The Monster Inside Mother

The Monster Inside Mother

The House of Fading Light

There was a time when our house glowed with warmth. It was more than just a physical warmth from the heat that once flowed through the veins of our home, from the radiators that stood proudly in each room. It was a warmth born of life, love, and laughter. That time had long since faded, like the light in my mother’s eyes.

I was seven when I first noticed the change. It was the year after my father left, leaving behind a void that no one wanted to acknowledge. My mother, Evelyn, once vibrant and full of life, began to withdraw into herself. The vibrant red of her lipstick faded as did the joy she once brought into our lives. Annie, my older sister, stepped up in ways that no child should ever have to. She was only ten, but she became the glue that held us together. She was the one who kept the house clean, who cooked what little food we had, and who made sure I was dressed and ready for school each day.

The house itself seemed to deteriorate alongside my mother. The water damage started in the upstairs bathroom, a slow drip that became a steady stream, staining the ceiling and walls a sickly brown. The radiators rusted, their once comforting warmth reduced to a low, ominous groan. The paint peeled from the walls, curling like the skin of a dying snake. And the smell—the smell of decay, of something rotting deep within the walls—became a permanent fixture, as if the house itself was dying, mirroring the slow destruction of our family.

I remember the day I found my mother’s back teeth on the bathroom floor. They were small, yellowed things, brittle like old bones. She must have lost them while brushing her teeth, or maybe they had simply fallen out on their own. I don’t know why, but I picked them up and put them in a matchbox. I kept them hidden in the back of my closet, as if I could somehow hold onto the pieces of her that were slipping away. I never told Annie about the teeth. It was my secret, my burden to bear.

Annie was always the strong one. Even at ten, she carried herself with a quiet dignity that belied her years. She tried her best to make our house feel like a home, despite the growing darkness that seeped into every corner. She would light candles when the power went out, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. She would tell me stories—stories of brave knights and fierce dragons, of magical kingdoms and heroic quests. But even her stories couldn’t keep the darkness at bay.

At night, when the house was silent and the only sound was the creaking of the floorboards, I would lie awake, clutching the matchbox with my mother’s teeth, listening to the soft hum of the radiators, and wondering when the darkness would swallow us whole.

The Monster Inside Mother, Awakens

There were good days—days when my mother was herself again. On those days, she was warm, affectionate, and full of life. She would take us to the beach, her laughter mixing with the sound of the waves as we ran along the shore. She would make pancakes in the morning, flipping them high into the air, catching them with a flourish. We would sit around the table, syrup dripping down our chins, and for a little while, everything would feel normal again.

But those days became fewer and farther between. Most days, she was lost to us, either absent in body or in mind. When she was heavily intoxicated, she would disappear for days at a time, leaving Annie and me to fend for ourselves. The worst were the nights when she would come home with strangers—men who would slink through the house like shadows, their eyes gleaming with something dark and hungry. The house would fill with chaos on those nights—loud voices, the crash of broken glass, the smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume.

When she was drinking less, she would sit in the kitchen, chain-smoking, her eyes vacant, as if she were somewhere far away. She wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t even acknowledge our presence. Annie would try to engage her, asking if she needed anything, if she was okay, but she never responded. We would often go without food for days on end, surviving on whatever scraps Annie could scrounge up from the pantry or the fridge.

Annie tried to shield me from the worst of it, but I could see the strain in her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged under the weight of responsibility. She became the primary caregiver, not just for me, but for our mother as well. She would tuck me into bed at night, smoothing the hair back from my forehead, whispering that everything would be okay. But I could see the doubt in her eyes, the fear that she tried so hard to hide.

She was my rock, the one stable thing in a world that was crumbling around us. She was the one who held our family together, even as it slowly fell apart. But even she couldn’t stop the darkness that was closing in, the monster that was slowly awakening within our home.

The Crying in the Night

It was on the night of my thirteenth birthday that everything changed. My mother had been absent for days, and there was no word from her. Annie had tried to make the day special, baking a cake from a mix we found in the back of the pantry. It was a sad, lopsided thing, but I appreciated the effort. We sat at the kitchen table, the single candle flickering weakly in the dim light. I made a wish and blew it out, the room plunging into darkness as the flame extinguished.

The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive. I could feel the weight of the unspoken words between us, the resentment that had been building for years. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why doesn’t she care?” I asked, my voice trembling with anger and hurt. “Why doesn’t she love us anymore?”

Annie looked at me, her eyes filled with a sadness that cut me to the bone. “She does love us,” she said quietly. “She’s just… lost.”

“Lost?” I repeated bitterly. “She’s a monster, Annie. She doesn’t care about us. She doesn’t care about anything.”

