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THE PICTURE OF DAVINIA GRAY

Dear reader, I am being haunted by her. A woman who doesn't

exist. A woman who never existed! I know it sounds insane;

but it is true..........

I'll start at the beginning. That bitterly cold January

a few short months ago, Darren was working late, poor love.

Things had been rather hectic at his workplace; a computer

firm in the centre of town. It had been undermanned for many

years and lately had taken on a lot of new business. Darren

had left that morning and been unable to give me a time for

his return. He'd given me a quick peck and hug then walked

towards his car. It was the last time I saw him alive.....

*****

Sara stands at the graveside clutching the fresh flowers to

her chest. A chill March wind ruffles her short blonde hair,

the tears in her eyes sting in the cold air. She stoops down

and removes the dead flowers from the grave and gently

replaces with the new. A movement catches the corner of her

eye. Sara glances around slowly, half afraid,nervous. The

woman stands a few yards ahead of her; but Sara can see the

face so clearly. The expression, tortured almost and yet sad

and seemingly tender. The woman is dressed in a short red

skirt and white blouse, clothes totally unsuitable for the

cold day. Her wavy black hair tumbles to her shoulders and

appears to catch gently in the wind. Her arms reach out

towards Sara, her lips moving wordlessly. Then she fades, a

wraith slowly disappearing from view.

*****

Darren rang after eight and told me not to expect him till

eleven thirty, or even later as he had a long drive home.

I scolded him gently and told him I'd probably be in bed

and he would have to put something in the microwave. After

he had rung off I poured myself a glass of wine and sat

down to watch the television.

I was bored with the telly, some pathetic sit-com which

couldn't make me laugh, an old film I'd seen before; I

flicked half-heartedly through the channels, then pressed

'off'. That was when I heard the sound. Footsteps. They

sounded above my head. The sound of a woman in high heels.

Then silence. I listened intently. Again, tap, tap, tap,

then silence once more. I felt a shiver go through me. I

told myself I was imagining it.After all we didn't have a

lady in the loft; did we? Perhaps it was a bat or something

that had got in. We do live in the country and such things

can happen. I didn't like the thought of something trapped.

I looked at the clock, Darren wasn't due home for another

two hours or more. I decided to investigate. I don't think

of myself as a scaredy cat and finding some creature in the

loft didn't particularly bother me, being a country girl

born and bred. I went into the hallway and using the loft

hook I pushed it open and slowly eased out the ladders.

They creaked noisily as I pulled them into the correct

position. Once more I listened, expecting my noise to have

alarmed whatever was above me. Nothing. It seemed ages

since I had been in the loft. It was mostly filled with

Darren's stuff; old computer equipment, manuals,tools,etc.,

He'd often told me not to go up there. "The stuff in there

will make your head spin, chuck....."This was a reference

to my computer illiteracy.Well,after all I was his

country bumpkin!

I switched on the loft light and eased myself in. Long

shadows stretched out before me. I could smell mustiness

and stale air, the sound of the wind outside adding to the

eeriness I felt. Before me were crates and boxes, odd pieces

of equipment and piles of books. Straining my ears I tried

to hear above the wind's moan.Nothing. I had to crouch

slightly until I reached the highest point of the room. It

looked like my search was going to prove fruitless, there

certainly didn't seem to be anything up here. My eyes fell

on the trunk; a large blue object almost in the centre of

the loft floor. I crossed over to it. No, I'm not normally

nosy, but it seemed out of place amongst all of the modern

day stuff. An old trunk, faded blue, slightly battered.

Pushing up the lid I chided myself, "Sara Gray...you nosy

little B!"

*****

Sara leaves the cemetery, her heart heavy. She doesn't look

around, she knows the woman won't be there, she has seen her

disappear before her eyes. And yet she knows that when she

visits Darren's grave again she will be there. Watching.

Imploring. Appealing....For what?

*****

I held the dress in my hand; it felt lovely to the

touch. It was a nice dark blue, I could tell it was very

expensive and the other things. I had taken them from the

trunk, one by one. Blouses, skirts, jumpers and a plethora

of underwear. Lacy slips, tights and half a dozen ladies'

shoes. What the hell was the reason for this strange

treasure trove? Treasure trove! I picked up the jewellery

box and opened it. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets glistened

at me in the light. Presents, for me? But when for? and why

stuck up here and so much? We are quite well off, what with

Darren's job and my school work. But all this? It must have

cost the earth! Then the thought struck me....The sizes are

wrong.... I'm a 10 and these are 14! and the shoes? Then I

saw the brooch; the name a whirl of letters......It read

'DAVINIA'.

