The hut in the paintings

Whispers.
I hear them when looking at those paintings. As if they're asking me, calling me to remember something. There are multiple of them in this house I bought, mansion maybe. It was a bit expensive but cheap for its size, it has been hastily restored and its far far older than me. I guess I just wanted to run away. Fleeing to another country wasn't enough so I bought this slavic mansion in the woods filled of old tales and old ruins covered by moss and dirt. It's autumn now and the old leaves are reading themselves to die by the wind. Such wind which keeps hauling to the windows of my little castle. It's nice enough to have a fireplace to resist the cold when the winter comes. The old owners made sure to stack some wood for me outside despite refusing to get in with me to sign the papers. Odd but maybe they were in a hurry. As I thought, the forest sounds and crackings of the house are all there are to hear. All that is alive. Except for these paintings. They aren't what you would usually see in a rich house that comes from noble lineage. As a failed historian I should know that at least. It's all very bucolic, natural paintings showing huts in the woods. In fact, the same hut. In different locations. As if it's in all of these different natural settings. Or if it grew legs and went from one to the other. There was an old fairy tale telling of something similar. I heard an old villager say, the last which stayed a few kilometers from here. Of a powerful witch who lived in a hut in the forest, a hut with chicken legs which served her along with the forest around her. Her tales served as means to scare children to not go into the woods, otherwise she would eat them. And to be wary of weird deals, even with apparently kind old ladies, but sometimes, in adult tales, she would serve as an advisor or a mother to a hero. Or something between the lines of an anti hero. Babayaga. But enough of old fairy tales. The thing is, these familiar yet weird paintings seemed oddly alive. At evening it was as dark as the sky filled with clouds that covers the moon. The darkness among the forest made its size eternal to the human eye, only showing anything due to fireflies. It made it similar to some of the forests of the paintings. Anyway. While I turning the candles on cause my stupid brain wouldn't think this house at the end of the world wouldn't have electricity. I heard something falling to the ground on the second floor. Maybe I left the window open while fetching wood for the fireplace there earlier? I will go check it out. Then I had this feeling of chill down my spine. Something inside me warned me not to go upstairs. I stopped and looked around while thinking of how nonsensical this is. The only ones who know that I'm here are the previous owners. A pair of old ladies. Since being cheated on by my boyfriend I didn't give much thought to warn anyone about this new adventure. Let my gay ass be alone for a while. Before I lose faith in humanity forever. Just thinking about him made me annoyed enough to keep going, I grabbed a metal candle holder that was in the wall of the staircase and went up there. To my surprise. It was a book at shelves which probably contained lots of books before. This room used to be an old library I suppose. Now filled only with dirt and a painting. This one is a little different from the other, too familiar for my taste. So it was about the old witch, a hut in the woods, with chicken legs standing and looking at me. Before noticing that previous fact I remember how some people in the past also saw her not only as a fairy tale or legend but as a goddess. This house is full of paintings of her house. Maybe the old ladies were into that. The house seemed to take a step further inside the painting. I took a step back. Am I high? Has my depression really came to hallucinations now? I pressed my eyelids together and scrubbed a with my right hand to try to see this straight. The damn hut was really walking and getting closer. It was far away before and now is getting big enough for me to see in it’s window, a figure. Long gray hair, big metal teeth. Smiling and locking her lips. She was looking at me. If this is real… I hope I'm not at the children's fairy tales. I ran as fast as I could. Once getting my foot on the doorstep of the library one of the chicken legs came out of the painting scratching the floors with this terrible metal sound that made my ears bleed. The confusion from the high pitch sound made me drop my candle holder and fall holding my ears. I tried getting up and running to first floor. And all of the paintings of the house were trembling. Whispering all my mistakes, all that he said to me. How appetizing I am. “SHUT UP” I scream, and all of the huts in the paintings turn to me, screaming too. The entire house trembles at the sound. One of my ears probably can't hear anymore. When I got to the entrance door, the door quickly looked itself. “No. No. No. Why??? OPEN ! please. Please.” the house was locking me up in there. Think. Think you idiot. If this is her. You can't deceive her like the little girl in the tale. She can only do that for being too pure and babayaga loves that… I think… I know. I went straight to the kitchen on my left. Memories of him and the other man flowing to my head while the fear of her metal teeth clicking as she laughs following me. Haha. She thinks this is funny. When I opened that door and saw you two. The Whispers in the paintings saying “you so much hotter than him”, “I bet he can't make you happy as I can”, “let's use this bed, he doesn't even come here anyway.” Our bed, our fucking wedding bed. Once I got there. I grabbed the knife at the cabinet and without a second thought I cut my finger off and waited for her to get inside. The pain of it wasnt as big as the whispers, blood, blood, murderer, traitor. Once I saw her I realized I didn't need to cut this. She seemed instantly disgusted at my smile. “do you think I am tasty?” I throw my finger at her, she sniffs my blood from the finger on the floor. The scent flew up almost as if magic I could see the air, rotten, coming up to her nose. Her entirely black eyes. Didn't blink and she just turned and walked away. The Whispers stopped. The house got quiet again. My finger was still bleeding. When looking at this. My guilt wasn't nearly as big as my rage. I'm actually proud of getting rid of you and that bitch. And I won't let a fairy tale burden my new beginning again. There is no love and there is no monster. Only me.