Annie flinched as if I had struck her. “She’s our mother,” she said softly. “She’s sick, but she’s still our mother.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. The words caught in my throat, choking me. I pushed away from the table and stormed out of the kitchen, the sound of my footsteps echoing through the empty house.

I went to my room, slamming the door behind me. I didn’t want to think about my mother, didn’t want to think about anything. I just wanted to escape, to lose myself in the darkness.

But the darkness had other plans.

It started with a sound—a soft, almost imperceptible crying. At first, I thought it was my imagination, a product of my frayed nerves. But the sound persisted, growing louder, more insistent. It was coming from outside, from the backyard.

I hesitated for a moment, fear gnawing at the edges of my mind. But curiosity got the better of me. I crept to the window, peering out into the darkness.

At first, I saw nothing. The backyard was shrouded in shadows, the trees swaying gently in the night breeze. But then I saw it—a figure, hunched over, its thin, bony frame barely visible in the darkness. It was crouched near the bushes, rocking back and forth, the source of the crying.

My heart raced as I stared at the figure, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. Something about it wasn’t right—something in the way it moved, in the way it cried. It wasn’t human, at least not entirely.

“Annie,” I whispered, my voice trembling with fear. “Annie, come here.”

Annie appeared in the doorway, her expression concerned. “What is it?” she asked, moving to my side.

I pointed to the window, my hand shaking. “There’s something out there,” I whispered.

She looked out the window, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the figure. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the only sound the soft, eerie crying.

Then, without warning, the figure stood up. It was tall—unnaturally tall, its limbs long and spindly like the branches of a dead tree. It began to move towards the house, its movements jerky, almost mechanical.

Annie grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the window. “We need to go,” she said urgently. “Now.”

We ran down the hall, our footsteps echoing through the empty house. We locked ourselves in the bathroom, the door rattling on its hinges as we slammed it shut. My heart pounded in my chest, fear coursing through my veins.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Annie didn’t answer. She was pale, her eyes wide with fear. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “But it’s not human.”

The Monster Unleashed

We huddled together in the bathroom, our breath coming in ragged gasps. The only light came from the small window above the sink, casting an eerie glow on the tiled walls. The house was silent, the oppressive silence broken only by the faint sound of the wind outside.

And then, the banging started.

It was a slow, methodical sound, a steady thumping that echoed through the walls. It started at the front door, then moved to the windows, each bang causing the glass to rattle in its frame. The figure was circling the house, testing the boundaries, looking for a way in.

I clung to Annie, my heart pounding in my chest. I could feel her trembling beside me, her fear a palpable presence in the small room.

“What do we do?” I whispered, my voice trembling with panic.

Annie took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “We need to call the police,” she said, her voice shaking. “They’ll know what to do.”

She reached for her phone, but then hesitated. “I left it in the kitchen,” she said, her voice barely audible.

I felt a wave of dread wash over me. The kitchen was on the other side of the house, far from the safety of the bathroom. To get the phone, she would have to leave the room, leave me alone.

“I’ll go with you,” I said, my voice trembling.

“No,” Annie said firmly. “You stay here. Lock the door behind me.”

Before I could protest, she slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I did as she said, locking the door, my hands shaking so badly I could barely turn the key.

I pressed my ear against the door, straining to hear any sound. The house was silent, the banging having stopped. I waited, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

Then, I heard it—a soft, almost imperceptible scratching at the bathroom door. I froze, my heart skipping a beat. The sound was followed by a voice, a low, raspy whisper.

“Let me in,” the voice said, sending a chill down my spine. “It’s me… your mother.”

I recoiled from the door, fear gripping me. I knew it wasn’t my mother. It couldn’t be. The voice was wrong—too deep, too distorted.

But then I heard another voice—a softer, more familiar one.

“It’s okay,” the voice said gently. “It’s me, Annie. Open the door.”

I hesitated, confusion clouding my mind. The voices were overlapping, blending together, creating a twisted symphony of terror.

“Open the door,” they said in unison, their voices growing more insistent.

I backed away from the door, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t know what to do, didn’t know who to trust. The voices were relentless, pounding against my mind, tearing at the edges of my sanity.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the voices stopped. The silence that followed was deafening, pressing down on me like a physical weight.

I stood there, frozen in place, my mind racing. I didn’t know how long I stood there, the silence stretching out into eternity. And then, I heard the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, moving away from the door.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I had to find Annie, had to make sure she was okay. I couldn’t stay in the bathroom any longer, couldn’t stand the crushing silence.

I unlocked the door, opening it a crack, peering out into the dark hallway. The house was silent, the air heavy with tension. I stepped out into the hallway, my footsteps echoing through the empty house.

I made my way to the kitchen, my heart pounding in my chest. The door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling out into the hallway. I pushed the door open, stepping into the room.

The kitchen was empty, the phone lying on the table. But there was no sign of Annie.

