Scary Stories, Rituals, and Urban Legends

The Black Room

It started the morning my wife didn't wake up. She was breathing, but I couldn't wake her. The old town doctor couldn't figure out what was wrong.

"We need to take her to the city hospital," he said.

But when we tried to move her, we found she couldn't be lifted from the bed. It was as if her frail body suddenly weighed a ton. We asked some neighbors for help, but they couldn't move her either. They even tried lifting the bed, but the bed wouldn't move an inch.

After a long silence, the town doctor said, "I guess all we can do for now is wait."

That night, when my wife and I were alone again, I watched the blue moonlight fall gently on her sleeping face. "Please wake up, love. Please..."

I looked out the window, into our garden.

"I'll paint you more flowers if you wake up."

She had always loved my flower paintings. In fact, it was because of one flower painting that I met her. I was in my early twenties, painting outside the house, when I heard someone stop on the path behind me.

"The colors look so alive!"

I looked over, and there she was - brown hair, fair skin, light blue eyes, and a smile that made my heart leap.

"I don't think I've seen a prettier painting."

"I can give it to you if you want."

"Oh no, I couldn't..."

"No, I mean it... As soon as I finish it, I'll give it to you."

We smiled at each other in silence.

That was over fifty years ago, the start of our life together. The painting - our painting, as we called it - now hung on our bedroom wall. It had always been a source of happiness for us. But tonight, as I looked at it bathed in moonlight, I wept.

Over the next few days, things didn't improve - she still wouldn't wake up. I felt helpless. If I only had one consolation, it was that, if this really was her end, at least I could see by the expression on her face that was at peace. But even that consolation eventually left me.

On the sixth day, her expression changed. She had the expression of someone having a nightmare. That was also when I started to notice the room around us. Everything in it looked slightly darker, as if thick clouds hung over our house - even if the sun shone brightly outside the window.

The next day, the colors in the room began to fade. Even the bright reds, yellows, blues of our painting started to gray. The day after that, the whole painting was in gray tones. And not just the painting - everything in the room was gray, save for my wife and I. That night, as I lay beside my wife, I gently caressed her white hair and cheeks.

"Please... Wake up, my dear."

When I woke up, the gray of the room was even darker. The flowers in our painting began to lose their outlines, slowly turning into a single blurry mess. Except for my wife and I, everything in the room was turning black.

But I wasn't going to let that happen. I took out my paints and brushes, and started painting the colors back into our painting. The reds, yellows, and blues jumped out against the gray background of the room. When the painting was fully colored, I continued painting parts of the room - the gray clock was now gold again, the gray bedside table was brown again, and so on.

As I held my wife's hand, I surveyed the newly partly-painted room. "We're going to fight this, dear."

But the next day, the new colors began to fade. I continued painting the room anyway. By nightfall, half the room was painted, and half the room had partly returned to being gray.

No matter - I continued painting the next day. That's when I realized it. The colors were starting to fade even more quickly. And I couldn't paint as fast as the colors faded. At the end of the day, most of the room was back to gray.

No matter - I still painted the next day. And the next day. And the day after that. Even when the new colors would fade within minutes, I still painted. Even when most of the room was black by the end of the day, I still painted. I still painted.

Then the day came when all color turned black within seconds of settling in the room. It was like watching the glowing tip of a dying match disappear into charred wood. That's how I knew the end had come.

And so tonight, I will put my paint and brushes away, and lie down beside my wife. Everything will be black but us, but I can already see ourselves fading. I will softly brush her cheeks as our skin turns gray, dark gray. Then, as I close my eyes, her hand in mine, we will finally fall into the black of the room.

XOXO Jade