I Painted a Witch: Haunted Painting Horror Story

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It started with kitchen cabinets opening by themselves, then a painting that seemed to

know the house, the future, and the two women standing in front of it.

By the time the figure inside the painting started moving, well, it was already too late

to come out of the painting.

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This is Weekly Spooky.

Hello, my spookyies.

It's Wednesday.

And you know what that means.

It's time for a little spooky.

In your weekly.

I'm your host and narrator and Rike Kuto, and thank you so much for joining me.

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But now, as for tonight, a house can feel safe for years, familiar walls, familiar rooms,

familiar routines, and then one day, something changes, a cabinet opens on its own, a strange

feeling settles over the room, a painting appears to hold details.

No one should have known to put there.

And once you realize the thing staring back at you from the canvas is staring back for

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Hey, that's me.

I painted a witch by Bruce Haney.

How does a house just become haunted?

We've lived here for almost 10 years.

The house is old, but you wouldn't think a ghost would be shy and wait nearly a decade

before showing itself.

Jenny told her neighbor over drinks on their weekly girls night.

Tell me again, what do you think you saw?

Danielle asked.

Danielle wasn't like Jenny's other friends.

They shared a similar education and were close in age.

But just like that old song, Danielle was a little bit country while Jenny was a lot

more rock and roll.

Jenny had blonde hair and Danielle was a brunette.

They were even opposites in their choice of partners.

Danielle was married to a fairly conservative man.

Jenny was married to a woman who used to spray paint anarchist symbols on the sides of

buildings.

They made friends through their partners who were in the same bowling league.

So while their partners were out knocking over pins, they would stay home, watch reality

TV, share TikTok videos, and kill a box of wine.

When they first met, Danielle was wearing pink camo cowboy boots and a Miranda Lambert

t-shirt, while Jenny was still rocking her worn-dock martens and a bikini kill shirt.

So neither thought they would get along.

But now girls night was the highlight of their week, a time when they could relax and

complain about the previous week.

Jenny once explained it to her husband.

It's like therapy, but you get to drink.

I already told you what happened, Jenny said.

Via text, that doesn't count, come on, I want to feel the spookies, Danielle replied.

Fine, I'll tell you again what happened, Jenny said.

Okay, tell it slow and dry out the tension, Danielle laughed while turning off the lamp next

to her.

It's not funny.

I know, I know, but it's been a boring week, Danielle said.

I was in the kitchen and the cabinet opened up behind me, Jenny said flatly.

That's not how you tell a scary story, Danielle complained.

Let me tell you your own story properly.

That way when you tell others it won't bore them to death.

You don't need another dead person haunting you.

You don't know if it's the ghost of a dead person, Jenny added.

Right.

It could be the ghost of a living person, Danielle joked.

No, I'm not saying that, I'm just, Jenny gave up.

Okay, let me tell you the story.

Let me know if I get anything wrong, Danielle said.

Jenny agreed.

Danielle slouches her shoulders.

So my name is Jennifer, but most people call me Jenny.

I'm a beautiful and powerful woman in the prime of my life, Danielle said, which made

Jenny laugh.

What are you doing?

What?

I said to interrupt me if I got a fact wrong.

Are those not facts?

Fine, fine.

Continue.

Jenny poured herself a glass of pink rosé from the box.

I had just arrived home after a grueling day at work, and all I wanted to do was drink

a glass of water, prepare a light snack, and get out of my power suit.

I do not wear a power suit, Jenny declared.

It was black pants and a blouse.

Danielle cleared her throat.

As I was getting ice from the ice maker built into my fridge because I'm a bougie

bitch.

Jenny laughed.

I'm not bougie, I'm a punk rocker.

Danielle continued.

I felt an uneasiness that I couldn't quite place.

So I looked around the room just in time to see the cupboard.

Creek open on its own.

I walked over to inspect it, to see the cause.

Maybe it was too full and something had shifted.

This isn't any spookier, Jenny interrupted.

You're just adding details.

Shhh.

I'm just about to get to the good part.

Okay.

So, I was at the cupboard looking at it.

It was only half filled and, with cups, nothing had shifted, nothing could have opened it.

Jenny made a yawning motion with her hand over her mouth.

Then I felt it.

It started at the base of my back as if someone had rested their palm there.

I looked behind me expecting to see my beautiful wife, Jenny burst out laughing.

Phoebe, Jenny laughed.

Danielle got up and walked to the kitchen, miming as Jenny.

But nothing was there.

Ed as she walked to the cupboards and touched the last one on the right.

It wasn't that cupboard, it was the middle one.

Jenny said.

Danielle walked over and touched the middle one.

Jenny shook her head, yes, and Danielle continued to tell Jenny her own story.

So I looked back at the cupboard and it was now closed, but then it popped back open.

Danielle made a dramatic opening of the cupboard.

She yelled and then laughed.

That's what happened, right?

Jenny set her glass down and joined Danielle in the kitchen.

So I thought maybe I had closed it already, and maybe I had, but then it popped open again.

So I was relieved, Jenny said.

Why, Danielle asked?

Well I thought if it happened again it must just be a bad hinge or something.

