Ahndrian Archives

I was about nine, maybe ten, when my sister and I were playing in the garden. I couldn’t recall why Carolynn went back inside the house, but I clearly remember that I wished she hadn’t.

Not at first though. At first, everything was fine, normal. But then the air that once carried the fresh scent of honeysuckle, suddenly reeked of death and rot. I quickly darted my head around, frantically trying to find the direction of the pungent odor and that’s when I met him, the man who wanted to paint me.

He was an odd person, all the way around, but he carried an even more disturbing aroma. I remember turning to run, screaming for my mom or dad to help me, but the man quickly latched onto my arm, holding me firmly in place.

The strange man told me that he had the powers of God, and then he pulled me closer to him. He confessed that as much as he would like to paint me, it simply wasn’t possible for him to do so, that I would have to paint myself instead.

He gave my arm one more forceful tug before he placed a tiny glass bottle in my hand and let me go.

I never ran so fast in all of my life.

Nervously, I looked up allowing the tag to fall to the ground once more as I eased myself back to the doorway, being moved out of total disbelief. The canvas was completely blank, yet dainty black footprints led out to where I stood. Timidly, I backed away from the room, my phone continuing to buzz on the floor. I didn’t stop inching myself until my back met the wall, and my eyes slowly scanned the floor.

The footprints resumed down the hall. I contemplated if I should follow them or run and hide. I had to be dreaming though, right? My mind couldn’t wrap itself around what I was seeing.

Forcefully, I pushed myself from the wall, darting into my studio. Without standing around wasting time, I decided that doing anything without my phone probably wasn’t the best idea. Panicked, I swiped the screen, just missing the call.

“Dad?” I questioned. This can’t be good; I thought, growing more uneasy with every second. Without hesitation, my fight-or-flight kicked in and I was rushing down the hall at full speed, ready to tackle anything in my path. I hurriedly followed the footprints until they reached the living room, halting me to a dead stop.

The door was wide open, the footprints continuing out to the porch until they faded out of view. Okay, this is real; I confirmed as I frantically pecked away at my phone, trying to decide who I should call. What would I say? But before I could think, a text bubble appeared, again from my dad, who I hadn’t spoken to in years for so many reasons. 

It read: 

I’m so sorry I never believed in you, just know that.

With my eyes streaming with tears, I dialed his number but was met with endless ringing. I kept trying, on repeat I called both my parents and my sister. Each had all sent me similar messages to my dad’s and numerous missed calls throughout the time I was asleep. However, each attempt I made was eventually met with their voicemail.

Finally, I realized that I had to call the police, 9-1-1, someone... I slumped down to my knees, feeling nothing but dread when I heard footsteps from the front porch.

I gradually looked up; my finger ready to dial emergency assistance when I witnessed her, in the flesh.

“You thought of me.” She said sweetly, walking through the open door. “I owe you so much for that. Not existing, it was lonely. It was painful, cruel even, that something unimagined could feel. But I did.” She continued to walk towards me.

“What are you?” I sputtered out as she inched herself closer.

“I don’t know.” She smiled, lowering herself to meet my eyes. “I only know that you created me to be a warning to all who doubted you.” She tilted her head, examining my face.

“Did you. Did you kill them?” I sobbed.

Slowly she reached out, gently placing her hand over my chest, “They doubted you, just like you doubted yourself.”