Mommy Dearest

There was one rule: don’t open the door.

Pain swirls in my stomach as I attempt to keep the vomit down. Sweat slick across my upper lip and a tremble in my hand as I reach for the doorknob. Mama’s voice shrieks from beyond the grave, don’t you fucking open that door, Myra. I pinch my eyes shut as though it will force her out of my mind. I want to scream back, but an invisible hand clamps down around my throat.

“It’s better to forget,” she coos.

The hand loosens from around my throat leaving me choking on my retort. Anger burns its way through my body, landing on my face in a splash of crimson. Violent shakes rattle me, sending my pulse pounds against my veins as I swallow down the bitterness. Shame consumes me as I recall my last session with Doctor Marks.

“What was something she consistently said not to do as a child?”

“Don’t go in the basement. She called it the devil’s sanctuary…sounds kind of silly I know,” my eyes dart around the room, “but I still haven’t opened it.”

“There you go. I want you to start there. It’s a small step to healing your inner child. Face your fears and prove to yourself that maybe not everything she told you was truthful.”

“I'll try,” I huff a laugh.

The memory shakes loose my limbs and I suck in a deep breath.

“Fuck you!” I shout.

Reaching for the knob I twist hard and yank the thing open.

I hold my breath until a creak sends shivers rocketing up my spine and a yelp escaping my lips.

“There she is,” a voice whispers, “I’ve missed you.”

Claws scratch against my skull as memories flood my vision.