Creepypasta compilation

A Mother's Love

David and I had been going strong for years; 14 to be exact. We started dating in our freshman year of high school, and we immediately knew we'd be spending the rest of our lives together. Of course no one believed it, but they were the ones sitting back and waiting for years on a break up that would never come. We were inseparable, and above all else: very much in love. The only way to officiate our love in everyone else's eyes was to get married, so that's what we did. Neither of us really cared about getting married, but the ceremony was beautiful and a piece of me was really excited to be able to call David my husband.

Things were going so well that we decided it was time to start trying for a baby. We had talked about having children for years, it was so surreal to actually be trying for one. Everything was falling into place, until three months went by. Four. Five. Six. I had calculated everything perfectly and I knew when I ovulated, yet I still was unable to get pregnant. I'll save you the stories of heartbreak: I was unable to conceive. A >1% chance if I remember correctly. We were heartbroken, but our love never so much as wilted. It only made us stronger. We adjusted well to idea of never being parents, but we both felt a deep longing that only a child could extinguish. Years passed without so much as a late period.

Imagine our surprise, and happiness, when we discovered that I was pregnant at 28. It had to have been a miracle! I saw my OB/GYN immediately, and because I was considered "high risk" due to my previous diagnoses I had to see her every three weeks throughout my pregnancy. The copays, the needle pricks, the pain and hormones all meant nothing as soon as I held Melissa for the first time. All of my worries melted away at the time. But as soon as I saw the look on Dr. Naber's face after I gave birth, I knew something was wrong.

Melissa, my little angel, was born with a rare disability. She would never be able to speak or walk. Apparently, David and I both had a gene that we passed down to her to cause her muscles to be weak and her cognitive abilities to be slowed. It was heartbreaking to hear her tell me this was a severe case, probably the worst she'd ever seen. Hundreds of thousands of dollars would have to be spent on treatment, in home care, devices and medication to ease Melissa's suffering. We obliged with no qualms; Melissa was our daughter. We would do anything to give her the life she deserved. So David took on extra cases at the firm, and we bought the best health insurance available. Meanwhile, I stayed home with Melissa to tend to her every need. Using a pump to break the mucus up in her lungs so she doesn't choke to death, getting her to take her medication, physical therapy, you name it. It was extremely difficult, but I adjusted for her.

So, this brings us to about two years after Melissa was born. I had been in the kitchen making her lunch when my phone buzzed with a text. The sender had no visible number; just "Unknown" in its place. I opened it and proceeded to read the most horrifying message, one that would continue to haunt me for years to come:

Kill your daughter

I threw my phone down and immediately called David to come home. I panicked until the moment he arrived, only slightly comforted by his soothing voice and reassurance.

"It's probably just a prank. A dark, twisted prank. But a prank nonetheless. I would never let anything happen to you or Melissa. If you want, we can even go file a police report. You said moms still texted you sometimes right? Maybe someone who, uh, is intolerant to children with disabilities had gotten your number from that group and just wanted to mess with you." I nodded. That was a possibility.

You see, I was a stay at home mom for a year after Mel was born until I decided to start a support group for mothers raising children with disabilities. It started off quite small – about 8 ladies would join me at our house for monthly meetings. Soon 8 turned into 20 and 20 into 50, apparently Portland mothers needed a group like this. With the exposure Facebook and our own website gave us, I was getting phone calls from mothers every day. I was ecstatic to have been able to help the women, but my house was just too small to continue to hold the meetings and Mel fussed when the house was full. Karen Strauss, one of the wealthier moms, decided to start holding the meetings at her large two story in Lake Oswego. I eventually stopped attending the meetings, but still received phone calls every now and then from mothers wanting to attend. I guess my personal cell was still the "business" number in the Facebook group.