My brush

I have always loved art since I was a child. I have spent many countless hours drawing, painting, sculpting, etc. For my 24th birthday, my grandparents bought me a very nice traditional Japanese paint brush along with a small jar of ink. I had always wanted one, being from a Japanese family, and I was very excited to try out my new brush. My grandmother showed me how to hold the brush, and gave me few tips. She then wrote her name in Kanji, I being amazed at how beautiful her penmanship was.

After my family and friends had left the party that night, I quickly retreated to my room to work on my art, using my new brush. I had just recently gotten into drawing full body portraits, so I decided that would be my first drawing. I ended up drawing a girl wearing a short dress. Her hair was long and dark, almost to her knees. I had given her a very simple, but elegant face. I signed my name at the bottom, taking a quick picture before posting my work on Instagram. After cleaning my brush and moving my picture so it could dry, I went to bed.

When I woke up the next morning, I groggily stumbled to my desk, wanting to check on my drawing. However, the paper I had used, was now completely blank. As if I had never drawn on it. I scratched my head, thinking, "I know this is the paper I set out to dry." To confirm my thought, I checked my Instagram. The post I had made was still there, but the paper in the picture was also blank. Even the comments asked "why did you post a piece of paper?" I ended up just deleting the post altogether.

Suddenly, I heard my mother call that breakfast was ready. As I started for the door, I heard a strange noise behind me, like a wet footstep against my carpet. I slowly turned around, praying that someone or something wasn't in the room with me. To my horror, there was a black figure standing beside my window. I stood there, absolutely frozen with fear. The more I stared, the more I realized that I knew this thing next to my window. It was a woman. She was dressed in a short dress, had long dark hair and a simple but elegant face. This was the woman from my drawing...and she was made entirely of ink.

She slowly made her way towards me, her inky feet slapping against the carpet with each step. She then reached out her arm, her fingers dripping ink as she came closer. I don't know what possessed me at that moment, but I grabbed the cup of water on my desk that I had used to clean my brush. I then slung it at the woman, hoping it would distract her long enough for me to get way. However, as soon the water touched her, she immediately melted, leaving a large ink puddle on the floor.

When my parents finally saw the stain on my carpet, I gave the cover story that I had spilt the jar of ink by accident. I put the paint brush in the jar with the rest of my brushes, and to this day, I have never used the brush again. When I asked my grandmother about the brush, she smiled then chuckled a bit. She then said, "Oh, they visit you too."