Part 1 : https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/15e5rzc/quite_contrary/
I have finally moved into my eternal torment, but I will not stand by and let this continue if I can help it. If there are solutions to this problem in this world, then perhaps it will truly end with me. I adored my grandma, but I can’t help but feel bitter against her for leaving me to handle everything on my own.
I at least got one of the things I’ve been waiting for, which is where this whole thing started. The head maid of the ancient country Victorian mansion gave me the first journal of many that would follow.
They don’t have dates, but they do suggest what was agreed upon. Please pardon me as I can’t seem to grasp all that is written down at first, but I will write out every detail.
…
The First Journal;
I am grateful for the presents I received from Papa on my eleventh birthday, but I was unable to get them before he died since he died last spring, and my birthday is in the summer. As I write this, my grandmother gave me this journal, but what Papa gave me was genuinely lovely.
Papa had given me a huge, lovely picture of a lady who resembled me but was older, tending to her garden, with Papa in the background gazing over her. Another porcelain doll that arrived with the artwork is another likeness of myself, even clothed in my favorite yellow garment with a magnificent bow that binds her lovely red tresses back. My papa’s handwriting was scribbled on the bottom of her foot, Mary. Both the woman in the artwork and the doll have my name.
…
Father and mother are constantly far too busy to play with me, which saddens me, even though I dislike what father often says to me, “You’re too grown to act like a child, Mary! You must put aside the toys and infantile outfits and become a charming young lady like your elder brother!” but I found his remarks troubling, as one Papa constantly stressed that I am still a child and must never forget that till I am of age, and also that I am a female. How can I be like my younger brother? It’s illogical.
Still, I am grateful to my nanny, Ms. Amy. A stunning young lady with dark brown hair and chocolate eyes! Even though she is supposed to be busy like the other maids, she is always eager to play with me. She enjoys singing and dancing with me in the meadows behind the mansion, where I host tea parties. She and I will always play with dolls, with me having Mary and Miss Amy having one of my many other dolls.
…
It’s late at night, but I’ve been having difficulties sleeping lately. I’m not sure if it’s due to my strange nightmares or if the portrait of Mary is looking at me in the middle of the night. Even if I light a lamp to point at her, her gaze will return to her own flowers. I’m sure I’m losing it, but I must keep it to myself.
…
Ms. Amy used to come into my room many times a day to help me bathe, dress, and even play, but now she only comes in when she genuinely has to and constantly asks if we may change our playing somewhere since it’s getting too stuffy in my chamber. I can’t help but be perplexed, yet Miss Amy was always looking at the Picture of Mary and never turned her back on it.
I’m perplexed by what’s going on.
…
I observed a maid in the backdrop right next to Papa behind the gate in the Painting of Mary today. She hadn’t been there before, and I knew her as my old maid, who cleaned my chamber in the mornings. It’s strange since the same maid never showed up to work today, yet she’s now in my picture. I’m not insane; she was not around when I initially received this as a gift.
Father, of course, does not believe me, and Mother is far too preoccupied with her daily activities to stop and listen to me.
…
I know there’s something wrong with this painting!
Why is it that no one ever stops to listen to me?
Ms. Amy is no longer here, and in the painting, she is immediately next to the maid. It’s all my fault that we all heard her screaming early this morning! Despite Ms. Amy’s reminders, I failed to wear the stockings that were on my bed. She walked back to get them for me and then yelled from inside my room! I rushed back with another maid in tow, and inside, one of my windows smashed and my wardrobe collapsed, even though I knew it was too heavy for anybody to carry.
Not only that, but there was blood on my bed and floor, and there was no sign of Miss Amy. Father says that she was hurt by the wardrobe collapsing on her and that she leaped out of my window or was forced out by the wardrobe, but that makes no sense! My wardrobe and the damaged window are on opposite sides of the room, and the blood cannot reach either! Not only that, but my room is on the third floor. Ms. Amy couldn’t survive the leap, and she was nowhere to be seen outside my window, with no blood trail.
I’m not sure what it is, but it has something to do with that artwork! It needs to be, even if it makes no sense!
…
My Mary Doll, whom I adore, was smashed this morning while she was sleeping on my bed with me. I was in bed reading since I wasn’t feeling well that day, and Doll Mary was on my pillow near me when she cracked. As a chunk slices my arm, I scream in shock and anguish.
I don’t know why, but when I looked up at the painting, Mary’s eyes were looking down at me. I screamed and ran out of my room to my father’s study, refusing to go back into that room again, Father and Mother did agree to allow me to stay with them in their room for a little while as they believed I was still upset about Ms. Amy, but it didn’t last long as Father did eventually kick me out of their room, leaving me alone to go back to mine.
That same week, I decided to gather all of my dolls and lock them up in trunks to be put up in the attic. Another Maid did put Mary back together and she went with the rest along with any other toys I had. I didn’t want the Painting of Mary to destroy anything else or take anyone else that I love.
End of the first few entries.
…
That is all I got through for now, and I must say I am even more confused. Is this painting a replica of my great-great-great-grandmother’s? So then it was made for her, and it must have already been cursed when her own grandfather gave it to her, or whoever did give it to her, as her grandfather was already dead before she received this gift.
Honestly, I am a bit disappointed in myself, as I thought there would be more answers or even a climatic event that caused all of this, but my Great-grandmother Mary said it began almost as soon as she reserved it. Could it have been her grandfather who cursed us all?
Wait, no, that isn’t right, as it seems he was close to Great-grandmother Mary, so perhaps it’s the person who painted the painting that was going to be given to Grandmother Mary. This would be a problem as they would be dead if that is the case, and these events happened 100 years ago, so I have no way of finding out who Mary’s grandfather ordered this painting from. Maybe it’s a witch, or perhaps a voodiest?
Trust me when I say that when you see things that I have seen, you will believe in anything to make what you’ve seen make more sense for your brain to be able to digest it all.
I am not sure where all of this is going to lead me, or perhaps it’s all just a pointless adventure to seek, but I can only hope there is something that I can find for the sake of my mortal soul.