The stain. A horror story.

Hello everyone, I introduce myself to you again, I have decided to let my imagination fly and it procreated by itself letters that together gave a story that is certainly worth reading. Or maybe it's not so much "imagination".

The stain

My parents, attracted by the beauty of the neighborhood, decided to move to a beautiful house in a village near the city. The neighbors were always smiling and cordial, they welcomed us with grace and warmth. They were all friendly and helped to place the furniture inside the house. That day there were the Rodriguez family, who lived next door, and the lady in front; Francisca Gomes, a very nice old lady. My father's name was José and my mother's name was Ana María and they loved to enjoy the scenery.
The wind that came down the hills, filtered through the flowers, carried petals and wild smells and flooded our house, which is at the foot of the mountain, with aroma and colors.

All the houses looked alike except, in some details, in ours, the kitchen was different, made of bricks and of an enormous size. In the living room, the bases were statues of veiled women, sometimes I felt that these sculptures were moving. One day I thought I heard murmurs coming from there, I thought it was my parents talking in a low tone, so I walked towards them, but when I entered, there was no one there, only those fixed figures, silent, motionless, with covered faces.

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In the room where my brother Jesus Alexandre and I slept, there was also a little girl painted on one of the walls of our room. The girl was the daughter of the former owners, who according to what the neighbors said, had been lost a long time ago, it is thought that her parents searched for her all her life and to feel that she was still with them, they painted her on that wall. My older brother, Jesús Alexandre, saw art in that drawing and although the room was remodeled, the painting of the girl prevailed.

Although the sculptures in the living room were mysterious, I was able to live quietly in that house for months, but then I began to have disturbing dreams about the little girl painted in my room, and every time I woke up, I remembered the story the neighbors had told me. My brother, after a few days, decided to cover her with paint, so that I would be calm, but she was still clearly visible. At dawn, I heard the cry of a little girl, that made me wake up, I did not open my eyes or move, I just pretended to sleep, I did not hear anything again and I began to doubt, I did not know if what I had heard was a dream or if it was real. I was afraid and angry, I could not do anything with the statues in the room, but in my room I was in charge. I waited for an hour without moving a finger until the sun came up, I got up, took a hammer and hit hard the painting of the girl, then, the wall began to bleed from the cracks that formed. For a moment I was paralyzed, watching the blood spilling, until my brother who had woken up annoyed by the noise I made, came to argue but he froze when he saw the blood, I reacted, I left my room and told my parents, they went up to see what seemed to me blood, they were also surprised and through the window they called the neighbors next door, they offered to repair the wall, I went with them to investigate but I only saw debris and dust while they worked, nothing extraordinary happened again.
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That same day at night my family went out to buy bread for dinner, I was playing and I did not hear them when they called me, I only heard my mother say; we are leaving. I ran out of the house, but I didn't get to the car, I see how they turn the corner and leave, I was left alone, with the silence of the street, I hear again my mother's voice calling me from inside the house.

-Son, come and eat.

-If my parents are not here, who is calling me?" I asked myself, they called me once more.

-Son, come.

I walked towards the door keeping my distance, I just wanted to get closer so I could see, I opened the door carefully and a long arm held mine and pulled me inside.
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Days later my picture is seen in newspapers, with a headline; missing child, they are looking for me for months, they don't hear anything about me again. In a corner of the house a mold starts to appear, a black stain, if someone would look at what it forms, they could see me, cry.

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thanks for reading. the drawings are mine, they are not well done but you can use them if you want.

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