The Static Portrait

It all began with the painting. My mom is an artist—she has a very creative style, one that often leaves me speechless, but not always in a good way. She’s into abstract art, and some of her pieces are a little… unsettling. Most of the time, I can just ignore them. But this one—this one was different.

She hung it up in the hallway about a month ago. It’s dark and chaotic, filled with harsh blacks, deep reds, and blurry shapes that shift if you stare at them long enough. At first, it just seemed like another of her weird creations, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was… alive. Every time I walked by, I felt like something in the painting was moving out of the corner of my eye. But whenever I looked directly at it, it was still.

At first, I told myself it was nothing—just my imagination. But it kept happening. Every time I passed that hallway, I’d get a chill. Something about that painting just felt wrong.

One evening, after I’d spent too long on my phone, I walked down the hallway and glanced at the painting again. This time, I could’ve sworn it flickered. Not just a trick of the light, but a true glitch. The dark swirls in the painting pulsed and flickered, shifting between shades of black, and gray, and a strange reddish hue. It wasn’t like anything I’d seen before.

I turned to look directly at it, and everything stopped. The painting looked perfectly normal—like it always had. But my heart was racing, and I knew I wasn’t imagining it.

I grabbed my phone. If I could capture it on video, maybe I could prove to myself it wasn’t all in my head.

Recording starts

“Alright, I’m in the hallway now,” I whispered, my voice shaky. “I’m going to turn the camera toward the painting without looking at it directly.”

I slowly turned the phone, making sure not to look at the painting. For a moment, everything seemed fine. Then, I saw it—the colors in the painting flickered again. They twisted like static on a screen. Red. Black. Gray. They were shifting in a way that made my stomach turn.

“What the fuck…”

The moment I looked directly at it, everything stopped. The painting was still. The swirling chaos was frozen in place.

I bolted back to my room, hands trembling. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had just watched me, and it wasn’t just the painting.

The next morning, I tried to convince myself that I had just been tired, that it was all a trick of the light. But when I stepped into the hallway, I felt it again—a deep, unsettling chill. The painting looked normal at first glance, but when I looked closer, I saw it.

The jagged shape in the background—something dark, almost like a shadow—was closer to the front of the canvas. It had moved. I don’t know how, but it had.

I backed away slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. I tried to ignore it, but the feeling of being watched didn’t go away.

When my mom walked by, I was too afraid to say anything. She just smiled and commented on how much she loved the painting, as usual.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. The memory of the painting’s glitch haunted me. The whispers were getting louder too, like distant voices. I kept hearing something that sounded like growls in the hallway, but when I checked, there was nothing. Just the painting, staring back at me.

I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I had to see if it was real. Maybe I was just imagining things. So, I grabbed my phone again and slowly crept down the hallway.

I turned the camera to the painting, careful not to look directly at it. The shadows seemed to stretch longer now, as though they were reaching out. And then, it happened again.

The shapes in the painting flickered, warping, distorting. The deep reds bled into a darker, almost black hue, and one of the figures seemed to move.

Let me out…

I froze. I couldn’t breathe. The whispers were getting louder, the growls more distinct. I turned to face the painting, but everything stopped as soon as I did. The painting was perfectly still. My heart raced as I quickly turned around and fled back to my room, locking the door behind me.

I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the painting and the way it glitched and shifted. Something was wrong with it. Something was wrong with me. But what could I do?

That night, I decided to go into the hallway again. I had to know. I had to prove to myself that it was just my mind playing tricks.

When I stepped into the hallway, I immediately felt it—the air was colder and heavier. I turned the camera on again, determined to get it on film. The phone flickered with static as I slowly pointed it toward the painting.

The shadows were thicker, the shapes more defined. And then… I saw it.

The figure that had once been a vague silhouette in the background was now standing in the foreground of the canvas. It was watching me. Its eyes were hollow, dark, glowing faintly red.

It knows I’m here.

I dropped the phone, my heart pounding in my ears. I turned and ran, but it wasn’t just the painting anymore. The hallway seemed to close in around me, the air growing thick and suffocating. The whispers were getting louder, the growls sharper. I couldn’t stop myself from running, but it felt like the thing was chasing me.

I was barely functioning. I hadn’t slept. I couldn’t eat. All I could think about was that painting. The whispers, the growls, the way the thing seemed to be getting closer and closer.

I tried talking to my mom about it, but she just laughed it off. “It’s just a painting,” she said. “You’re overreacting.”

But when I turned away from her, I saw it—the slightest glance toward the hallway, the way her face tightened when she looked at the painting. She knew. She knew something was wrong.

That night, I finally decided enough was enough. I was going to get rid of it. I was going to burn it, destroy it, do whatever it took to rid myself of whatever was lurking in that painting.

But when I went to the hallway, it was gone.

The painting had ripped through the wall. There was a hole where it had been hanging, a gaping wound in the drywall, and the air was thick with something foul.

I backed away slowly. The whispers were louder now, so close I could hear the growling. I turned around and—there it was. The figure from the painting. It was standing in the hallway, now fully out of the canvas.

Its eyes were glowing red, its limbs twisted in unnatural shapes. One arm stretched out, sharp and clawed, the other bent unnaturally at the elbow. Its grin stretched wide, revealing jagged teeth.

It moved toward me, and the air felt like it was closing in around me.

I ran. I didn’t look back.

I knew it was coming. I couldn’t avoid it anymore. The creature was getting stronger. I could hear it—its growls, the sound of its limbs shifting, its twisted whispers. It was coming for me.

I sat in my room, clutching a baseball bat. The lights flickered. The house was silent, but I could hear it.

And then, the door burst open. Not like a person walking in—but like it exploded. The figure was there, standing in the doorway. Its eyes glowed red, and the air around it crackled with malice.

I tried to fight back, swinging the bat, but it didn’t even flinch. Its arm shot out, grabbing me by the neck, and lifting me off the ground.

I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t breathe.

The last thing I saw was the creature’s mouth opening wide, its teeth snapping as it bit down.

The next morning, my mom woke up to a house in chaos. The front door was wide open, the walls were scratched, and the hallway was destroyed. The painting was gone. There was only a gaping hole in the wall.

I was gone.

Days passed. The police couldn’t find any trace of me. It was like I had disappeared.

But then reports started circulating—strange sightings of a tall, shadowy figure with glowing red eyes. People heard growls and whispers in the dark. And all of them mentioned the painting.

The painting was out there now. And whatever it was, it wasn’t finished yet.

“Authorities are investigating a series of strange incidents in local neighborhoods involving a tall, shadowy figure with glowing red eyes. Some witnesses have claimed to see it in their backyards, while others describe hearing growls and whispers coming from paintings.”

“…Local police are warning residents to stay indoors after dark, but no one knows where the figure comes from or what it wants.”

The thing was out. And it was just beginning.

Credit: Kareem