The Paintings in the Basement

Moving from town to town was something I got used to. We typically moved closer to whoever my mom was dating. Moving gave my mom optimism on her doomed to fail relationships. This time around, the move didn’t really phase me. My mom was taking it to the next level this time, we were moving in with her boyfriend, Frank.

Frank was my mom’s boyfriend from when I was five. When they first met, he had recently separated and had two kids with his ex-wife. The dynamic wasn’t something my mom could handle.

The second time around, they decided to move us all into a house. Sort of, Frank’s daughters, Chelsea and Rebecca will visit on the weekends.

I wasn’t leaving any friends behind, so the idea of two built in sisters made the move appealing.

For months, my mom described a beautiful gothic modern house but I didn’t get to see it until the day we moved in.

The house was breathtaking, seven rooms for a family of five. Frank had said that the house had been on the market for almost two years, I couldn’t understand how someone didn’t buy it sooner. The house was cold, but it gave me the feeling of a permanent fall.

The living and dining room came with vintage furniture that fit the house perfectly. The entire house was eerily calming.

Every time we moved my mom let me pick whatever room I wanted. This time around, I gravitated towards the room in the attic. One wall was made of pure glass and perfectly reflected the trees that encompassed our backyard. One step into the room and my jaw dropped.

“I knew you were going to pick this room,” my mom stated, “Frank will bring the bed in, but do me a favor and get your things. The movers put everything in the basement.”

She gave me a vintage key.

“What’s that?” I questioned.

“It’s a key,” she responded.

“Obviously Mom, but for what?” I asked.

My mom remained glued to the view.

“For the basement,” she slowly muttered out.

The house was completely silent, it was Eerily calming.

I would have been hypnotized by the silence if it wasn’t for my mom’s shrill screams looking for Frank.

Like any basement in an old house, ours was creepy. I fumbled with the key multiple times and every time I unlocked the door. I couldn’t turn the knob fast enough before it locked again. After several fail attempts the door screeched open to a completely dark basement.

“Mom! How do I turn on the light,” I yelled out as loud as I could.

My mom’s footsteps immediately followed.

“I always have to come and do it myself. Isabella, what was the point of enlisting you in all these honors classes, if you’re just going to resort to being pretty and useless,” she nagged.

I was too scared to pay attention to my mom. I’m not the biggest fan of the dark and this dark creepy basement was no exception.

My mom stomped besides me.

“OH,” she exclaimed standing in front of the pitch, dark stairs that led to the basement.

“I’m not going in there in the dark,” I whispered creeping behind her.

She bravely went down the stairs and they creaked with every step she took. She stretched her arm to the side of the wall, to guide her as she walked.

“SHIT,” she uttered.

“Mom!” I shouted.

“I’m fine Bella,” my mom stated, “We just have to be careful when we go down. There’s a bunch of nails sticking out the walls. Here we are!”

My mom flipped a switch that turned off all the lights in the house, but within seconds they flashed back on.

“MOM!” I screeched.

My mom walked up the stairs, her natural wavy hair was covered in dust and spiderwebs. Her sweater was wrapped around her left hand, once white now covered in blood.

“Be careful when you go down there,” she whispered, “Grab what you need fast, I don’t want you spending too much time down there.”

She walked away, leaving a blood drop trial behind.

The basement wasn’t as scary with the lights. I vigilantly looked at the walls for nails, but I didn’t see any. The stairs creaked even though they were brand new and freshly painted, no sight of my mom’s blood.

Our furniture and belongings were covered by sheets. I struggled to find my things and came across a vintage ottoman. I opened it and there were a handful of canvas paintings.

“Bella,” my mom shouted out.

I was startled by my mom’s shrill voice, again.

“I’m almost done,” I yelled back.

My mom was standing in the middle of the stairs.

“It is so creepy down here,” she stated, “Grab your things and come up. You need to do your bed, Frank has it set up already.”

“Wow, Frank got it done that fast,” I asked, “He just started.”

My mom looked at me as if I was crazy, “What are you talking about, you’ve been down here for almost four hours,” she paused, she was uncomfortable in the basement.

“I don’t know how you can stay down here for that, grab your things and come up,” she stated making her way back upstairs.

“Wait Mom, I found this cool ottoman, is it Frank’s,” I curiously ask.

She responds, “That’s not Frank’s, it could have been left by the old owners. Take whatever you want just come up, it’s creepy down here.”

My mom bolted up the stairs as fast as she could.

After a couple of trips of going back and forth from the basement to the attic, I got tired.

