5 years ago, my husband and I both received amazing promotions at work. We were living in a one bedroom apartment with our daughters, who were 3 and 9 at the time. My husband was often sleeping on the couch while our daughters slept in the bed with me. To say these promotions were life-altering would be an understatement.
Soon my little family, once crammed into a yellow walled, dimly lit one bedroom apartment, was moving into a four bedroom, 2 story house. There was a finished basement and a huge backyard for the girls to play in. It’s also worth mentioning that I intentionally picked a friendly neighborhood, one where the girls could ride bikes and make friends with the kids next door. Not one that smelled of cigarette smoke and was filled with screaming couples and police raids. I cried many tears, so happy I could finally do this for my daughters.
My 9 year old, Katie, made friends instantly. The day we moved in, she was begging to ride bikes with a couple young girls that approached her while we were unloading boxes. Of course, my 3 year old, Maya, wasn’t out making friends then. As time went on I was able to find a few parents with kids around her age and would arrange little playdates, but my primary connection to the neighborhood families was through Katie.
A few years pass and Maya turns 7. At this point in time, she had a boy next door she could hangout with, and another girl just a few houses down. On her birthday, she asked that since she is getting bigger, if she could go ride bikes and play in the neighborhood like her sister gets to. If I am being honest, I was afraid. She was a bit younger than Katie was when she was able to go play like that, but I had to remind myself that I picked this home specifically so I could give them that.
We started off with limits, just as I did with Katie. I gave her a little watch and told her that when it said specific times, she needs to come back and check in with me. She know not to go more than around the block, at least to start out. I planned for her to earn a little trust and learn a little bit of responsibility before letting her run the neighborhood.
Everything was going perfectly. Maya was always one to respect rules, and she does have a touch of anxiety. This might sound terrible, but I sort of knew she would never intentionally put herself in a negative situation. Normally she just invited her friends mentioned before to ride bikes, or to take a walk if she was feeling especially grown up.
One day, Maya comes home for dinner and tells me about a couple of girls that she met in the neighborhood that day. They had supposedly just moved into a house halfway around the block. She mentioned that one of the girls was 6, and the other was older but wasn’t sure by how much. And that they invited her inside but she declined, knowing the rule was I had to meet the parents a couple times before she was allowed to go inside anyones home.
I told her I appreciated her respecting my rule and that I would love to meet the girls and their parents if she wanted me to, and even suggested to bring Katie along so maybe she could hangout with the older girl, depending on how close in age they were. Instantly, Maya begged me, almost in tears, not to make her bring Katie. I was a little taken aback, her and Katie had their fair share of sister fights, but they were usually cordial and often would play games together. Apparently she was feeling a little overshadowed by Katie, because she was slowly becoming one of the “cool” teenagers in the neighborhood. She didn’t want to feel overshadowed in her own new friendships, which I understood entirely.
A few days after our conversation, we went for a walk in the evening as a family (minus Katie, she was away at a friends), and happened to run into the family my daughter told me about. The girls all ran to each other immediately, leaving my husband and I to an awkward exchange with their parents. Not awkward in the way that it’s awkward to accidentally wave at someone you don’t know, but to where the air felt thicker when interacting with them and you feel like you are stumbling over words to find what to say.
I remember how strange they looked. I do try not to think that way about people, I was raised in a diverse, strange environment, and was probably seen as strange once too. I tried to shake it off as the general neighborhood preppiness getting to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to. The mom wore a long, heavy skirt with a long sleeve top, her black strangly hair dangling in her face. The dad wore business casual clothing, yet sloppily. They both had a strangely kind smile but cold, dead eyes. They just gave me the chills.
We chatted for a moment, if one could really call it that. Exchanging words with them was like the snall talk cashiers make-nice but they don’t really want to be speaking to you. After we spoke very few words, I directed my attention to Maya and the other girls. I felt a little relief seeing how their daughters interacted with Maya, showing her the scooters they were riding and giggling over whatever kids giggle about. I also noticed that the girls were dressed a lot neater than their parents. They dressed differently from most kids, definitely, a bit more reserved or modest to put it in perspective. But they were clean, with slicked back ponytails and shining faces. They even approached my husband and I to introduce themselves. The older one’s name, who we soon found out was 10, was Ophelia, and the 6 year olds name was Lillian.
A few minutes went by and our families decided it was time to part ways and continue our walk before it got too dark. We exchanged awkward goodbyes and head home, my husband and I sharing silent looks, communicating about our recent interaction without actually speaking, just so Maya didn’t pick up on it. I didn’t want her to feel as though I disapproved of her new friends family, the first friends she made since venturing off on her own a bit more.
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Over the next two weeks we met the parents a couple more times. Since that first night, they seemed to be dressing a tad more neat, but still the strangeness followed them. After a few interactions, however, I brushed it off as them just being extra-introverted people. They were as kind as they could bring themselves to be, and the inside of their home was clean and relatively normal looking, just an average American home. Maybe a few too many crucifixes in the decor for my taste but to each their own.
Before anyone asks, I didn’t break into their home or peek through the windows. I was welcomed over, as they were to my home. I also try to avoid my children going into houses that I haven’t had the opportunity to make sure it was safe.
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Months go by and Maya has become best friends with Ophelia and Lillian. She even trusted me with a game they play together, called Imaginary Land, a game where they literally just make up whatever and create their own perfect, imaginary world. I say “trusted” because for some reason, Maya always was embarrassed to be seen playing imagination games, so for her to admittedly play pretend, on top of doing it around other kids, was impressive. I grew fond of the friendship they were creating, despite the strange feeling that followed their parents wherever they went.
But because I was so blinded by my child’s happiness, I looked right past the red flags that started to pop up.
