A portrait of Nicole’s great grandfather hung in the Great Hall. It greeted guests with its size and grandeur; it bragged of their wealth. And Nicole hated it. Everyday, when she returned home, she had to enter through the Great Hall. And everyday, she was squished by His gaze. She never met the man, who gazed down and proudly clenched his lapel, but He was the person she hated most.

“You didn’t ace your test?” He seemed to say. “You are a disgrace.”

And everyday, for fifteen years out of her seventeen-year life, Nicole was terrified of the painting. The evil, cold glare of her great grandfather. And, within the more recent years, she had wanted to blind Him of his pride.

And one day, as Nicole stared at the portrait, she truly wanted to rip it apart. It would be reality, at last, not a fantasy.

But as she thrust her hands toward the painting, she screamed. Her great grandfather was no longer holding His lapel. Instead, His hands constricted her forearms. And His eyes. His snake-like eyes bore in to Nicole’s.

And He dug His jagged nails in to her veins and He ripped them out of her skin. She collapsed on the marble floor, in the warmth of her own blood, and took one last horrifying look at the portrait.

His eyes. His snake-like eyes looked down on her. But instead of a scowl on his face, He held a subtle smile.