I’ve always been a firm believer in the mundane, the tangible, the explicable. It’s the bedrock of my life. But what’s been happening in my new apartment has shaken my convictions to the core. I'm not one for theatrics, but I need to share this story, and I know r/nosleep is the right place. So, here goes.

Two months ago, I moved into a cozy apartment in a sleepy, tree-lined street. The rent was suspiciously affordable, but I was too relieved to find a place within my budget to give it much thought. The previous tenant had left in haste, abandoning furniture and personal effects. The landlord claimed they'd tried to reach her, but to no avail.

The first few weeks passed without incident. I settled into my new job, made some friends, and life went on. Until, that is, I found the painting. It was hidden at the back of a bedroom closet, a portrait of a young woman. She had an ivory complexion, raven-black hair, and a disquieting smile that sent a shiver down my spine. Her eyes seemed to follow me, so I decided not to hang the painting, instead leaving it propped against the closet wall, out of sight.

The strange occurrences began soon after. Objects in my apartment were mysteriously rearranged. I would hear footsteps in the hallway when I knew I was alone. The air would suddenly turn cold, and an eerie breeze would whip through the rooms even when the windows were closed. I tried to convince myself these odd happenings were the result of my overactive imagination or simple forgetfulness, but a nagging feeling deep within me told me something wasn't right.

Late one night, as I lay in bed, I heard a faint scratching sound emanating from the closet. I mustered the courage to investigate and found the painting no longer leaning against the wall, but hanging proudly as if it had been placed there by unseen hands. A shiver ran down my spine, and my pulse quickened. I removed the painting, wrapped it in a blanket, and stashed it under my bed, desperate to remove the woman's gaze from my life.

A few days later, I invited some friends over in the hope that their presence would alleviate my unease. We gathered in the living room, laughing and sharing stories when one of my friends glanced down the hallway and let out a horrified gasp. We all turned, and there she was – the woman from the painting, her smile even more sinister and her eyes more piercing than I remembered.

She stood at the end of the hall, her movements unnatural and jerky, like a broken puppet. We stared in disbelief as she approached us, her limbs contorting unnervingly. My friends and I scrambled out of the apartment, seeking refuge in a nearby hotel. We spent the night trying to process the horrifying scene we had witnessed.

The following day, I returned to my apartment, determined to put an end to this nightmare. I retrieved the painting from under my bed and decided to do some research on the woman depicted. I scoured the internet and eventually found a local article from several years ago. It told the story of a young artist named Emily whose work had taken a dark turn before her untimely death. The article mentioned a series of macabre self-portraits that were rumored to have driven her mad. I was certain the painting in my possession was one of them.

Armed with this knowledge, I contacted an expert in the occult who advised me to destroy the painting and scatter its ashes to sever any connection between the portrait and Emily's spirit. I took the painting to an abandoned quarry on the outskirts of town and set it ablaze. The fire roared, consuming the canvas and reducing it to ashes. I felt a sense of relief as the last remnants of the portrait were carried away by the wind.

For a while, life returned to normal. The strange occurrences ceased, and I started to believe that the nightmare was truly over. But one day, I returned to my apartment after work, and as I opened the door, I noticed something different. The walls were adorned with new paintings, each one more grotesque and disturbing than the last. And there, in the center of them all, was a new portrait of Emily.

Her smile was wider, her eyes more menacing, and her limbs were twisted into impossible angles. I realized then that I hadn't severed the connection; I had only made her angry. And now, she was a part of everything in my apartment. Emily was everywhere, and she would never leave me alone.

I had to move out of that apartment, leaving everything behind. But sometimes, late at night, I can still feel her presence, her eyes watching me from the shadows. I've learned to live with the constant feeling of being watched, knowing that Emily is always there, waiting in the periphery. I can't escape her, and I've accepted that this is my life now. me from the shadows. I've learned to live with the constant feeling of being watched, knowing that Emily is always there, waiting in the periphery. I can't escape her, and I've accepted that this is my life now.

But every so often, I wonder if there's another way to break free from her grasp. Perhaps there's a secret hidden in Emily's past that could help me sever the connection once and for all. Until then, I remain haunted, constantly reminded of the terrible price I paid for ignoring the inexplicable.

And so, I write this story, a warning to all who read it. If you ever come across a painting that sends shivers down your spine, leave it be. Don't invite the darkness in, because once it takes hold, it may never let go.

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But every so often, I wonder if there's another way to break free from her grasp. Perhaps there's a secret hidden in Emily's past that could help me sever the connection once and for all. Until then, I remain haunted, constantly reminded of the terrible price I paid for ignoring the inexplicable.

​

And so, I write this story, a warning to all who read it. If you ever come across a painting that sends shivers down your spine, leave it be. Don't invite the darkness in, because once it takes hold, it may never let go.