It started with Maya pleading with me to attend church with her friends. Now, Maya knew of God, but as a family we never really practiced religion beyond, “We believe in God because that’s what our overly religious parents want us to say.” I never forced any belief system on her because I wanted her to find happiness in bringing peace to the world without someone telling her to do it.
Which is exactly why I should have told her no.
Come to found out, the Church the family attended was one of those WAY over the top ones, that preach about God hating gay people and other outrageous things I didn’t want my daughter picking up. I didn’t even realize what she was being taught until I was watching a show with a gay couple in it and my 7 year old blurted out a slur with deep hatred in her voice.
This may seem to be what the nightmare was. How I wish that were true.
After a very long conversation with Maya, explaining what she said was terrible and that I was sorry if someone made her believe otherwise, because that isn’t language that will never be accepted in my home, I decided to have a conversation with Ophelia and Lillian’s parents.
To my surprise, they were pretty receptive of it. In few words they acknowledged that their beliefs weren’t everyones, and we came to the agreement that the girls were still allowed to hang out, but no more going to their Church. I let Maya know that if she wants to continue going to Church, I’ll find one that preaches things I approve of. She was resistant at first, but eventually calmed down and came to peace with it.
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I thought it had all blown over until one day, while I was at work, I received a call from my oldest, Katie. She was frantic on the phone, saying Maya had fallen off the electric scooter we’d got at the beginning of Summer. I was out in about half an hour so I asked my boss if I could head out a little bit early, not wanting to guide my 14 year old through bandaging up her sister, knowing it would take longer to explain it on the phone than to just clock out and drive home, given I only lived about 5 miles from work.
I walked into my kitchen to Maya sitting on the island, still a little teary eyed but toughing it out. I realized she had scraped her knee on the pavement, but after looking a bit closer, I noticed that the blood was already almost dry. It was pussing a little still, but the blood was dry. I knew there was no way for it to heal so quickly if it had truly happened right before I received Katie’s call.
After some prying, I was able to get Maya to tell me the story of what happened. She was playing on her electric scooter with Ophelia and Lillian, took a sharp turn, and essentially “whiskey throttled” while her knee dragged on the pavement. I asked her if she came home right away to get help, or if she waited. She said she waited, and I asked her why.
“They wanted to try and cure me, mama.”
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. When I asked her what that meant, she told me that she was brought into their house and taken to the basement by the girls. Ophelia lit candles and turned off all of the lights. All while the two sisters are chanting in a language my daughter didn’t recognize. They were able to convince her to strip to a tank top and her underwear. They told her they found a spell to take her to Imaginary Land, a spell to make everything she wanted or needed to come true.
I was shaking. Tears started to fill my eyes but I held them back as much as I could. Maya took a long deep breath between words.
“But I didn’t want to take off anymore clothes.”
The knot in my stomach tightened. Apparently the girls attempted to persuade my daughter into stripping down completely, but that was the moment my daughter kicked into fight or flight (thank Goodness). She quickly got dressed, backing away from them and made an excuse on how she was late back home.
All I could do was hug her and cry. I failed her.
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My husband came home a few hours after I did. When I sat him down and told him what occurred that day, he was just as angry and terrified as I was. We decided that we shouldn’t wait to face it any longer. Leaving Katie in charge, we got in the car and drove to the neighbors.
As my husband and I got out of the car, we both swore we could hear whispers coming from the surrounding trees. I rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing. Another try, nothing. My husband began to peek in the windows but was met with nothing but blinds. Finally, after one more try, the family answered the door.
Yes, the entire family. The four of them, standing together in a square shape, almost as if they were posing for a photo. That wasn’t the strangest thing I noticed, though. It was the parents.
They were normal. They still wore the same style of clothes as before, but they were neat and clean. The mom’s hair was in a nice, slicked back ponytail, and the dad looked as if he just came back from a barbecue. They also seemed to be genuinely friendly and outgoing. While this may seem comforting, it made them significantly more offputting.
We asked the girls to step away so we could have a private conversation. I described to them what happened that day, the way their daughters made mine feel, the type of fear I felt. The couple looked concerned as I spoke, and after I finished explaining they gave me a genuine apology, assuring me this is not how they raised their daughters and that they would have a conversation about how inappropriate it was.
My husband and I thanked them for that, but did let them know we were no longer comfortable with Maya coming over, and neither was she. A look of disappointment and rage crossed their faces at the same time, but only for a moment. They nodded and told me they understood, but said something along the lines of their family not being complete without her that rubbed me the wrong way.
We left very quickly after that. I swear that as the door shut behind us, I could hear the parents shouting. I couldn’t make it out entirely, but I remember hearing the word, “caught.”
When we approached our house, Katie ran out to the car saying Maya didn’t feel well. I rushed inside to find my youngest vomiting in the hallway bathroom. I soothed her for a moment, but when she turned to face me I felt sick myself.
Her eyes were glassy, like a porcelain doll. Her hair hung in clumps in her face, and her breath didn’t smell like vomit, it smelled like rot.
I spent the night soothing my daughter, sending my husband first thing in the morning to the neighbors demanding an explanation on what they did to Maya.
But there were no neighbors to go see. When my husband approached the house, it was empty. No yard decor or flowers. The curtains were gone so he peeked through a window into a completely empty house, one that had been fully furnished less than 12 hours ago.
We still can’t bring ourselves to believe it. One day, we live completely normal lives. The next, we’re cursed by a family and made to watch our daughter decline socially and cognitively every second for the rest of her life. She is a living being, rotting from the inside out.
I don’t know if I’ll ever have answers. However, I do know I need to get my daughter back.
We’re inviting the neighbor boy over for pizza tonight.
Maya is memorizing the spell.