Like since Danielle said, do you want me or you to finish the story, Danielle asked.

You can do it, Jenny said.

Danielle mined the actions as she told the last part.

But then the next one popped open and then the next, Danielle said and paused the storytelling

to open every cupboard.

Then the rest popped open all at once, Danielle said, while making a big opening gesture

with her hands.

That's what happened, right?

Yes, Jenny said.

That is spooky.

It scared the hell out of me, Jenny added.

And this just happened today, yep.

So did the other thing, Jenny said.

Can you show me?

Sure.

The two turned around to make their way to her study.

Behind them they heard a loud noise and without even looking back.

They knew.

All the cupboards had popped open again.

Danielle and Jenny both dropped their glasses and screamed.

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Moments passed as the two waited to see if anything else would happen, but nothing did.

They both laughed nervously.

That is quite spooky, Danielle confessed.

I told you, Jenny said while grabbing a broom.

She handed the dustpan to Danielle who helped her clean up the broken glasses.

Once that was done, Danielle made moves to close the cupboards.

Leave them.

It's just going to pop them open again.

Don't give it the satisfaction, Jenny said.

Okay, let's go look at your hobby room.

I prefer to call it my study, Jenny corrected.

You are a bougie bitch.

Danielle and Jenny opened the door to the study.

It was a small room, but well organized.

On the right wall was a bookshelf that housed all their books, her art books, and her wife's

books.

Partners sections were full of graphic novels and young adult books from the 80s and 90s,

lots of R.L. Stein and Christopher Pike.

On the left side were two nine cube shelves filled with plastic containers with various

art supplies.

Next to them was the painting.

Jenny had started painting only a year ago.

For that she made small polymer clay sculptures.

And years previous to that she put out a punk rock scene called Pit Girl.

A scene about her life is one of the few punk rock girls in her town.

The tone of the scene changed after she met Sarah, her stories of isolation transitioned

into stories of a budding romance and their adventures.

As they built their life and careers together, each issue came out with a bigger gap in

between releases.

Eventually a year had passed without an issue coming out, and she let it go.

Always swearing to go back and make a final issue.

The painting was what they were in her study to look at.

Wow, Danielle said.

Yeah.

It's um, Danielle began.

Way better than my skill, Jenny finished.

I wasn't going to say that.

Danielle gave her a little smile.

But yeah, that is an incredible piece of art.

I painted it this afternoon.

That's incredible.

A painting like that should take days at least, not an afternoon and not at my skill level.

What does it mean, Danielle asked?

I don't know.

The painting itself was an image of a woman in white, sitting at a table in a mid-18th

century home, reading a book.

She has various small containers all around the room.

In her time she would have been called an herbalist, or a witch.

Every detail was clear, including the titles of the books on the shelf behind her.

Books that neither of the two women knew were real publications or not.

That is strange, Danielle stated.

Yeah, she pointed at the painting.

Did you notice that?

Danielle asked, pointing at the mirror that hung on the wall in the painting.

Jenny had to move closer and squint her eyes to see that in the mirror reflected, or the

two of them looking in.

Why would you paint us into the painting, Danielle asked?

I didn't know I did.

Where?

Really?

Look again.

You're wearing the exact outfit you're wearing right now.

How would I have known that?

Danielle looked.

She was right.

She didn't tell Jenny at that moment, but the top she was wearing was new, and in the

painting she was wearing her opal earrings, which she was wearing now.

They too were new.

Her husband had bought them on their trip, and this was the first time she had worn them

around Jenny.

She was hoping that Jenny would notice and compliment her.

Then she would tell her the story of the little shop they found, and how kind it was for

him to get them for her.

The other strange aspect of the painting was the art hanging up in the background.

The woman was a painter as well, it seemed, and all of hers were of different homes, some

modern, some ancient.

The longer I look at this painting, the weirder it gets.

This might be your masterpiece, Danielle said.

Maybe.

She stared at the painting some more.

But is it really mine?

Jenny asked.

Would you paint this before or after the kitchen incident, Danielle inquired.

Why?

Look at her paintings, that one on the left looks like your kitchen.

With the cabinets open, Jenny looked again.

What the hell?

You're right.

Then she looked at the other two paintings in the background.

One was of the strange woman sitting on a couch, which looked like hers.

But the last image was the worst.

Jennifer gasped after looking at it.

The woman stood over a body that was lying on the ground.

Because of the style represented and the shadow work, it was hard to tell whose body it

was.

Jennifer knocked the painting over in frustration.

Whoa there, Danielle exclaimed.

That woman painted herself in my house, Jenny yelled.

Calm down, remember you painted everything on that canvas.

How could I, Jenny said, before stopping after hearing a sound in the other room?

A squeaking sound came from another.

Is it ten already?

Danielle asked, thinking that Jenny's partner was home.

No?

Jenny said, looking at her fitness tracker watch.

In a whisper, Jenny said.

That sounded like somebody's sitting down on the couch, right?

Yeah, Danielle agreed.

They both looked down at the picture, to see the small painting within the painting, where

the woman was on the couch.

They both gulped when they noticed that the woman, who had been sitting at the table

reading, was now looking up and smiling.

