This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Pprdge_Frm_Rmbrs on 2024-11-30 03:39:02+00:00.
I’ve been traveling a lot for work, and I hate it—I have a young family at home and as of late, I’ve only been able to spend time with them on the weekends. Which has been extra frustrating as it’s made it more difficult to bond with my stepdaughter.
She was two when her mother and I started to date, and is very much, “mama’s girl.” Now four, and even with us recently having some break through moments, I still feel like there’s a distance between us. It’s understandable though—her father was never in the picture and for the first two years of her life, it was just her and her mom. Now there’s suddenly this man around all the time—it’s been a lot to process for someone so young.
My wife hasn’t spoken much on her daughter’s father—only to say that it was a short-lived fling and that he’d died shortly after they separated—he’d never even known she was pregnant. I’m not sure exactly how he passed away really, but I try not to pry about it as she becomes quiet and withdrawn whenever the topic is broached.
I’ve often speculated that maybe he wasn’t a “good” man as she mentioned that she moved to our town to “get away from it all”—came across the country to somewhere that no one would know who she was—wanted a fresh start.
It’s not the most traditional family origin story, but things were finally starting to come together for us, and then my company decided to send me out on the road.
It’s especially brutal now with the holidays—I missed Thanksgiving because I needed to be at a conference abroad. And a FaceTime while they were at dinner at my parents’ house just wasn’t enough.
They don’t know it, but sometimes when I get back to my hotel, I like to "spy" on them through our living room camera. It’s so sweet watching my stepdaughter play dolls with her mother or seeing them snuggled up on the couch watching a movie.
Usually, they're talking about ponies or princesses—but last night I overheard a… different… exchange between the two of them.
One that frightened me to my very core.
One that’s made me question whether I can ever go home again…
****
“Mama, do you ‘member when I was in your belly?”
“Of course I do! Carrying you in my tummy is something that Mama will never forget. Why do you ask, baby?”
“Oh, I just wanted to see if you ‘membered it too.”
“What do you mean, honey? Do you remember being in Mama’s belly?”
“Mhmm. It was nice in there—warm and cozy. ‘Cept I didn’t like the voice…”
“The voice? What voice, baby?”
“You know the voice, Mama.”
“I’m not sure, sweetheart—did you maybe hear me and daddy while you were in there? We talked to you all the time!”
“No, your voices were nice. This one was mean.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, darling—maybe it was a movie or TV show we were watching…”
“I don’t think so, Mama. It talked to me a lot.”
“…what did it talk to you about…?”
“Bad stuff…”
“…what kind of bad stuff, baby?”
“It likes to hurt people, Mama.”
“Oh, sweetheart… It sounds like maybe you had a nightmare. Was this something you dreamed last night?”
“No, Mama, these are mem’ries, not dreams.”
“What makes you say that, baby?”
“You should know, Mama—it’s your voice.”
“But you said my voice is nice and this one was mean.”
“No, it’s not your voice—it’s the voice from your head.”
“I… don’t have a voice in my head…”
“Yes, you do! It told me it’s always been with you.”
“No… I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop this.”
“Don’t worry, Mama—it said it won’t hurt me. It said we’re friends.”
“Let’s talk about something else… Do you want to play dolls?”
“Who’s Janice, Mama?”
“Janice… How do you know…?”
“Did you hurt Janice, Mama?”
“I didn’t… That was… I was a just a child… Please, stop now.”
“It’s okay, Mama. It told me you don’t always ‘member what you do when it takes over.”
“Stop! There is no voice. There is no Janice. You will never speak that name again; do you understand me?!”
“What about the others?”
“Others…?”
“Janice was only the first. It said you’ve hurt a lot of people, Mama.”
“Shut up.”
“Do you still hear it, Mama?”
“Shut. Up.”
“Are you still hurting people, Mama?”
“SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!”
“Don’t yell at me, Mama!”
“I’m... I’m sorry, baby, but the things you’re talking about… They shouldn’t… Have you told anyone else about this voice?”
“No, Mama—just you.”
“Good. That’s… that’s good, sweetie... So, you’re getting pretty big, right?”
“Yea, I’m growing up!”
“Okay, and so, part of growing up is that sometimes, we need to keep things to ourselves… To protect ourselves and the people we love. Does that make sense?”
“It sounds like lying, Mama—you said I shouldn’t lie…”
“Not lying, just… keeping a secret… A secret just between you and me. Can you do that for me, love? To protect Mama?”
“I s’pose I can keep a secret.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, Mama. But can we still talk about it, sometimes.”
“I don’t think that’s a good…”
“But, Mama I wanted us to share ‘cause…”
“Because what, baby?”
“’Cause I have a voice too…”
****
They sat there for a time in silence—my wife stroking her daughter’s hair.
I held my phone so tightly I thought I might shatter the screen—my fingers going pure white from lack of blood—not sure if I could continue listening.
Thinking back on my relationship with my wife, there’d been several moments—brief moments—where I thought I’d seen a flash of something behind her eyes. A flicker of something within—a flicker of something evil.
But I’d always brushed it off. She’d never shown malice—never presented danger.
At least, not to me…
While I stood, rooted to the floor, in my hotel room—considering all the horrible things my wife may have done—she suddenly snapped her gaze directly into the camera.
And there it was—the darkness…
‘Can she see me?!’ I panically wondered.
Never taking her eyes away from the camera, she asked her daughter, “What does your voice talk to you about?”
“It wants to hurt people too, Mama.”
“Who does it want to hurt, baby?”
I heard my name…
****
My wife has called me eighty-seven times since last night, and I haven’t answered yet. I’m not sure what I’ll say to her when I finally have the courage to pick up the phone.
Now I’m cursing my cheap-ass for never paying for the service that saves recordings from our camera—I have no record of their conversation.
Other than the memory of it seared into my brain.
And my return flight is tomorrow morning.