When I first saw the painting, I felt a chill run down my spine. It was an oil portrait of a blonde woman in a red dress, her eyes seeming to follow me wherever I went. My husband, Owen, insisted on keeping it, but he wouldn’t tell me why.
You might think I’m overreacting but imagine finding something in your home that feels creepy. Something your spouse clings to without explanation. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to that painting than meets the eye.
An oil painting of a woman | Source: Midjourney
I’ve always been proud of the life I’ve built. At 29, working in tech has afforded me a comfortable lifestyle. My career was thriving, but my love life? Not so much.
That is, until I met Owen.
We were introduced by a mutual friend at a casual get-together. He was charming, with a witty sense of humor that drew me in instantly.
Despite living in different cities, we hit it off and started dating. The distance was tough, but we made it work.
A couple holding hands on a date | Source: Pexels
Owen had this fascinating passion for art. He was interested in all kinds of paintings and sculptures. He often invited me to art exhibitions, and while it wasn’t really my scene, I loved seeing the excitement in his eyes as he talked about each piece.
“Look at the brushwork on this one, Alissa,” he’d say, eyes gleaming. “Isn’t it captivating?”
I smiled. “It’s beautiful, but I think I prefer the abstract ones over there.”
He chuckled. “I’ll make an art connoisseur out of you yet.”
A man talking to his girlfriend | Source: Midjourney
As months passed, our connection deepened. We decided it was time to meet each other’s families and, shortly after, we tied the knot. Owen managed to find a job in my city, and we moved into a lovely house together.
The honeymoon phase was blissful, but as with any couple, minor disagreements began to surface. One of our first tiffs was about home decor. I loved soft pastels and cozy textures, while Owen had a more eclectic taste.
One evening, I walked into our bedroom and nearly jumped out of my skin.
A woman standing in her bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing at the painting now hanging above our bed.
He glanced up. “Oh, isn’t she stunning? I picked it up at a rummage sale.”
The painting featured a blonde woman in a red dress, her gaze intense and almost lifelike.
“I don’t know, Owen. She gives me the creeps.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really? It’s just art.”
“I’d rather not have her watching us sleep,” I said, half-joking.
He sighed. “You have your collection of throw pillows and that overly floral duvet cover I can’t stand. Can’t I have this one thing?”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
His words made me think maybe I was overreacting. “Fine. Let’s just get some sleep.”
The next day, over breakfast, I decided to broach the subject again.
“Listen, about the painting… It really unsettles me. Would you mind moving it somewhere else?”
He looked at me thoughtfully. “It bothers you that much?”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Alright,” he conceded. “How about I hang it near the staircase?”
“Thank you,” I smiled. “That’d be better.”
A woman smiling at her husband | Source: Midjourney
He relocated the painting that afternoon.
But two nights later, as I headed to the kitchen for a midnight snack, I nearly screamed. In the dim light, the woman’s figure loomed at the edge of the stairs, and for a moment, I thought someone had broken in.
The following morning, I approached Owen again.
“Owen, I appreciate you moving the painting, but it scared me half to death last night.”
He frowned. “Where do you want me to put it, Alissa? In the garage?”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
“Could you keep it in your office? Please? It just… I don’t know. It unsettles me.”
He hesitated before finally agreeing. “Fine. I’ll move it to the office.”
“Thank you,” I said softly. I felt a bit embarrassed but there was something about it that really bothered me.
After the painting found its new home in Owen’s office, I noticed a change. He began spending hours behind that closed door, often locking it.
I assumed he was busy with the big project he’d been talking about.
A man working on his laptop | Source: Midjourney
One evening, I knocked on the door. “Hey, dinner’s ready.”
“Just a minute!” he called out.
I waited, but he didn’t emerge for another hour.
“Everything okay?” I asked when he finally joined me.
“Yeah, just swamped with work,” he replied absently.
Days turned into weeks, and his seclusion continued.
One afternoon, I walked past his office and noticed the door was slightly ajar. Curiosity got the better of me.
A slightly ajar door | Source: Pexels
I peeked inside to find Owen seated, gazing intently at the painting.
“Owen?” I said softly.
He startled, quickly turning to his laptop. “Alissa! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry, the door was open. I was just wondering if you wanted a coffee.”
“N-no, I’m good,” he stammered. “Just finished my project, actually.”
“That’s great,” I said, though something felt off.
Later that week, as I passed by his office again, I heard him on a video call.
A person on a video call | Source: Pexels
“I’m sorry, but I need an extension,” he was saying. “My wife’s been ill, and I haven’t been able to focus.”
I paused. I was confused.