The house consisted of three floors, the first floor had two bedrooms and two living rooms. The second floor had three bedrooms and an office. The third floor was all mine, my bedroom in the attic.

My bed was placed against the wooden wall, leaving a beautiful outdoor view to wake up to. I placed the ottoman at the edge of my bed and fell asleep before I could look at the paintings.

When I woke up, one of the canvas paintings fell on my head. Above my bed frame was a single nail, where the canvas painting was hung.

The painting was of an island with palm trees and the sun blazing.

My mom came in as I stared at the canvas painting.

“Breakfast is going to be ready in a bit. What is that,” she asked.

My eyes were locked on the canvas.

I responded dryly, “It’s a painting that was in that ottoman I told you about.”

“Why are you staring at it like that,” she asked coming closer to my bed.

“It fell on my head,” I replied.

“Obviously it’s going to fall if you place it right above your bed,” she stated pointing at the nail, “You move a lot in your sleep. You probably jumped and hit the wall and it fell.”

I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t even remember hanging the painting.

“Bella, you’re going to have to get it together,” my mom stated frantically, “I’m going to need you to take me to the doctor. My cut looks a lot worse and I’m going to want to get it stitched up.”

“Okay, sorry Mom. What time do you want me to take you,” I asked.

I was finally able to take my eyes off the painting.

My mom stood by the door, exhausted. Her hand was wrapped in a towel and the blood had bled through.

“Hurry up and get ready, we need to go soon,” she yelled slamming the door behind her.

My eyes locked into the painting. I stared at the palm trees in the painting, until they were moving back and forth in the wind. The water slightly moved and glistened from the sun.

It no longer felt like I was holding the painting, but I was inside.

The water moved slowly the pink skies made me feel serene until I heard footsteps approaching. I was surrounded by the brown sand and palm trees I saw in the painting. A black figure made its way towards me, slowly it reveals itself to be a young man.

“I’m going to walk towards you, don’t be scared,” the young man whispered, “You’re close to the edge. Just trust me.”

I panicked, walked backwards, and my foot slipped. I was about to fall when the young man caught me. His hands felt rough and his eyes were filled with sadness.

“Shit, please trust me,” he told me as he helped me up.

Having no choice, I had to trust him.

“Who are you,” I asked.

He looked around nervously, “My name is Zac, I live in this island. Everyday I have to be cautious about where I am.”

The water began to move, and Zac lead the way behind a palm tree. The palm tree began to wave viscously.

“We don’t have much time.” Zac warned me, “Just stay as still as you possibly can, if we don’t get anywhere near the edge, we’ll be fine. Don’t run.”

I could see multiple fins peaking from the water. The palm tree waved towards the water and a great white shark jumped and bit the palm tree.

Zac whispered, “Don’t move, they do this to scare you. Just stay still. Please stay still.”

The floor began to shake.

“They hit the edges to scare you,” he continued.

We were surrounded, multiple sharks were hitting the island and we were getting closer to the edge.

Zac was stunned, “There’s never been this many,” he stated.

“What are we going to do,” I asked.

The palm tree waved back and hit Zac directly in the face. I jumped back and fell off the edge of the island, a shark jumped up to catch me. I stared directly into the jaw and saw complete darkness.

My mom stood above me her arm was firmly attached to my shoulder.

She called out, “Isabella!”

I woke up hyperventilating. In the corner of my shirt was my mom’s blood. I closely held the painting and took deep breaths. The painting’s palm trees began to wave slowly, and I could hear Zac crying for help.

“Bella, are you okay,” My mom asked, “Let’s go to the hospital, you can get checked out too.”

I struggled to look away from the painting. Zac’s voice echoed in my ear.

“No Mom, I’m okay.” I stuttered, “I think I’m just getting use to the house and all the back and forth I did yesterday.”

She didn’t buy it,” You didn’t get hurt in the basement,” she asked.

“I’m fine, I swear,” I responded, “You’re the one that is still bleeding, let me change so we can leave.”

“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” my mom replied.

I grabbed the cleanest clothes nearby I changed as quickly as I could. I put all three canvas paintings in my backpack.

My mom and I drove to the hospital in a silent car ride. My mom was asleep the entire ride and I was too focused on the paintings.

At the hospital, I waited by myself in the waiting room. I took out one of the paintings from my backpack.

The painting was of a theme park at night, with the dark sky covering a majority of the painting. I couldn’t take my eyes off the painting. I heard a loud scream and when I looked down, I was I’m strapped in a rollercoaster.

“Can I please hold you,” a high pitch voice asked?

