I Heard My Mom Yell My Name From The Kitchen. Then She Texted Me From The Grocery Store.

​I Heard My Mom Yell My Name From The Kitchen. Then She Texted Me From The Grocery Store.

​It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. The kind where the dust motes dance in the sunlight and the house feels safe and warm. I was in my bedroom upstairs, headphones on, scrolling through social media.

​I paused my music when I heard it.

​"Leo! Can you come down here for a second?"

​It was my mom’s voice. Unmistakable. It had that specific cadence she used when she needed help with something mundane, like opening a jar or reaching a high shelf.

​"Coming!" I yelled back. I tossed my headphones on the bed and started walking toward the door.

​"Hurry up, honey! I have a surprise for you," the voice called again. It was coming from the kitchen.

​I was halfway into the hallway, my hand on the banister, when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I almost ignored it, but out of habit, I pulled it out to check the notification.

​It was a text from Mom.

​Sent 1 minute ago:

"Hey sweetie, the checkout line at Walmart is crazy long. I’ll be home in about 30 minutes. Do you want pizza for dinner?"

​I stopped dead in my tracks. My blood turned to ice.

​I stared at the screen. Below the text was a photo she had sent—a selfie of her making a bored face, standing in a crowded aisle at the grocery store. The timestamp was current.

​If Mom was at the store... who was in the kitchen?

​"Leo? Why did you stop walking?"

​The voice downstairs changed. It wasn't warm anymore. It was impatient. And it was louder.

​I slowly backed away from the stairs, trying not to make the floorboards creak. My heart was hammering so hard against my ribs I thought "she" might hear it.

​"I... I just forgot my phone, Mom! One second!" I lied, my voice trembling.

​"You don't need your phone, Leo," the voice replied instantly. It was deeper now. Less like my mother, and more like someone trying to sound like her but forgetting to pitch it up. "Just come down. I’m waiting."

​I retreated into my room and locked the door. It was a flimsy lock, one that could be popped with a credit card. I shoved my desk chair under the doorknob.

​I texted my mom back, my fingers shaking so bad I could barely type.

"Mom, are you seriously at the store?"

​"Yes, why? Is everything okay?"

​"Call the police. Someone is in the house. They sound like you."

​I waited. Silence from downstairs. The house was dead quiet again.

​Then, I heard footsteps on the stairs.

​They weren't the footsteps of a middle-aged woman. They were heavy, wet thuds. Thump... squelch... thump.

​They stopped right outside my bedroom door.

​"Leo," the voice whispered. It was right up against the wood. "I know you're in there. Your phone is lying. I'm your real mother. Open the door."

​I didn't answer. I backed into the corner of the room, clutching a baseball bat I kept under my bed.

​The doorknob slowly began to turn. The lock clicked, straining against the chair I had jammed under it.

​"Open the door, Leo," the voice growled. It sounded distorted now, like two voices speaking at once—one high, one guttural. "I want to show you the surprise. I have... so many teeth to show you."

​Then, the pounding started. It wasn't a fist. It sounded like someone was throwing their entire body weight against the door. The wood splintered. The chair skidded an inch across the floor.

​SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

​"POLICE!"

​The shout came from outside. Sirens wailed in the distance. My mom had called them.

​The pounding stopped instantly.

​There was a long, agonizing silence. Then, I heard a sound that will haunt me until the day I die. It was the sound of bones cracking and shifting, followed by the noise of something scuttling away on all fours, moving impossibly fast down the hallway and into the attic vent.

​When the police broke in, the house was empty. They found deep scratches on my door—gouges that looked like they were made by iron claws, not human hands.

​My mom came home crying, hugging me. We stayed at a hotel that night. But we never found out what it was.

​Sometimes, late at night, I still hear her voice calling me from the attic.

"Leo... come up here. It’s safe now."

​But I know my mom is asleep in the next room.