Paintings For The Town

• Nicole Teh, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2014

I used to think the fog was the souls of the people.
It was late in the afternoon. The rustling of the brilliant reddish-orange leaves awoke me from my nostalgic trance. The crisp air stung my already pink cheeks and carried the words my parents used to berate me with, “Love, don’t go down there, monsters prey on children like you.” Staring at the place I dreamt to explore as a child, my desire grew. The town was only a stone’s throw away. All I had to do is walk down the hill and into a dream.
The town looked like it came alive from a renaissance painting. Little cottages with thick ivory covered walls, sprouting autumn’s teal flowers which contrasted the dark green bush. Slightly larger buildings were all named after their purposes such as: Bakery, Police station, Bank and Food store. It was odd but I thought nothing of it. Taking a deep breath, the almost sickening sweet scent of flowery nectar attacked my nostrils. I imagined I could taste it on the tip of my tongue. Looking down the path around all the buildings, I kicked away the leaves to revealed smooth stones. The tips of the wildly overgrown grass were blue. This struck me as strange. Perhaps my eyes were defective.
Pushing a heavy wooden door, I entered one of the many identical cottages. The sight before me was baffling. How could this town have been abandoned if the condition of the house was so immaculate? No dust was in sight. No rotting furniture. Not even mould could be seen. Nothing. In fact, the cottage was probably cleaner than my own house. The condition of the olden furniture and cutlery was pristine. The only thing that looked out of place was the large portrait that ate up a wall on the far east of the cottage. The picture entranced me. It was a family of four, a mother, a father and identical twin sisters. They all had the exact same smile on their faces. It was almost a knowing smirk. The girls had their mother’s curly hair but the colour was their father’s. They had their father’s sharp cheekbones and his cupid’s bow. Twinkling emerald green eyes that matched their mother’s. All their clothes were from the 16th century. Tight corsets of bland colours for the girls and a leather vest with a white shirt for the father.
I strove to another house which to my horror was exactly the same. The only difference was the portrait had a different person painted. This one had a young women with dark auburn hair and bright blue eyes. Her lips stretched into a Cheshire smile. What sorcery was this? Bursting into the next cottage it was once again the same. The portrait was different. This time a young couple, also grinning. Another and another. All were the same.
I left the last house with my head spinning. It was then when I noticed the fog. It was night time! I had to leave and leave now. Stumbling, I gracefully fell into the arms of the soft grass. Fluttering my eyes, my blurry sight sharpen and to my great surprise and terror, around me were the people from the paintings.