Blood on the Canvas : Scary Stories – Short Horror Story

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The canvas drank my blood eagerly, soaking up every drop. My hands were overly calloused at this point, and I’d moved on to drawing it from my thigh. A small incision was enough to collect a small pool in my palm.

I smeared the last of it on the painting. A vibrational hum shook the isle as the crimson disappeared into the pores of old brush strokes. The woman in black was so close now, her body nearly blocked out the entire scene of the Victorian home behind her.

I thought of the elderly woman who had sold it to me at auction. She was so thrilled to be rid of it I got it for a steal. Little had I known I was purchasing a curse.

The blood kept the woman in black contained in the painting. In the beginning I hadn’t understood, and then when I did finally understand I didn’t believe it. By the time I had relented and started giving blood to the canvas I’d already allowed her to get so close. Dangerously close. I didn’t know what would happen when she was finally freed, but I knew it wouldn’t be good. I could feel her hunger, and the weight of the darkness within her every time I touched it.

I was doing my best to bate back her escape when an accident interrupted my progress. On my walk home from teaching at the school I was struck by a car. He hadn’t seen the light change and plowed right into me as I was halfway through the crosswalk.

When I’d awoke in the hospital bed, they’d told me I had been in a coma for three months. I wept, but not because of the time lost, because I knew…

I rushed home as soon as I was discharged and scrambled up the steps to the loft. I unlocked the series of deadbolts and chains on the door and rushed inside, praying I wasn’t too late.

The canvas sat in the center of the room. The beautiful Victorian home stood in full view as black swans swam across the pond adjacent to the marbled pillars.

Oh my God…

I was too late.

Suddenly the lights flickered overhead and the door slammed shut behind me. I screamed as a cold hand with slender fingers clamped down on the back of my neck. The touch burnt my skin for a moment but then I felt… pleasure.

I could see her porcelain white face over my shoulder in the mirror on the wall. She was beautiful, and I wanted to serve.

“Blood.” She whispered in my ear, warm as honey.

I needed to obey, I wanted to serve. I walked to the mirror and smashed its surface. Choosing the longest blade from the floor I turned to the woman.

I smiled as I pressed it against my throat. She would have all the blood she needed.

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