The Painting in the Attic

My name is Alex. I am 12 years old and I live in Surrey, England. My parents have just broke up which is pretty bad, but hey, look on the bright side.
I now get to move into a new house with my dad (who just so happens to be rich). Now my dad is an awesome guy.
He buys me whatever I want, lets me get whatever I want to eat, etc. But my mum on the other hand is a fucking bitch. I hate her with a burning passion.
Anyway, before I digress into personal matters, let's talk about my new house. It's in the middle of nowhere which sucks. I can't make new friends around here. I was never really good at talking to people in the first place. As a result of this I had to find something to do.
My dad had just bought me a new Macbook. Pretty sweet, right? Anyway, being the guitar player I am, I decided to watch some videos of guitars on YouTube. I ended up looking at a 1959 Gibson Les Paul video which were worth almost half a million pounds!
There were many missing... and many had been said to be lost in attics... like mine... SHIT! I hadn't been up there yet! Time to check out what loot I could find. I couldn't wait to get up there.
As I progressed towards the upstairs hallway, I saw the panel that led me up to the attic. I couldn't wait to get up there and check everything out. As I reached for the string to get up, I heard a shout from downstairs. It was my dad.
"Alex!" he exclaimed. "Get down here right now!"
"Coming father!" I replied in disbelief to my non existent wrong doings.
When I got down the stairs, I saw my dad looking very puzzled as he was decorating the kitchen. As he stripped the wallpaper off of the wall, lines were being revealed. After 10 minutes of removing the wallpaper, we could make out a sentence. A sentence that chilled me to the bone.
"Don't go up there, Alex"
Me and my dad looked at each other in disbelief. What could this mean?
"Is this some kind of fucking sick joke, Alex?" my dad said in denial.
"Yes, I wrote this and put the wallpaper back on" I replied sarcastically, but shaking in fear.
"We have to go up there" I said to him. "Find out what's going on"
As we approached to panel to the attic, my dad looked at it, looking pale and like he was about to drop dead with fear. I volunteered to go first, but he pushed me behind him. He went up the ladder and I followed.
As we entered the attic, the temperature difference was shocking. It sent a massive cold sensation through my body. It felt nice in the summer's heat. Anyway, as scared as we were, we looked around to find nothing but something a sheet over it. As we both sighed in relief and progressed towards the "thing". My dad whipped the sheet off it, acting like everything was over. It wasn't. Things just got worse from here, but at this point we had no idea.
It was a painting of a very comely woman, probably from around the 1800's. As we stared at the picture, it stared back with hate filled eyes. Something in her facial expression look unwelcoming; almost as if we were trespassing. This was when we knew that nothing was wrong, cause I mean, it was just a painting.
As we went downstairs, we carried on with our usual things. I went back onto my computer, my dad carried on wallpapering the kitchen, believing that the sentence on the wall was probably part of a prank from the previous owners of the house. Yet it was all very coincidental. As time passed, we started to get tired and decided that it was time to go to bed.
Due to the fact that it was very late, I decided to hit the hay. I fell into a very deep sleep, which was later disturbed by a strange tapping noise coming from my dad's bedroom at 3 o'clock in the morning.
Startled, I sprinted to my father's bedroom, where the door was wide open, a blast of freezing cold temperature was radiating from it. I looked in and around. He wasn't there. I searched the entire house for him, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen. There was only one more place he could be.
The attic.
I nervously climbed the ladder, shaking in fear. The panel to the attic was half open, which tells me he had to be up there. As I progressed towards the half open panel, I saw the ghostly painting, however the sheet was over it again. I crawled over to it and nervously removed the sheet. To my surprise, the painting had been altered. The pretty woman was smiling next to a body with a severed head. I recognized the pajamas.
The man in the picture was my dad.
I let out a blood curdling scream, and to my surprise, there was writing on the wall to my left. It read:
"I warned you Alex. You're next"
It was then that the woman in the painting had stopped smiling, and was staring as me again with her cold, unwelcoming gaze.
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