My heart sank as I realized what had happened. The figure, the thing that had been outside, had gotten to her. It had taken her, just like it had taken my mother.

I grabbed the phone, dialing the police with shaking hands. The line rang and rang, the sound echoing in the empty room.

Finally, a voice answered, crackling through the static. “911, what is your emergency?”

I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat, choking me. I could feel the panic rising, threatening to overwhelm me.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” the voice on the other end asked, a note of concern in their voice.

I took a deep breath, forcing the words out. “There’s something in my house,” I said, my voice trembling. “It’s taken my sister… and my mother.”

The voice on the other end was calm, reassuring. “Stay on the line,” they said. “Help is on the way.”

I collapsed into a chair, the phone clutched in my hands, my mind reeling. I didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to fight the thing that had taken my family.

All I could do was wait.

The Monster Inside Mother, Revealed

The minutes dragged on, each one an eternity. I sat in the kitchen, my back against the cold, hard wall, the phone clutched in my trembling hands. The dispatcher’s voice was a distant murmur in my ear, a lifeline to a world that felt a million miles away.

And then, finally, I heard the sound of sirens in the distance, growing louder as they approached. Relief washed over me, a small flicker of hope in the darkness.

The flashing lights filled the room with a strobe of red and blue as the police cars pulled up outside. I could hear the doors slam, the sound of heavy boots on the pavement. I ran to the front door, throwing it open, my heart pounding in my chest.

The officers rushed in, their faces grim, their eyes scanning the house for any sign of danger. One of them, a tall man with a stern expression, knelt down in front of me.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

I nodded, the words still stuck in my throat. I was okay, but Annie wasn’t. And neither was my mother.

I told them everything—about the figure outside, about the voices at the door, about Annie going missing. The officer listened carefully, his expression growing more serious with each word.

“We’ll find them,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “But I need you to stay here, okay? We’re going to search the house.”

I nodded again, my mind numb with fear and exhaustion. I watched as the officers fanned out, moving through the house with purpose, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.

It didn’t take long for them to find her.

They found Annie in the basement, unconscious but alive. She was lying on the cold, damp floor, her body curled into a tight ball. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow, but she was alive.

They brought her upstairs, laying her on the couch. One of the officers checked her over, his brow furrowed in concern.

“She’s in shock,” he said, his voice low. “We need to get her to the hospital.”

But even as they prepared to take her away, my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about the figure, the thing that had been outside, the thing that had taken my mother. I had a terrible feeling that it wasn’t over, that the monster wasn’t done with us yet.

As they loaded Annie into the ambulance, I stood in the doorway, staring out into the night. The darkness seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a malevolent presence that watched and waited.

And then, I saw her.

My mother.

She was standing at the edge of the yard, her figure barely visible in the darkness. But it was her—I knew it was. The way she stood, the way she tilted her head to the side, it was all too familiar.

But something was wrong. Her movements were jerky, unnatural, like a puppet being controlled by invisible strings. Her eyes were wide, too wide, and there was something in them—something dark, something that wasn’t my mother.

I took a step forward, my heart pounding in my chest. “Mom?” I called out, my voice trembling.

She didn’t respond. She just stood there, staring at me with those wide, empty eyes. And then, she began to move towards me, her movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey.

Fear gripped me, freezing me in place. I wanted to run, wanted to scream, but I couldn’t move. I could only watch as she came closer and closer, her eyes locked on mine.

And then, she was right in front of me, so close I could see the sweat on her brow, the tremble in her hands. But her eyes… her eyes were dead.

“Let me in,” she whispered, her voice low and raspy, like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. “Let me in, darling.”

I recoiled, fear and confusion warring within me. This wasn’t my mother. This was something else, something wearing her skin, something that had taken her from me.

But before I could react, the officers were there, pulling me back, shielding me from her. They moved quickly, their voices sharp and commanding as they restrained her, as they took her away.

I watched in stunned silence as they led her to the ambulance, as they strapped her down to the gurney. She didn’t fight, didn’t resist. She just stared at me, those wide, empty eyes boring into my soul.

And then, they were gone, the ambulance speeding off into the night, taking her with it.

The Aftermath

In the days that followed, the house was eerily quiet. The police came and went, asking questions, taking notes, but they didn’t find any answers. My mother was in the hospital, sedated, her condition stable but unresponsive. They said it was the drugs, that she had overdosed, that she was lucky to be alive.

But I knew better. I knew that the thing I had seen wasn’t my mother, at least not anymore. It was something else, something darker, something that had taken her over, that had turned her into a monster.

Annie was recovering slowly, her memory of that night fragmented and hazy. She couldn’t remember much—just the sound of the crying, the feeling of cold hands on her skin, the sense of something terrible watching her from the shadows. But she was alive, and that was all that mattered to me.