Now it was Danielle's turn to freak out.

She slammed her foot through the painting, ripping it nearly in half.

The couch squeak was heard again, followed by the sound of feet, hitting the ground.

And then, foot steps.

Jenny looked over at Danielle, what do we do?

I don't know, Jenny replied flatly.

They both listened, trying to figure out if the steps were heading in their direction.

They, of course, were.

Okay, okay, let's get rational, Danielle said.

I think we're past the point of rational.

My house is now haunted, and I believe the woman from the painting, who is what a time-traveling

witch from the 1700s?

Somehow is now in my house.

Rationality left the building a long time ago.

Okay, sure, but we have one thing on our side, Danielle said.

What's that?

Have you ever heard of someone being killed by a ghost?

Jenny opened her mouth to speak, but Danielle cut her off, outside of books and movies.

Jenny thought about it for a minute.

No, no, I haven't.

We're dealing with some supernatural power we don't understand, but it doesn't mean

that we're going to die.

Danielle said, Jenny sighed a sigh of relief.

True, you might have to move, though.

They both began to laugh, but they stopped when they heard foot steps.

The sound of something hitting the door made Jenny scream, the two hugged each other

waiting for the inevitable.

The door to open, and reveal the woman from the painting.

The two watched in horror as the doorknob turned slowly, and the door creaked before being

slammed open.

The woman in white stood in the doorway, giving them the same evil smile from the painting.

She stared at them while she reached under her white shawl and pulled out the book from

the painting.

This was not a mass-produced book, its cover was worn and it appeared to be bound using

a leather cord sewn through the paper.

When she opened it, they could see that all the pages were hand-written.

What the fuck?

Danielle whispered to Jenny.

I know.

The woman began to read aloud from the book.

It was in a language, neither new.

Then she stopped.

They both watched her, waiting for something to happen.

Then she gave her evil smile again, and in one violent move she grabbed Jenny's blonde

hair, ripped a sizable chunk out of it, then placed it in the book, and closed it.

The blood from where the chunk was pulled stained the hair around it.

Jenny couldn't help but scream.

After a moment the volume of her shriek went down.

Danielle turned towards her, but Jenny was gone.

She still heard her whaling, but not as loud, and it came from another direction.

Danielle looked behind her at the torn painting and saw Jenny inside it.

She was frozen, but her screams could still be heard coming from it.

SHIT, Danielle yelled as the woman in white ripped out a chunk of hair from the back of

her head, and placed it in the book.

When Jenny's wife Sarah arrived home, everything was back to normal in the house.

The cupboards were closed.

She expected to see Danielle and Jenny on the couch watching Trash TV.

And if not both passed out from overindulgence in wine, but they weren't on the couch.

Sarah trusted Jenny, but she did check the bedroom first.

Nothing.

Jenny?

She yelled down the hallway.

Danielle?

She yelled as she approached Jenny's study.

The door was cracked, and this made Sarah feel better.

She had found them.

When she entered the room everything seemed normal, except that neither of them was there,

and there was a strange painting in the middle of the room.

To Sarah it didn't look like Jenny's style, and the painting was an old woman in white,

wearing an obvious blonde wig.

In one of her hands there appeared to be a decapitated head with brown hair that covered

the face.

In her other hand was a large blade.

She appeared to be getting ready to scalp the head.

Gastly, Sarah said, and left the room to continue to look for her wife.

And that my spookies is why you never trust a painting that seems a little too detailed.

And a little too interested in your personal life, because a ghost in the attic is one thing,

a bump in the night is another, but a witch who can paint herself into your house, step

out of the canvas and start making edits.

No thank you.

That is not my kind of art appreciation.

So tonight maybe don't stare too long at anything hanging on your wall, and if somebody

in a portrait suddenly smiles when they weren't before.

I'd say redecorating time is over, and now it's time to run.

And if you like your horror intimate, uncomfortable, and crawling under your skin in all the worst

ways, then don't miss cutting deep into horror this Friday.

We're going to dive into the found footage nightmare that is creep.

It's awkward, funny, deeply unnerving, and the kind of movie that makes every strange

little interaction feel like a warning sign.

That's this Friday, and I want to say an extra special thank you to our Patreon podcast

boosters, folks who go to weeklyspooky.com slash join and pay a little bit more to hear their

names at the end of the show.

And they are Johnny Knicks, Kate and Lulu, Jessica Fuller, Micah Skewie, Jenny Green, Amber

Hansford, Karen Weemet, Jack Kerr, and Craig Cohen.

And if you want to hear your name at the end of every show, just like these folks, head

to weeklyspooky.com slash join and sign up at $15 a month or higher.

It really helps the show out, and it helps me out, too.

But now it's time for me to get back to work because I have lots to do before I head off

to the Autodes and Curiosity's Expo in Columbus, Ohio.

So for myself, for my executive producer's Rob Fields and BubbleTopia.com, my producer Dan

Wilder, and of course, my creepy composer Ray Mattis.

I'll be talking at you very, very soon, and until then, don't decorate with ghosts.

Talk at you soon.

Thank you for listening.

Make sure to find your way back next week.

But for now, you are safe.

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