Image by Игорь Левченко from Pixabay
It was a sunny Saturday morning and I was bored out of my mind with nothing to occupy me. My best friend was away at summer camp and my parents were occupied with work per usual. Restlessly wandering our old creaky farmhouse, I decided to venture up to the dusty attic space.
I rarely explored the attic since it was jam-packed with antique furniture, steamer trunks, and all kinds of long-forgotten possessions. But feeling adventurous, I climbed the steep steps to snoop around. The musty air tickled my nose.
I dug through boxes of faded curtains and linens. One old chest contained fancy gowns and hats likely worn by my great-grandmother. In a corner stacked with artwork, I noticed the edge of a painting poking out that I didn't recognize.
My heart raced as I pulled it into the light. It was a large oil painting in a heavy gilded frame depicting a beautiful young woman in a flowing white dress with flowers in her hair. But there was something strange about her eyes. They seemed to follow me as I looked closer.
Behind the canvas I discovered a folded letter. It was a love note, dated 1892, from someone named Isaac declaring that this painting was his finest work "capturing your divine essence" for his beloved Julia.
Who were Isaac and Julia? How did this painting of Julia end up hidden away in my attic? I became determined to solve the mystery. I brought the portrait downstairs to get a better look in natural light.
The more time I spent with it, the more something about Julia's eyes captivated me. It really did feel like her gaze followed me wherever I stood in the room. Sometimes I noticed subtle changes in her expression, as if she was amused or intrigued by me.
At night, I heard odd sounds - whispers, soft singing, gentle tapping on the wall near where I hung the painting. The rational part of my brain said it was the wind or house settling. But another part wondered if Julia was trying to communicate.
I started talking to the portrait, telling Julia about my ordinary life and asking what her story was so long ago. I knew it sounded crazy, but it felt comforting, like I had found a friend. Her cryptic responses came in sensations and dreams rather than words.
In one vivid dream, I saw Julia as a radiant young woman strolling through ornate castle gardens arm in arm with a handsome, dark-haired man who must be Isaac. They seemed glowingly in love. But something about Isaac's eyes appeared cruel when Julia looked away.
My research into the painting offered few clues. There were no records of an Isaac or Julia living in my town in the late 1800s. The style didn't match documented local artists of the era either. Even examining the canvas and pigments yielded no insights.
I grew more convinced that some strange force connected Julia's spirit to the painting, binding her here. In dreams I saw glimpses of her life - her blissful love turning toxic and violent, her desperate flight through moonlit woods from a tall shadowy figure, then silence and darkness.
Late one night I was awakened by a terrible storm rattling the house. Lightning flashed, revealing Julia's painting drifting down the hallway, her eyes flaming! I blinked awake in the morning dismissing it as a nightmare. Until I saw the empty spot on my bedroom wall where the portrait had hung.
Rushing to follow the trail of fallen nails and picture wire, I turned the corner and nearly screamed. There was Julia standing motionless at the end of the hall, the faintest smile on her lips. In the early morning light she seemed almost real yet vaguely transparent. Our eyes met for a suspended moment before she vanished.
Though shaken, I now understood it was time to finally set Julia's spirit free after being trapped for so long. If her love turned into betrayal as I sensed, she did not belong tied to this world or the painting.
Later that week I brought the portrait to a secluded glen in the woods, with candles and fragrant wildflowers - Julia's favorite. As the sun set, I told her she had suffered long enough and deserved to find peace. "Be free," I whispered as I lit the portrait ablaze. Watching it burn, I sensed Julia's spirit lifting away through wavering smoke, released at last. The painting may be gone, but her memory would stay in my heart.
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