The room was big and had large windows. Against one of the walls was a shelf with books, and scattered around the place were boxes containing all sorts of toys, cars, small airplanes, plush animals...Facing the main window was a desk with a computer on it. And, hanging on the wall ,facing the bed, was the picture. It was not a big one. It was framed in golden wood and the little boy remembered seeing that picture on the wall all his life- that is, all the time ever since he was a baby that picture had been hanging there. He would look at it before going to bed and when he would wake up in the morning. It was a painting of a very nice looking house, with smoke coming out of the chimney and, far away in the background, a neat small town. For some reason, lately, the little boy had been looking at the painting more and more closely. And thus he discovered a portion of funny small details...and the continuous changes in it. First he had noticed the changing of the seasons : how the november snow flakes timidly covered the ground, how the sky became grey and then, next morning, the boy would come out of bed to see that the world outside his window was entirely white...and the same happened in the landscape of the painting on the wall. And if he would come real close to the picture he would see, on the fresh snow in front of the painted house, a row of footprints on the soft snow...
Strangely, he didn't feel the least bit scared ! But he understood inside himself that he didn't want to share the secret of the picture with anyone - not even his mother. He decided to do a bit of detective work : he wanted to know a bit more about the painting - the oil painting - on the wall : who had made it ? Who had bought it ? And why was it put in his room ?
No one seemed to be able to answer to the first two questions. His grandmother seemed to remember she had found it in her own attic...or was it another painting ? Yes, it was another painting representing a castle near a lake. As to why it was put in his room...well, it just happened. Just seemed appropriate, after all it was a beautiful painting that represented a very nice house having in its background a neat little town. If you set your eyes real close you could see, in that small town, the church, the main bank, tiny cars...but this no one knew about. It was his little secret. And so everyday he looked at the painting and felt that it was not lifeless as common oil on canvas...it was sort of a window to another world !
Winter came and went away. Spring announced itself with a fresh blue sky and green baby buds on the trees. Faraway, at the edge of the small town, the lake that was used for ice skating was now merrily covered with various boats.
Time went by and the little boy kept his attention focused on the painting...it seemed he made a discovery almost every day. He was now sure the little house was inhabited...for one thing, there was the smoke coming out of the chimney. And he could swear he noticed the faintest glow of the lights of the Christmas tree, last December. And how could you explain the carefully tended garden, among other things ? And what about the antenna for the television , on the roof ? And he could swear one day he even heard the faintest bark of a little dog...but this was really getting a bit too much : now not only he saw things, but began hearing things as well !
Absolutely unexpected, the trouble began at the dinner table. He didn't feel much like eating stew. He planned to eat just a bit of bread with jam and drink a glass of milk and then go to his room, supposedly to finish his maths homework. But his mother thought a bit differently :
-There is something here which is not ok. Just yesterday I met your teacher in the supermarket and she told me how uninterested you seem to be during the classes. She even asked if you are sick. And I understand, you don't seem to be yourself anymore...you always look tired and pale, you don't anymore play with your friends, you isolate yourself in your room...
At this point his father said :
-I think your mom is right, you know ? You seem somehow different...
-Maybe it's just tiredness - suggested the mother.-Do you feel tired, is that it ?
-I think it is something else.- said the father.-It's as tough he would be worried about something...Tell me, son : is there anything bothering you ? Is there someone who is scaring you ? You can tell me, don't be afraid...
The boy kept his eyes on the plate. And very quietly said that there was nothing the matter with him.
-Maybe he is just nervous about the coming examinations - whispered the mother. And that seemed to calm down the little boy's father. It calmed him as well...as long as the parents didn't suspect his little secret...he was vaguely afraid that one day they would find out what was going on. And what was going on is that he actually was obsessed with the picture. He would keep the small light by his bed and would look at the painting until his eyes closed of pure exhaustion. Next morning he would look at it, to see if there was any change, and after school he wouldn't play with anyone, he would just rush home , drink a quick glass of milk and go to his room, where he feverishly looked at the picture, in the hope of some small, microscopic change that might give him the key for the whole mystery... because by now, months after he first noticed the changes in the painting (could it be so that there had always been changes, but he hadn't noticed them ?)
he was firmly convinced that there was a mystery behind it, and he would never any more find peace in his life nor be able to be the carefree kid that he once was - enjoying school, doing his homework, playing football with his friends...one solution would of course be to take the picture out of the room and put it somewhere else, why not the hall ? He even materialized the thought and hung the painting near the main door, but not for long. He couldn't stand the tremendous emptiness that seemed to fill the room. He also felt insecure, uneasy. And strangely alone. So he just put it back on the wall, where already it had left a lighter square, marking where the picture had been hanging for so many years.

It happened about one week after that dinner during which his parents had shown concern about him and his unusual behavior. He was feeling sad. As a matter of fact, he was getting more and more sad, more lonely. And more frustrated. He hardly went out of the room : only for the absolutely essential things, like eating or going to school. The rest of the time he would stare at the painting, sometimes so hard that his eyes burned. And still he had not been able to find anything. It was infuriating. He got so desperate that he would even throw things at the picture. Sometimes he felt like breaking it, cutting it to pieces or even burning it. And he felt afraid of his own self, who was able of such violent ideas. It was a new thought about himself...He decided he needed to talk to someone. Perhaps his father ? But his father was all the time so busy he would hardly listen...Perhaps mother. But mother, he knew it, was the kind of practical person who would solve the case with some drastic move like selling the painting or simply giving it away. And the thought of never seeing it again filled him with unbearable sadness. And the fact that then he would never be able to decipher what was behind it made him feel frustrated. It really seemed like a hopeless situation...And that particular day he felt particularly vulnerable. He had understood that in his class at school no one was anymore keeping him company during lunch time ; no one invited him to play anymore...as a matter of fact, no one even bothered to speak with him any longer. Come to think of it, Joachim's birthday had been two weeks before. Joachim used to be his best friend...well, his best friend had not even invited him for his party...on the other hand, to be honest, it totally slipped his mind to phone and say congratulations...everyone seemed to be avoiding him. His own parents seemed colder, lately...
Bernard, the little boy, kept looking at the picture with longing in his eyes : Oh, if only he would be able, at least once, to plunge into that strangely peaceful world...just to see who lived in that house, to be able to look at the world from inside that house...could it be that there was a kid living there as well, a kid who, in his room, would have a painting hanging on the wall and which would represent Bernard's house ? Stop ! Bernard said to his own thoughts . I am surely getting mad !
...and suddenly, so suddenly he hadn't the time to think, he saw the small house of the painting in front of him. In flesh and blood. Pardon : in wood and brick. The house. A real house, with a garden surrounding it, and the wooden gate he had seen so many times. All was there, real as real can be, in front of him. Like walking in a dream, he approached the house. The front door opened and a boy of about his age with a bright smile on a freckled face said to him : "Hello ! Come on in ! Mamma has just made a chocolate cake for us. Come and wash your hands before we go to the table. And then we'll have all the afternoon to play !"
That evening, when Bernard's mother called him for dinner, he sat at the table with a relaxed, happy face and said "no thanks" when she asked if he wanted a little bit more chicken. He was still stuffed with chocolate cake !