"Darren...." I spoke aloud, my own voice sounded strange.

Tap.

Just the once. I felt my hairs stand on end as I slowly

turned around. Nothing before me. No horror waiting to

pounce.

I decided to get out of there, my feelings totally

confused. Darren had some explaining to do when he returned!

Whose clothes were they? Had he some woman visiting when I

was teaching at the school? Was he sneaking back for some

sordid affair in our home, in our bed? And the things she

wore! Does he take her out? How long has this been going on?

I headed towards the loft opening, it was then that I

spotted the easel. It was standing at the other side of the

loft door which was why I hadn't noticed it before. It was

large and almost touched the slope of the roof. A purple

sheet was draped over it, only the legs on show. Tentatively

I pulled at the sheet and revealed.......

Her.......!

She was beautiful; I had to give her that......

Not pretty....Beautiful.

People called me pretty.

But who had painted her? And why was the picture here? It

looked too big to have even squeezed through the loft

doorway. It must have been painted here my befuddled mind

decided. I stood back and gazed at the portrait. It was done

in oils, obviously a lot of care had gone into the creation.

She was dressed in a white blouse and red skirt, at her

throat was a scarlet brooch. Her long black hair spread over

her shoulders. She was tall and slender and she perched on

black high heel shoes. My eyes were drawn once more to her

face, that lovely, almost mischievous expression she wore,

those eyes so hypnotic, that smile so familiar.

So familiar........

Oh God, no.....Darren!

It was a silent scream in my head. I couldn't take it in.

But the eyes didn't...couldn't lie!!

I almost fell over the tool box and had to grab hold of one

of the roof's supporting beams. I felt overwhelmed by.....

What......? Horror? Fear? Revulsion?

My confused brain could not take it in. Holding onto the

beam and taking deep breaths I glanced down at the tool box.

My eyes fell on the axe. It was small, but a useful little

tool. Its head was polished,shining as it caught the light.

I struck with all my strength. The blow smashed hard

into the breast of the portrait. A tremor ran through my

whole body. The face was just a blur through my hysterical

tears, it looked as if the stupid smile had slipped. The

axe fell from my grasp and I staggered blindly towards the

loft doorway.

*****

Sara walks through the gates. It is a warm sunny day,

she hardly notices the other visitors as she goes towards

Darren's grave. She slows as she comes closer.

"My darling...." her voice hushed,"I know what I must do.

After all these months...I...I.feel I have the courage..."

her voice tails off. The figure stands a little distance

from her, unmoving,staring. Sara does not look up, she is

aware of the presence,senses the need and the pain.

"Do the others see her?" she wonders to herself "Or only

me?"

Sara at last looks up from the gravestone. Eyes meet, the

other's hands reaching forth. Sara abruptly turns on her

heel and heads from the scene.

*****

It took all of Sara's strength to ascend the ladder into

the loft. She had not been there since that fateful evening.

Although, through long sleepless nights she had been aware

of 'her' footsteps. As yet the pills had not robbed her of

all control, but she had to force herself to think and keep

her mind on the task ahead. Looking across at the picture

she forced herself to approach it. In her hand was the can

of petrol. She began to splash it over the portrait. Some

of the liquid fell back onto her and soaked her jumper and

jeans. She threw some onto the floor around the easel. Her

mind was becoming more and more dulled, it was becoming

harder to concentrate. Tears blurred her vision as the pills

and drink began to work. She fumbled in her pocket for the

lighter, hands uncoordinated and clumsy.

She pulled the lighter out.

She lit it and slumped to the floor.

*****

I killed him. I know that. I know the coroner said he died

of a heart attack when driving home that night. But, I know

as sure as when I struck the axe into the heart of that

picture, that was when he died.

And then 'she' haunted me......

But now I must destroy her and MY DARLING WILL BE LAID TO

REST.

*****

The man looked up at the faces before him. He put down

the notes he had just read out and cleared his throat.

"Terribly sad,tragic.....it appears the poor lady was so

affected by her husband's death....."

A reporter stood up"He was only in his early thirties I

believe....."

"Quite correct; they both were...."

"And this Davinia....?"

"I don't think we need go into that...."

A slight murmur went around the room. The man shuffled

the papers in front of him.

"Is there anything else?"

"And the picture. What of that....?" another reporter.

"Nothing remained after the fire. We have no proof that

any such portrait existed".

"Was she insane then? What about the mention of a ghost?"

The man sighed, there was a long thoughtful pause.

"No purpose would be served to dig any deeper. I think we

should let the unfortunate people rest in peace".

The End.