My grandmother warned me about painting my nails red. I didn't listen and now I have to pay the price.

"Never paint your nails red", my grandma used to say. I would shrug her off, thinking that it was just a superstition that my Babushka believed in. It was either that or maybe she really, really didn't like red nail varnish. When I asked her why, she told me she would tell me when I got older but that never happened because my grandma passed away when I was 14 years old. She never got the chance to tell me.
As I said, I never believed the words that my Babushka uttered, I never heeded her advice and I should have. As I grew older, the memories of her advice slowly faded and when I reached adulthood, I started painting my nails. I never painted them red to start with though and maybe that was because of some deep seeded fear of my grandmothers words. I couldn't say.
Recently, I turned 25 and I was planning on having a big night out with some of my girlfriends. I was getting ready when I saw something red flash out of the corner of my eye. I turned and to my surprise, on my dresser stood a bright red bottle of red polish. I frowned because I didn't own red nail varnish, it wasn't a colour that ever drew me in. But there it stood, shinning and the red glistened so wonderfully. I found myself suddenly overwhelmingly drawn in. I yearned to paint my nails with that beautiful red.
My hands reached for the bottle and I tentatively wrapped my shaking fingers around it, holding it tight. It shimmered in the warm glow of the evening. I don't know how long I stared at it, a good 10 minutes I think. I twisted the cap open slowly and lifted the brush out - the nail varnish dripped onto my dressing table and as soon as the liquid touched the wood, it spread. I quickly wiped the fluid away, feeling somewhat shaken and yet, I still couldn't take my eyes away from this nail varnish. It was unbranded so I couldn't even comment on its origins.
I couldn't stop myself. I don't even remember doing it but the next thing I knew, my nails were painted in this overpowering red. I looked at them, my hands never looked this beautiful, this elegant. My fingers looked so long, so amazingly graceful. I was admiring them when my phone suddenly rang.
It was an unknown number but I answered it.
"Svetlana! Remove your nail polish, the coffin has got a whiff of you and is trying to find you!", the voice on the phone said and abruptly hung up.
I was confused and a little scared. I shrugged it off and continued to get dressed, stealing quick glances at my beautiful hands whilst doing so. I turned the radio on to listen to some music but instead of hearing the usual station, I was met with the same blood curdling voice.
"Svetlana! Remove your nail polish, the coffin has found your town and is very close to your street!" The ambiguous voice said. I couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman. The voice itself was so chilling though, it pierced through my heart making my blood run cold. I grabbed the nail polish remover and rubbed furiously at my fingers but the nail polish just wouldn't come off. I continued to rub at my fingers until they were red raw, my flesh burned from the friction. It was futile though, the polish was as bright as ever.
At that moment, my TV turned on. The picture was nothing but static - white noise filled my room, overwhelmed my ears and then I heard a distinct voice.
"Svetlana! This is your last chance, remove the nail polish. The coffin has now found your flat, it is running to your door." It was monotonous this time, there was no emotion in that voice. I was so scared, tears streamed down my face. I continued to try and rub the nail polish off but nothing happened. The red colour danced and gleamed in front of my tear filled eyes. It seemed like it was almost mocking me.
I ran to my kitchen and retrieved a knife, I was about ready to just scrape the polish off. I was willing to do anything because the alternative seemed worse, somehow. Whatever it was, it was coming for me. I could feel it.
My TV blared, the radio crackled and my phone rang incessantly. A voice echoed across my flat.
?It?s too late, Svetlana?.
Before I had the chance to do anything, I heard a knock at my door. My heart froze - I froze, unable to move. The knife fell, clattering on the floor. I heard another, much louder knock on my door. I walked over to it and looked through the peephole - there was nobody there. With a sigh of relief, I opened the front door, feeling somewhat foolish.
In front of me stood a coffin - I could swear it was the same coffin that my grandmother was buried in. I stood frozen to the spot, the fear surged through me like electricity through a plug socket. I couldn't move, could barely breathe. All I could muster was a small, faint whimper.
The door of the coffin suddenly opened and within it was the rotting corpse of my grandmother - her skin was loose, almost hanging off. A rotting, earthy smell travelled up my nostrils as I stood transfixed by the horrific sight in front of me. Two desolate holes stared back at me - she had no eyes. She leaned over then and a bunch of insects fell out of her vacant eye sockets - they writhed on the floor in front of my feet, crawling towards me. My grandmother stepped out of the coffin then and staggered toward me, a pained expression graced her decaying face.
?I told you not to paint your nails red, Svetlana. Why didn?t you listen to me??


Source.