11 year old Emily and her mother sat in the car listening to Harry Styles, getting ready to arrive at Weastle Lane. "Mom, when are we going to be there?" "Just a few minutes, dear." Emily sighed. She looked out the window, drifting into her own thoughts. She wanted to know where they were living, what school she was going too, and why did she move in the first place?
About 10 minutes had passed when Emily's mother finally said, "We are here, Emily!" Emily looked at the house. It was a little old, but it would work out. "Could you get the box for your room, dear?" "Yes, ma'am." She jumped out of the car and went to the trunk. She grabbed the box labeled: Emily's room. "Mom, what room is mine?" Emily asked. "The first one on the second floor, dear." Emily went to the front door. She tried to open it, but it was stuck. "Mom, it's-" The door flung open before Emily could finish. She looked at the door in shock. Emily slipped through the door. She slowly went upstairs. Creak, Creak. The stairs were so old that they were creaking every step.
A few minutes later, Emily had made it to the bedroom. She looked around. It was empty, except for a few paintings. Emily placed the box to go look at them. "So pretty.." She said. "Why, thank you!" Emily flinched. She didn't believe in talking paintings until now. "Did you..talk?" "Did you come into our house uninvited?" The other painting said. "I had to be invited?" Emily asked. "Well.." The paintings stammered. "Celia didn't want intruders, girl." The third painting said. Emily was stunned. She looked at the paintings. There was a slimmer of white across one of them. Creak, Creak. "Emily dear, are you alright?" Emily's mother said. "Yes, I'm fine." Said Emily. "Let's go mom."
About 2 hours later Emily and her mother were happily enjoying dinner. "Mom, when's dad coming home?" Asked Emily. "He said he had to work extra today." Emily sighed. Her own dad, not coming to dinner or helping them unpack a bit. Emily thought he cared more about money then family. "Look," Whispered a painting. "There she is!" Whispered another. "Tiger wasn't so pleased with her. Should we be?" "I'm not sure." Emily looked around her. Two paintings were talking about her. One was a butterfly on a flower, the other was a baby turtle at the beach. The paintings froze when Emily eyed them. "Mom, Ill be right back." Emily dashed to her bedroom. "I've had it with you paintings!"
"Girl, you don't know what your doing!" One painting said. The one with the tiger was silent this time. She must have been Tiger. "What are you lookin' at?" She snapped. "Are you ghosts?" Emily asked. "No, we are paintings!" One said. "Yeah, I know that." "We were once painted by Celia, our great dear creator.." Tiger said. "But she passed 23 years ago." The other painting added. "I miss her dear so much.." Tiger sobbed. "Did she raise you to be so protective?" Emily teased. "Hey! We're also people!" Tiger hissed. "After all, paintings have feeling too."
(Hi this is the authors friend, I'm also part of this account. I just wanna say; How ya doing- Author if you see this, please don't kill me ;-;.)
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Paintings have feelings too!
General Fiction11 year old Emily and her mother move into a strange town called Weastle Lane. She keeps hearing strange noises coming from her bedroom. When we finally slept that night, she was awoken by whispers. Want to now more? Read the story to find out!
