My Strange Mother-In-Law Has Come Over to Visit

My husband and I live on a sprawling property on the outskirts of Washington. Nestled at the center of the four acres of our own personal forest is a charming, cabin style home he inherited from his grandparents. We moved there fairly recently and are happily settling in. It was a much needed change of pace from our life in the city which seemed ages ago. After I became pregnant five months ago, we decided we should leave our smog ridden condo and move to his newly inherited land. He was able to transfer hospitals due to him being a renowned surgeon and I decided to leave my work as a paralegal and focus on the baby.

I truly enjoyed waking up in the mornings to the fresh air and the chorus of birds chirping. For my husband, it was a return back to his life before I met him in college. Interestingly enough, he never really spoke of his childhood. He told me a few snippets, but overall nowhere near what I have shared with him of mine. I learned that for the most part he grew up with his grandparents in Washington and he loved growing alongside the nature that surrounded him. He said he never knew his father and his mother would often be away so they did not develop a strong relationship. Which is why I found it strange when he suddenly told me she was visiting.

I had met her briefly at our small, mountaintop wedding, but today she would be spending the night. It did not help the fact that when I did meet her at the wedding she barely let out more than a grunt to any of the guests. A huge contrast from my boisterous parents. Which normally, I wouldn’t mind, but I still felt I wasn’t familiar enough with this woman to let her spend the night. Not to mention when my husband told me that his mother would be coming over I felt that there was an uneasiness in his voice. Regardless, this person is his mother and I should become familiar with her before she is to meet the baby once he is born.

She arrived later that evening with a rapid knock at the front door. My husband’s eyes went round as he jumped up to answer the door. As she walked in, I instantly recognized her. She looked exactly the same as when I met her three years ago. She was a fairly short woman, just a smidge over five feet with a portly frame. She also wore a short bob haircut, tortoise shell glasses and an unshapely dress. Overall, she seemed like your local kindergarten teacher.

My husband gave her a brief hug and addressed her as mother. For me, I put on my cheeriest voice and exclaimed how excited I was to see her again. The mother showed a smile that was closer to a grimace. Still, I soldiered on with my cheerful attitude. Due to the late time at which she arrived, we agreed to have dinner and then go to bed. Luckily, I had already prepared the pot roast in the oven. I attempted to make conversation once we were at the table, but I was met with a sharp look from the mother. My husband explained that his mother believes talking during dinner is extremely poor in taste and a distraction from the food. We ate in silence.

I couldn’t help but study her as she ate. She was clearly focused solely what was on her plate. For a minute, she simply stared intently at her food. Suddenly, she began to tear at the roast with her bare hands. I felt my eyebrows raise and looked to my husband, but he was attempting to occupy himself with his own food. When I looked back to the mother again she was halfway finished with her food. The juice from the meat ran down her mouth in rivers and she was grunting happily. It took all of my effort not to gag and even more to eat just a forkful of food. Once she had finished, she quickly announced she was going to bed.

Once my husband and I got settled into our own bed I asked him what was going on. He let out a long sigh and said he would tell me in the morning, but for now, he really just wanted to sleep. Knowing better than to argue, I went to sleep as well. I was awoken in the middle of the night to the sharp sound of a phone ringing. In the darkness, I heard my husband rummaging around his nightstand. He answered and next thing I knew, he told me he had to leave. He was needed at the hospital for an emergency surgery. In moments, he had thrown on clothes and was giving me a kiss, signaling his departure. Right before he left the bedroom, he turned back to me and told me to please stay in the bedroom and wait for him to come back. I found it odd he would tell me such a thing, but I was much too tired to give it any real thought. Gradually, I was drifting off to sleep once more.

I was woken up a second time that night. At first, I had hoped it was my husband returning home, but I quickly realized that was not the case. There were rhythmic thuds coming from somewhere in the house. Not long after, the silence between thuds was replaced with low mutterings. I could not make out the words but it was definitely coming from a woman. I laid paralyzed by fear in my bed. I could hear my breath become shallow and beads of sweat began to form all over my body. I kept looking at the bedroom clock to see how much time had passed. After six minutes both the mutters and the thuds had stopped.

Suddenly, I heard rapid steps coming from one of the bedrooms but the pacing was off. It was too quick to come from someone that was walking on two feet. Again, for six minutes the pacing continued from room to room, at times it even sounded like it was coming from on top of the roof. Eventually, I heard them coming closer to my own bedroom. Soon, the pacing had stopped directly in front of my door. I was now able to hear the labored breathing of whatever lay beyond the bedroom door. The muttering also resumed. It was some sort of chant but the only word I could make out was “child.”

Long scratching along the length of the door began to accompany the muttering. I began to think of my baby and how I had to protect him. It was then that mind shifted to how I needed to escape, but first I needed to lock the bedroom door. In one motion I exited the bed and ran to the door to lock it. As my fingers touched the doorknob the horrific scratches turned into thunderous bangs. The soft, incessant muttering became ear-piercing shrieks. Fear began to grip me so tightly that I felt light headed from my own ragged breathing and my nightgown was now soaked with sweat. I let out a frustrated sob. It was then that I realized I had left my phone in the kitchen. I had no choice but to try to escape from the feral creature.

Luckily, my bedroom was located on the first floor. It seemed my only way of exit was to climb out of our large windows and navigate through the dark, back to the road. It was an insane idea but I could not stand to be in the house any longer with this thing in my house. I swept open the curtains and gazed out into the forest. The sky was cloudless and moonlight shone through the trees and illuminated the forest in an eerie glow. A dense fog also formed along the forest floor. Determined, I motioned to unlock the latches on the window. At once, the shrieking and banging stopped. Hesitation paralyzed my body, but I shook it off. I unlatched one of the locks. Deftly, I went to the second and final lock, but I caught something in my peripheral vision. I slowly shifted my gaze, terrified at what I might see.

Merely inches from the window was the mother. Her short haircut had become matted and wild. Her dress was torn all over, exposing loose, saggy skin underneath. Her chest heaved like she was on the verge of collapse but by far the worst thing was her face. She wore a toothy, demented grin. I had not realized how sharp her teeth were, they were closer to an animal than that of a lady well into her sixties. Her face was shiny with perspiration, and somehow she had gotten deep scratches all over her face. The last thing was her eyes. Her eyes were frightfully wide and constantly rolling in her head. Ever few moments they would land on me, but would swiftly resume their constant vigil of her surroundings. She looked nothing like the lady I had met earlier. This thing wasn’t human.

The mother raised a gnarled, bloodied hand and began to tap on the glass as if she was trying to lure out a frightened rabbit. All I could do was stand there petrified. I dared not to open the last latch as she was waiting there. Slowly, her head began to tilt clockwise. I swear I could hear her bones and muscle strain as her head continued to turn, her eyes now hyper focused on my own. By the time she had completed a full turn I was utterly and completely racked by fear. I sat down on the bed hopeless. Mercifully, I heard a car’s engine in the distance, coming closer and closer. It was my husband finally returning from the hospital. Overwhelming joy swelled in my chest. The mother had also heard the noise and with one leap she scrambled on top of the roof. I made sure to wait for him, never leaving the bedroom.