I wasn’t sick. Why would he say that?
Since he was still on the video call, I walked away thinking I’d confront him later.
That evening, I set the table for dinner, expecting Owen to join me. But he never came down. Frustrated, I marched up to his office.
“Owen, dinner’s getting cold,” I called as I knocked on the door.
No response.
A doorknob | Source: Pexels
I tried the handle, and it was unlocked. Pushing the door open, I found him once again staring at the painting.
“Are you just going to sit here all night?” I snapped.
He looked up slowly, his eyes unreadable. “What’s your problem?”
“You told me you finished your project, but I heard you asking for an extension because I was supposedly sick. What’s going on?”
He sighed. “Maybe if you’d mind your own business, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Excuse me?”
A woman standing in her husband’s office | Source: Midjourney
He stood up. “You’re always prying, Alissa. Can’t I have some privacy?”
“Not when you’re lying to me!” I protested. “Are you even working, or are you just sitting here staring at her?”
His gaze hardened. “You’re jealous of her.”
“What?!”
He stepped closer. “You shouldn’t be. The painting makes her prettier than she was.”
A chill ran through me. “Who is she, Owen?”
He smirked. “It’s just a painting, Alissa. C’mon!”
That night, after he fell asleep, I couldn’t shake the unease.
A woman standing in her house | Source: Midjourney
I slipped into his office and took a photo of the painting.
Then, I did a reverse image search.
When the results loaded, my heart dropped. The first link led to an art student’s portfolio. Her name was Julia. As I delved deeper, headlines about her disappearance filled the screen.
“Promising Art Student Vanishes During Hike.”
“Search Continues for Missing Woman.”
I read that Julia had gone missing while hiking with her boyfriend. They’d supposedly separated after encountering a bear. Her backpack was found, but she was never seen again.
A woman using her phone | Source: Pexels
There was no mention of the boyfriend’s name, but dread pooled in my stomach.
Could it be Owen?
Then, I heard footsteps approaching his office. Panicked, I crouched under the table, hoping he wouldn’t see me.
“Alissa?” he called out. “Are you in here?”
He entered the room, his footsteps drawing closer. I held my breath.
He crouched down, his face appearing next to mine. “What are you doing?”
“I… I was looking for a pen,” I stammered. “Needed to make a grocery list.”
A woman standing in a room | Source: Midjourney
He eyed me skeptically. “You expect me to believe that?”
I stood up slowly. “Owen, what’s going on? Who is Julia?”
His expression darkened. “So, you’ve been snooping.”
“I deserve to know the truth.”
He chuckled coldly. “You should’ve left it alone, Alissa.”
“Owen, please… Did something terrible happen? Did you, uh, h-hurt her?” I whispered.
He stepped toward me. “That’s quite an accusation.”
“Please, just tell me what happened.”
I saw his eyes widen in anger.
“It’s time for you to mind your own business.”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
At that point, he started forcing me out of the office, but I somehow managed to escape. I sprinted downstairs and out the front door, not daring to look back.
I pounded on my neighbor’s door. Mrs. Hazelton opened it.
“Alissa? What’s wrong?”
“Please, I need help. Call 911.”
She ushered me inside, and within minutes, sirens pierced the air.
From the safety of her living room, I watched as police surrounded our house. Owen emerged with his hands in the air.
A close-up shot of a police siren | Source: Pexels
Then, an officer approached me.
“Ma’am, can you tell us what’s happening?” he asked.
I recounted everything that had happened and told them how I suspected my husband was behind that woman’s disappearance. I even told him about his strange behavior.
As a result, they began searching our home and soon found evidence. They found a pair of Julia’s earrings hidden in Owen’s office.
When they questioned him, he just said something like he’d kept the earrings as a “memento.” He avoided answering further questions, but it was enough for them to arrest him.
As they led him away in handcuffs, he glanced back at me with a sinister smile.
“You’re making a mistake,” he called out. “You’ll regret it.”
Handcuffs on a man’s hands | Source: Pexels
At that point, I realized that the man I thought I knew was a stranger.
In the days that followed, I grappled with the reality of my situation. How had I missed the signs? The thoughtful man who shared my bed was capable of unspeakable things.
Sitting alone in our now-empty house, I realized how close I’d come to danger. But I was grateful. Grateful that I’d trusted my instincts, and that fate had led me to the truth before it was too late.
A woman standing in her house | Source: Midjourney
I hoped that justice would be served and that Julia’s family would finally have answers.
As for me, I knew it would take time to heal. But I was determined to rebuild, to find peace beyond the shadows of that haunting painting.
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This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
