Throughout my entire life, I was raised Catholic. Pretty white dresses every Sunday with a rosary to match, bible in hand at night, prayers over the table at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I did everything to go to Heaven but there was one thing that I was always looked down upon for in my church—I only had a dad. I never knew my mom, I was told she died when I was younger. But, when I got older, something told me that wasn’t true. Why would everyone glare at me or whisper about my father and me if it was a simple death? It was always the same question when I was younger.
“Daddy, where’s Mommy?”
He never had an actual answer until I hit my teens. How would you tell your 5-year-old daughter her mother is dead?
“I know I always ask this, but please, as a birthday gift. What happened to Mom?” I had asked on my 16th birthday.
He finally gave me a straight answer. She died. But, he never gave me the cause. I never bothered bringing it up again. I honestly didn’t want to know at the time. Years later, I realized I regret asking but I can’t ask anymore. He’s gone too. After he died, I did stray from the religion I grew up in. I lost all of my beliefs. Why believe in it now that I’m older? I threw out the idea of demons and angels. I threw out everything I grew up with. Until now.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Coming!” I yelled from my kitchen.
Running to the front door, I swung it open but no one was there. Damn, kids. Or maybe not. I looked down to find a small box left on my doorstep. Usually, I would be more cautious of what would be in a random box with no address just showing up but, I was tired. I brought it into the house and set it on my counter.
Happy birthday, honey. xx
My eyebrows furrowed at the small writing on the box. It wasn’t my birthday, yet there was something in me that had told me to open it. Grabbing a knife, I ran it along the tape that held it together with bated breath. The sound of the cardboard ripping apart made me cringe, but I held steady. With the box opened, I looked inside slowly.
I haven’t seen you in years, I hope you’ll let me into your life. xx
Inside was a large photo album filled with pictures of me as a child with my father. Photos I’d never seen before. Birthday parties, my kindergarten graduation, dozens and dozens of photos of me with my father. But, it felt…off. It felt wrong to look at them. My eyes danced across the photos before I came to the realization there was one woman in the background of every single one of them that I’d never seen before. Never seen in person, never seen in pictures, I had never set eyes on this woman yet she was in every childhood picture, staring down at me with a large smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were empty. I don’t even know how to explain it. Her eyes were black. Not dark brown, black.
I slammed the photo album shut and tossed it back into the box. That’s not real. It couldn’t be. I grabbed the whole box and stuffed it into the garbage can. I don’t know the woman in those pictures and I don’t want to know. Shaking my head hard, I ran to the bathroom to wash my face. Just before I turned the tap on, I gave myself a close look. The hair matched, the nose was similar, the full lips. No, no, no. She died. It’s not possible.
Oh, honey. It’s very possible.
I jumped at the sudden voice. It was soft, comforting but it just felt fake. A shiver went down my spine and I slammed the bathroom door shut. It’s not real. Sliding down the white door, I let out a loud breath I didn’t know I was holding. For some reason, I recognized that voice though. It rang throughout my head and stuck as if I really did know who it was.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I slowly stood up before placing my hand on the metal door handle. I didn’t want to turn it, I tried everything in me to keep myself from doing it but something came over me. I didn’t have control over myself. With a slow pull, I opened the door to…nothing? No, there was another box.
“Don’t pick it up, don’t pick it up, don’t fucking pick it up!” I screamed internally as I bent down and dug my fingernails into the cardboard. The feeling made me sick. It was as if I was on autopilot, but still conscious of every move my body made. Unlike the first box, this one was wet. The entire bottom was soaked with something but I couldn’t make it out right then and there. I had made my way to my bedroom and placed the box on my white sheets. Not white, no. They were red now. My eyes widened and I yelled. Or I thought I did. I didn’t know anymore.
It’s a family heirloom. I hope you like it. <3 xx
My stomach turned as I opened the box. My hands shook terribly while I moved the perfectly placed tissue paper to reveal a severed hand with a beautiful sapphire ring on its ring finger. I stumbled back, breathing heavily with eyes watering.
“This isn’t real!” I screamed as loud as I could, tears flowing freely.
Sweetie, I already told you. Of course, I’m real.
The voice wasn’t just loud, it was reverberating in my skull. I couldn’t escape it. I slumped down onto the carpet, hitting my head over and over again with my fist.
Don’t hurt yourself, I’m just trying to help you.
“Get out! Get out! Stop!” I hit harder with every demand.
I brought my knees to myself, sobbing. This is a nightmare. I’m asleep. Get me out of this fucking nightmare. I saw a red liquid drop on my carpet, staining it. My eyes traveled slightly and I saw a pair of black heels in front of me, the blood beginning to flow quicker. I didn’t want to look up but again, something inside me made my body do it. My entire body froze as soon as I peered up at the person in front of me. The ligaments of the woman’s left wrist had been ripped apart and trickled blood continuously.
“Who are you?” I whimpered, trying to see through my tears.
That smile. Those eyes. Those eyes so void of empathy, of emotion, of anything.
I’m your mom, sweetheart.