Love?

Mommy Dearest

The house was too quiet that night, the kind of silence that fills the air before something terrible happens. I lay still in my bed, feeling my heart thump against the mattress, trying to convince myself I was imagining things. The clock on my nightstand ticked softly, marking each second, but other than that, there was nothing. No murmurs from Mom's room, no faint hum of the heater. Just silence.

Mom hadn't come in to say goodnight. She hadn't done that in weeks. For a while, I'd still tiptoe down the hall, knock on her door, and tell her I was going to bed. Sometimes she'd answer with a quiet "goodnight," barely glancing at me before shutting her door again. Sometimes she didn't answer at all.

The last time I'd tried to say goodnight, she'd looked at me like I was someone else entirely. She'd stared for a moment, her brow furrowed, her eyes distant, and then she whispered, "Who are you?"

I'd tried to laugh it off, but my stomach had twisted with a kind of cold dread that I couldn't shake. "It's me, Mom. Jamie."

She'd just kept staring, her mouth moving silently as though she was repeating my name, trying to piece together what it meant. But there was nothing behind her eyes. It was like she'd looked right through me, like I was a stranger in my own house. After that, I stopped saying goodnight altogether.

Tonight, though, I couldn't sleep. My skin prickled with a feeling I couldn't shake, a strange sense of being watched. I lay perfectly still, straining to hear something, anything that might give me a clue to what was happening, why I felt so afraid.

Then I heard it-a soft, uneven creak from the hallway. My breath hitched. I wanted to believe it was just the house settling, a trick of the old, warped floorboards. But it came again, the sound slow and measured, like footsteps moving carefully, deliberately, down the hall.

My heart pounded harder, and I held my breath, pressing my head deeper into the pillow. I couldn't move. The footsteps grew louder, closer, until they stopped right outside my door. The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, so complete I could hear the blood pounding in my ears.

And then, soft as a whisper, I heard her voice.

"Jamie..."

It didn't sound right. It was her voice, but not really. It had an edge, something sharp and strange, almost like a smile buried in the words. I kept my eyes shut tight, hoping that maybe, if I stayed still enough, quiet enough, she'd go away.

"Jamie... are you there?" Her voice was low, a coaxing whisper. "Come out... let me see you."

I lay frozen in bed, barely daring to breathe. Her voice sounded different, darker somehow, like someone else was speaking through her. I heard the door creak open slowly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. I didn't dare open my eyes, didn't dare move a muscle as her footsteps entered the room.

"I know you're here," she whispered, her voice closer now, barely a few feet from my bed. She lingered there, just out of sight, as though waiting for me to answer. My stomach twisted, and a sick feeling settled in my chest as her words played over and over in my head.

They were wrong. They weren't the kind of words a mother would say. They sounded... dangerous. But I couldn't bring myself to believe that, to think that my own mom would ever hurt me. So I stayed quiet, hoping she'd leave, that she'd go back to bed and everything would be normal in the morning.

But then, she took another step forward, and I could feel her presence looming over my bed, her shadow stretching across me in the moonlight. "They told me about you," she murmured, her voice sharper now, almost like a hiss. "They told me... you're not mine. You don't belong here."

My heart hammered painfully in my chest, and my skin prickled with cold sweat. What was she talking about? Who was "they"? What did she mean I didn't belong? My mind raced with questions, but I forced myself to stay still, hoping she couldn't hear the sound of my ragged breaths.

"Come out, Jamie," she whispered, her voice dripping with something twisted and dark. "I just want to see you..."

I couldn't take it anymore. I bolted up from bed, stumbling backward as she lurched forward, her face lit up by the pale light coming through the window. Her eyes were wild, glinting with a strange, feverish light. And her smile-her smile was stretched too wide, a cruel, twisted grin that didn't belong on her face.

I backed out of the room, my heart pounding, my breath coming in short gasps. She stepped toward me, slow and unhurried, her eyes never leaving mine, that terrible smile never faltering.

"You don't belong here," she said again, her voice almost sing-song now, mocking. "You're not my little boy. You're... something else." She tilted her head, watching me with a strange, sick fascination.

I turned and ran, nearly tripping over my feet as I bolted down the hallway. The kitchen was just a few steps away. If I could get there, maybe I'd find something to protect myself. Something that would keep her away.

I skidded into the kitchen, my eyes darting frantically around. My hand closed around a small knife on the counter, and I gripped it tight, feeling the cold metal press into my palm. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst, but I held onto the knife, backing into a corner, praying it would be enough.

The footsteps behind me were steady, slow. She was taking her time, each step echoing through the empty house. She appeared in the doorway, her face half-hidden in shadow, but I could still see her eyes, glinting in the dim light. She took another step into the kitchen, and I could see her lips curling into that same awful smile.

"What are you going to do with that, Jamie?" she asked softly, her voice gentle and coaxing. She took another step forward, her hands reaching out toward me. "Put it down... you don't want to hurt your poor mother, do you?"

My fingers tightened around the knife, but they felt weak and slippery with sweat. She was moving closer, and the closer she came, the more my skin crawled, that sense of something wrong, something evil, pressing down on me like a weight.

I tried to raise the knife, my hand shaking, but she just smiled wider, her eyes glinting with that terrible, hungry light. Her fingers stretched out, curling like claws as she reached for me.

"Come here, Jamie," she whispered, her voice dropping to a low, menacing hiss. "Come here, and let me help you... make this right."

I was backed against the counter, trapped, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. She was so close now, her breath warm against my face, her fingers hovering just inches from my skin.

Desperation surged through me, and with a trembling hand, I raised the knife, swinging it wildly, not knowing if I'd even hit her. I just wanted her to stay back, to stop smiling that horrible smile, to stop looking at me like I was something she needed to get rid of.

But her hand shot out, fast as a snake, grabbing my wrist and squeezing it tight. Her grip was so strong it felt like my bones might snap, and the knife slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor. She leaned in close, her breath hot and ragged against my cheek, her eyes never leaving mine.

"There you are," she whispered, her voice low and thick with something dark, something I couldn't name. "No more hiding."

Her hand tightened around my wrist, and a scream bubbled up in my throat, tearing free as she pulled me closer, her eyes shining with a twisted, hungry light that promised I'd never see the light of day again. The scream echoed through the dark house-