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This Picture

Matilda's eyes widened to the limit. She was paralyzed. Panic was strangling her. I tried to move from my position, but my leg still hurt. I shouted for her to react, but it was a futile effort. And in the blink of an eye, as I reached out my hand to try to reach her, she disappeared.

Three weeks ago, my cousin Matilda and I were engaged to be married. My family was of ancient lineage from one of the wealthiest groups in Western Europe. My father and uncles owned businesses from Germany to Scotland and had ties to the most powerful entities in the regions where they did business.

I lived in a mansion on the outskirts of London. I was raised there as a child to be a visionary like the rest of my family. I knew nothing beyond the gardens, valleys, and small hills. The image I have of the nearby villages invoked only fleeting memories of a childhood mostly orbited by the walls of the manor. I rarely saw my father and my mother die when I was born. My whole life was spent with my cousin Matilda, who had a childhood and adolescence as hermetic and severe as mine.

After I turned eighteen, I held my cousin's hand in the promise of marriage on a hilltop bathed in the dawn. A runic rock was our witness and the song of morning birds was the chorus to light up the solemn moment. Matilda smiled as she waved with her other hand the flow of her azabache curls. The sun illuminated her, giving her the effigy of a winged angel, with her halo on her head and a melodious tune of thousands of philharmonic stars.

At that instant, I felt that happiness had finally knocked on the doors of my soul. I held Matilda in my arms and promised to love her until my body stopped breathing, however, days after the beautiful moment, the chorus of my longing began to lower.

The mansion's servants witnessed how my fiancée walked in the early morning hours under the effects of sleepwalking, stopping in front of a locked door with one of my father's secret keys. A maid asserted that when she tried to help Matilda back to her room, Matilda attacked her by digging her nails into her and then ran out into another hallway.

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^{Photo by Ahmad Odeh on Unsplash}

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I had to see with my own eyes these horrors happening to my future wife, for during the day she looked normal; and when questioned about the servants' testimonies, she would wrinkle her face and stare at me dumbfounded.

One afternoon, after Matilda had taken her nap, she confessed to me that she had a dream as absolute as life itself. She called it a 'vision', from a past she never lived. A pregnant woman was arguing with my father; Matilda assumed it was my mother. They were talking about us and our future marriage union. The woman, who was supposed to be my mother, disagreed completely and hated my father for thinking otherwise, then the argument ended with withering looks from both of them, and all doors closed. At that instant, Matilda woke up with her heart stuck in her throat.

I blanched at what she had just told me. I said nothing for a few minutes, not even a sigh was released. Matilda could not be certain that this woman was my mother. We never saw a photograph or painted portrait of her; in fact, I know of a rumor from the older servants that my father had all the images and pictures of my mother destroyed, the reasons to this day are uncertain.

I tried not to worry about such things, but it was impossible as the days passed. Matilda's sleepwalking became more frequent, then she was attacked by a strange disease that weakened her body. During those dark days, she began to have more visions about my mother. She said she would never agree to our marriage and would do everything she could to prevent it.

Worried about such frightening words and Matilda's health, I decided to do something about it and took the ring of keys that my father keeps in his office. I waited for Matilda in the early morning, by the door where she always stops. My heart was racing and my thoughts seemed like images interrupted by flashes.

After sitting for a while waiting, she finally appeared. She walked slowly as if the cold wind manipulated her gait. The flashes of moonlight through the windows illuminated her white nightgown, giving her the appearance of a spectral being. I immediately stood up and looked at her face. I blanched when I saw her eyes; they were open and turned completely backward.

I didn't touch her at any point, I waited for her to stop in front of the door, and once she did, I used each of the keys until I found the right one. I opened the door slowly and realized it was a small men's room. Matilda began to walk forward until she was completely inside. She reached out her hand and took something that made my blood run cold.

It was a photograph; dated 1926, of a woman with my father as a young man. I sighed and immediately deduced that this woman could be my mother. As I looked at the photo closely, I noted with astonishment that my mother's image was enlarged until it was completely out of the picture frame.

Startled, I threw it aside. Matilda awoke from her trance and began to scream.

"What have we done?! We shouldn't have done it! This is what she wanted!" she shrieked in horror, her eyes filled with tears.

A white, luminescent vapor erupted from the photograph until it covered the surroundings, took the form of the one who was my mother, and watched us with rage and withering eyes of fire. I covered Matilda with my body and tried to carry her away, but an invisible and supernatural force lifted me and threw me against the wall. My right leg was badly injured by the impact.

I could do nothing to save her, that terrifying and fateful night, my fiancée disappeared.

The police took the case in hand, but I knew from the beginning that her whereabouts would be futile. Matilda was abducted by supernatural forces beyond the limits of our comprehension. My heart was bathed in sadness for every day that passed without seeing her. I decided to deprive myself of my grief in my fiancée's room; it was alone and still retained her distinctive scent.

I glanced lightly over the bed and glimpsed what appeared to be a piece of white paper. Picking it up, I noted that it was a photograph, and, what I saw in it, paralyzed my heart. In the photo was Matilda; serene, looking straight ahead, and next to her, holding her shoulders with the same impassivity was my mother.

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THE END

Other publications of my authorship

[ENG-ESP] VELMA (2023) Scooby Doo version for adults only
[ESP-ENG] Crímenes en San Jaín (VI)
As Delicious As a Coffee Cocktail