We tried to go back to our lives, to pretend that everything was normal, but it was impossible. The house was still the same—dilapidated, decaying, filled with the stench of rot and despair. But it was more than that. The house felt different, as if the darkness that had seeped into the walls had grown stronger, more malignant.

I could feel it watching me, could feel its presence in every creak of the floorboards, every groan of the radiators. It was as if the house itself had become a living thing, a monster that fed on our fear and misery.

I didn’t know how to fight it, didn’t know how to protect us from it. All I knew was that it wasn’t over, that the monster was still out there, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And then, one night, it did.

The Final Realization

It was late, the house silent and still. I was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The events of the past few weeks replayed in my mind, a constant loop of fear and confusion.

And then, I heard it—the soft, eerie crying, the same crying I had heard on the night of my thirteenth birthday. My heart skipped a beat, dread washing over me. It was back. The monster was back.

I got out of bed, my hands shaking as I reached for the matchbox on my nightstand. I had kept it all these years, the tiny box that held my mother’s teeth, a grim reminder of the way things had been, the way they were now. I clutched it in my hand, the smooth wood cool against my skin, a small comfort in the face of the growing terror.

The crying grew louder, more insistent, filling the house with its haunting melody. I knew I should stay in my room, knew I should lock the door and wait it out, but I couldn’t. Something was drawing me to the source, something deep and primal that I couldn’t resist.

I left my room, the matchbox clutched tightly in my hand, and made my way down the hall. The house was dark, the shadows deep and foreboding, but I pressed on, following the sound.

It led me to the basement, the place where they had found Annie, the place where the darkness was strongest. The door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling out into the hallway, just like before.

I hesitated for a moment, fear gnawing at the edges of my mind. But I had to know. I had to see for myself.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The basement was cold, the air heavy with the stench of mold and decay. The light from the single bulb overhead cast long, twisted shadows on the walls, giving the room an otherworldly feel.

And then, I saw her.

My mother.

She was sitting in the corner, her knees drawn up to her chest, her head resting on her arms. Her body was thin, emaciated, her skin pale and clammy. But it was her eyes that terrified me the most. They were wide, too wide, and filled with a darkness that seemed to swallow all light.

She looked up at me as I entered, her gaze piercing, as if she could see right through me.

“Let me in,” she whispered, her voice low and rasping, echoing in the cold, empty room. “Let me in, darling.”

I took a step back, fear and confusion warring within me. This wasn’t my mother. This was the monster, the thing that had taken her from me.

But then, something changed. The darkness in her eyes shifted, giving way to something else—something sad, something desperate.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Please, help me.”

For a moment, I was frozen, unable to move, unable to think. The matchbox in my hand felt heavy, the weight of it pulling me down, grounding me in the reality of the situation.

This was my mother—what was left of her, at least. The monster had taken her, had twisted her into something dark and terrible, but there was still a part of her left, a part that was crying out for help.

I didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help her, but I had to try.

I took a step forward, then another, until I was standing right in front of her. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and despair.

And then, I did the only thing I could think of. I opened the matchbox and held it out to her.

Her eyes widened in recognition, a single tear slipping down her cheek. She reached out, her hand trembling, and took the matchbox from me.

For a moment, nothing happened. She just sat there, staring at the tiny box in her hand, her expression unreadable.

And then, slowly, she began to change.

The darkness in her eyes faded, replaced by a soft, warm light. Her body relaxed, the tension draining away, leaving her looking peaceful, almost serene.

She looked up at me, her gaze filled with love and gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft and tender. “Thank you, my darling.”

And then, she was gone.

The light in the room flickered, then went out, plunging me into darkness. I stood there, the empty matchbox in my hand, the cold air pressing in around me.

I knew, in that moment, that it was over. The monster was gone, and so was my mother. She was free, finally free from the darkness that had consumed her.

But the house… the house was still here. And the darkness that had seeped into its walls, the darkness that had fed on our fear and misery, was still here, too.

I turned and left the basement, closing the door behind me. The house was silent, the oppressive silence broken only by the sound of my footsteps as I made my way back to my room.

I climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, the empty matchbox resting on the nightstand beside me.

The darkness was still there, lurking in the corners, watching, waiting. But it didn’t scare me anymore. I knew now that the real monsters weren’t the ones that hid in the shadows. They were the ones that destroyed from within, the ones that took everything you loved and twisted it into something dark and terrible.

And I knew that, no matter what, I would never let that darkness take me. I would never let it turn me into a monster.

As I closed my eyes, I felt a sense of peace wash over me, a peace that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The monster was gone, and my mother was free.

But the house… the house was still here.

And the darkness… the darkness was still waiting.

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Tagged as:
Dark Fantasy Gothic Horror Horror Fiction Horror Stories Psychological horror Supernatural Suspense Terror thriller

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