of the house.

Suddenly I heard a sad, childish voice:

“Why are you scared? Aren’t you the one who wanted to talk with me?”

I turned back in utter terror…

…But no one was behind me.