Fereshte Songadwala

The Family Portrait

The attic smelled of dust and old memories as Mira creaked open the door. Sunshine peeked through the windows. Mira always avoided the attic, but due to her family's move, she is forced to move out whatever was stored in the attic. She looked through the faded dresses and toys of her childhood. She continued to look through the nostalgia as something caught her eye, a beautiful family portrait. Mira slowly wiped the dust off of the painting with her sleeve, getting it dirty knowing it was old anyway. As she looked at the picture, she found herself staring for a long time. The faces in the painting seemed to gaze back at her, their expressions frozen in time. She knew these people. They were her grandparents, their smiles warm and inviting, yet something felt strange.

The next morning, she still had an eerie feeling about the painting. She told herself that she'd go back to the attic after eating breakfast. “How’d you sleep?” a small voice said behind her, startling her. She turned around to find her little brother. He knew she was upset about the move. “Alright. What would you like for breakfast?” she asked him, not wanting to talk about the current subject. She took out some cereal and milk and poured it in a bowl. As she poured the milk in the bowl, she noticed something strange about it; there was something in it. She looked closer, there was a reflection of a portrait. The portrait that was in the attic. “Mira!” her little brother cried. She had overpoured the milk, and it was overflowing down the island. She quickly snapped out of it and cleaned it up before her father could wake up and lecture her about wasting the milk. “Don't tell father about this, alright?” she told her brother, knowing he was a snitch. She gave her brother the bowl and, even though she already ate her breakfast, sat down with him to keep him company.

Mira went back to the attic soon after. She had no intention of looking at anything else besides the portrait. She took the painting and went back downstairs to her bedroom and dropped it on the bed. She walked to her father's office and looked around to see if anyone was around, and quickly opened and closed the door. She rummaged through her father's drawers to see if anything related to her grandparents was there. She opened a drawer that had an old box of photos. She looked through them to see if anything odd was there. She took out a picture. She took it back to her room and locked the door shut. It was the picture of her grandparents, the one in the attic. The one that was in her hands right now. She compared the two pictures and observed that they weren't the same, but still couldn't tell what was wrong. 

She placed the portrait down and left the room. When she came back, the portrait wasn't there. She ignored it and thought her father must have put it away, since it was regular for family members to enter the bedroom without an invitation in their family.

The next morning, on her way to the kitchen to get some breakfast, as she walked past the hallway wall, the portrait was hung up. She didn't see it at first, but at the second glance she thought it was different. Like a person had been added.

“Did you hang that portrait of grandpa and grandma on the wall?” she asked her dad when she entered the kitchen. “No, I didn't,” said her father dryly. Her father was usually like this. If he wasn't on a phone call, he was in a meeting, if he wasn't sleeping, it was his “TV time”, if he wasn't giving her little brother attention, he was scolding Mira about not cleaning or not unloading the dishwasher. Mira rarely got attention from her father. Anytime Mira would try to talk to her father about it, he would tell her that she's being dramatic, or she's just seeking attention. Which only made her feel as if he were right, as if she didn't need anymore attention.

Mira went back to her room and sat back down on the bed. The portrait, she thought, ah yes, where is the portrait? Mira went back to the hall, but the portrait wasn't there. She didn't care much about it, for she was too tired of this whole ordeal. As she tried to open the door of her room, it appeared to be locked. “Father? Please open the door.” She thought her father must be searching her room and had locked it so she couldn't get in, as it's happened before. “What?” Her Father called from the kitchen. “Oh, never mind, Father.” She called back, puzzled. She managed to bust the door open with an ear-splitting noise. The portrait was hung up on her bedroom wall, right where the family photo was, with her brother and her parents. Mira took it down quickly and put it back in the attic. She didn't want anything to do with it. She went back to her room, but the portrait was still on the wall. But she had just put it in the attic, right? She didn't think too much and grabbed the painting again and put it in the attic. When she came back, it was on the wall. Again? Mira thought.  Mira was tired of going back upstairs, so she just did the reasonable thing and left it there.

She soon forgot about the portrait and laughed and giggled while talking to her friends through her phone. She got up and went to the kitchen to get a bite. “Mira! Did you clean your room? Have you washed the dishes? You need to wash my car, I have to go to a meeting today. Also, could you get up and walk around for once? I didn't raise you to be a pig, sitting around in your room all day, eating snacks!”  her Father immediately started. She tried her best to drown out the last part. She knew she couldn't.

“Yes, I have cleaned my room, I washed the dishes, and I can wash your car,” Mira said plainly.

She went back to her room. She was tired. She grabbed the portrait, ripped it to pieces, and threw it away. She cried and went to sleep.

When she woke up, she felt numb. She went to the bathroom, getting ready. It was there. The portrait. Hanging on the wall behind her, she saw in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair and wailed.

Mira then came to the conclusion that the portrait was cursed. She tried telling her father, but he just told her she was mental. “It's been there in that dusty attic for years, Mira! For goodness sake, those are my parents!”

Mira sobbed. She read too many horror books to not think she would be cursed for eternity. She didn't want to live this life. So she took it. She took her own life due to some silly old portrait. She drowned herself. With water. Isn't that crazy? The same thing that we drink every day and rely on can take someone's life.

The sad part about this story is that her father didn't find her until 14 days after. And he didn't even find her. Her brother did. He ran to his father, weeping, after finding her in the bathtub.

The funeral was sad. Not that she died, that her father didn't even take 1 hour to pay his respects to her, even after she died.

About 3 weeks later, they were finally moving and taking one last look at the house, her brother at least. Her dad was in the car, on a call. Her brother went into her room and sat on the bed. He saw the portrait and must've thought they forgot it. He brought it back to the car and showed his dad. His dad tensed as he saw the portrait. She was there, in the portrait. Staring. Her hair was wet, and her skin was gray. He looked up from the portrait and gazed out onto the road. Her clothes were soaked, and she looked like she was just brought back from the dead, which she probably was.