I turned to my right side and there was a little girl with bangs and pigtails.

“Yeah, go ahead,” I calmly responded.

She immediately held on tight and closed her eyes. Her grip was tight and almost unbearable.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t get used to this,” she apologized.

The rollercoaster was bumpy, but not too bad.

She opened her eyes and whispered, “My biggest fear is going on a rollercoaster and it breaks down.”

The rollercoaster began to get shaky, too shaky.

“No matter how many times it happens, I’m still terrified.” Her voice began to crack, “Just know, your personal hell is always going to be worst than you imagine. You need to get out. Get out or you’ll die.”

The rollercoaster went down and hung from the left side, the little girl let go of my hand.

“Get out. Get out or you’ll die,” she yelled and pushed me off the ride.

I landed on the floor of the hospital waiting room, I turned around and someone hit the waiting room chairs with an empty hospital bed. The painting fell besides me, when I picked it up and I heard muffled screams.

I got up and my mom was walking down towards me, her hand was properly wrapped.

“Mom, are you ready to go?” I asked hoping she didn’t see me.

I held the painting tightly in my hand.

“Yeah, we have to stop by the pharmacy,” my mom looked directly at me. “Actually, do want to see a doctor too, you don’t look so good.”

“I’m just tired, moving’s hard even for pros like us,” I responded with a fake laugh.

“Okay, well let’s get you home,” she stated quietly, “We’ll make Frank get my medicine, they told me I needed some sleep.”

“What else did they tell you,” I asked.

She seemed lightheaded and loopy when she responded, “It was really confusing, I lost a lot of blood somehow. Almost too much blood, they wanted me to stay overnight, but I don’t feel to bad. It’s wrapped up and it hasn’t bled through.”

We got home to Frank asleep in the living room. My mom struggled to wake him up and he was startled when he finally woke up.

“How long were you guys gone,” he asked half asleep.

“Not too long honey,” my mom responded with her sweet voice, “but I do need you to go to the pharmacy for me. I need to get some rest since I lost a lot of blood. “

Frank readjusted himself on the couch and pulled out a painting from underneath him.

“What’s that Frank,” I asked.

He seemed groggy, “It’s something the girls painted for me.”

My mom turned to me, “Oh sweetie, those paintings were Frank’s,” she exclaimed.

“There’s more,” he immediately questioned.

“No, those were actually a gift from my friends,” I stated knowing that was a lie.

They knew that wasn’t true.

“I’m gonna go call them and say thanks,” I stated running up the stairs, “it was a complete surprise for me too.”

I had one more painting in my backpack. I set a timer for thirty minutes to make sure I would survive this painting.

The painting was of a vintage bedroom with the ottoman I found. I tried to figure out what bedroom the painting was off. I heard stairs creaking and when I looked up, I was in the basement. Someone ran down the stairs, shut and locked the door behind them.

A lady in old ragged clothes stopped and jumped back when she saw me.

“I don’t have to explain,” she stated and grabbed my arm, “but that isn’t going to hold him back for long. We need to get in the ottoman.”

I looked at the ottoman, it was too small to fit the both of us.

“We won’t fit,” I blurted out.

The lady didn’t care and we both stepped inside the ottoman.

“Get in, take deep breaths,” she instructed and closed the ottoman shut.

I felt claustrophobic the longer we were inside the ottoman. The basement door began to shake, whoever was upstairs would stop at nothing to get in.

“Where are we,” I asked.

“You need to get out, as soon as you get a chance,” she advised, “Whatever you’re afraid of, it knows. It knows and if you can’t wake up you can’t leave. Get out!”

My timer went off, I opened the ottoman and I was back in my room. I jumped out and threw the painting on the floor. I exited my room as fast as I could.

“Bella!” Frank exclaimed my name.

I ran to his voice.

My mom was laying down in the couch and blood covered half of her body. Frank lifted her up and she didn’t respond. The couch was stained red with her blood. In between the cushions I saw the corner of a painting sticking out.

Frank blocked me from walking to the couch.

“Call the ambulance now,” he told me.

The past two days were a blur. My mom bled out due to internal hemorrhaging and bleeding.

I was home when my mom passed away, but I couldn’t help.

The house was no longer eerily calming, it just eerie. Frank and I stayed in our respective sides, only seeing each other during meals.

The ottoman stayed hidden in the corner of my room, it taunted me until I gave in. There were four paintings inside the ottoman, I laid them across the floor, focusing on the new painting.

The new painting was of the view from outside my window. I heard footsteps walk behind me.

A voice called out, “Get out Bella!”