"Some nights, I pretend to be asleep just to hear who my mother is really talking to."
A True Confession
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The lullaby she sings isn't for me. It's to keep something else asleep.
Based on the story of a terrified teen.
—
...I don't know why I'm doing this.
I just... I need someone to hear it. In case... In case something happens.
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I stopped sleeping with the lights off when I was eight. That's when I first heard her talking to the hallway closet. Not angrily, not loudly. Just whispering, except the words weren't in any language I knew.
At first, I thought she was on the phone. But then I noticed it only happened when the house was dead quiet, and she thought I was asleep.
And always—always facing the hallway closet.
The one outside my room.
It started like... prayers. Mumbles.
Then I started hearing names. Eda... Silma... Krauun.
Names I'd never heard her say before.
I asked her, once. Wrote them down and everything.
She smiled. But... her eyes didn't.
She said, "Don't repeat those names. They don't belong to you."
I tried not to listen after that.
I turned on white noise. Blocked it out.
I wanted to pretend everything was normal.
Until one night...
I woke up around 2 a.m.
There was this sound. Like... like fingers brushing my door. Not knocking. Not turning the handle.
Just... skin.
Then I heard her voice.
She sounded scared. "You have to stay quiet this time… Just don't move..."
I didn't move.
I didn't breathe.
And the whispering?
It didn't stop for an hour.
She wasn't alone.
Something was whispering back. From inside the closet.
I swear... it sounded like me.
Maybe I was just imagining it.
Next morning, I asked her what she was doing.
She said, "I think you're dreaming too much. You should stop eating sugar at night."
I wasn't dreaming.
.
One day when she was out, I decided to check the closet myself. It looked normal, with boxes, and old coats. But the air? It felt... wrong. Heavy.
And it smelled like... wet dirt. Like a grave.. Like something had just been buried.
My cat, Miso, came in.
I picked her up, just to feel okay again.
But when she looked at the closet... she went stiff.
Her ears went flat. Her whole body bristled.
Then she growled—like something was in there.
She clawed at my arms so hard I had to drop her.
And she ran, scratching the floor in her panic. Wouldn't come back the rest of the day..
That evening, we sat across from each other, eating in silence. The only sounds were the soft clinks of forks on ceramic and the occasional creak of the old house settling.
Then she started mumbling.
At first, I thought she was just talking to herself. But her voice was low...too low.. like she was trying not to wake someone.
I glanced up.
She wasn't looking at me.
She was looking at the empty chair across the table.
Smiling at it.
Nodding as if someone had said something.
"Mom?" I said.
She didn't blink. Her lips kept moving, but no sound came out now.
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. "What's going on?"
That's when her face... changed.
Her mouth opened a little too wide.
Her eyes got so dark I couldn't see where her pupils ended.
She went still, the fork halfway to her mouth. Then her eyes filled with tears.
"It's not ready," she whispered, but not to me, and shaking her head. "Not yet. Please, not yet."
I stood slowly, walked around to her side of the table, and touched her hand. She was shaking. Crying.
I waited, hoping she'd say something. But she didn't.
Then—like a light switch—she just... stopped.
She looked at me.
And smiled broadly.
"So, what do you feel like for dessert tonight?"
I stared at her, still holding her hand.
She smiled wider.
Like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn't just talked to something else.
———
Later that night...
I woke up.
There were fingers in my hair.
Gently stroking. Slow.
At first, I thought I was dreaming.
Until... the singing started.
Not a song. A lullaby.
In that language again.
Wrong.
She was sitting at the edge of my bed.
Face hidden in the dark.
Hand moving, like she was rocking something to sleep.
Her eyes are half-closed, swaying as she hums that twisted tune.
And that's when I realized—
I forgot to turn the light on before falling asleep.
I kept my breathing slow and shallow, pretending to sleep. limbs screaming to move, to run, but something in me knows:
Don't let her know you're awake.
Don't move.
The singing stopped.
And she sniffled.
A choked, trembling sob leaks through her lips.
She starts crying. Not loud. Like... like she was scared someone might hear her. Like she's afraid.
Then she whispered, her voice cracking like a child's. "He still dreams like a child… still soft…"
I almost thought she was sleep-talking—
Until her hand tangled in my hair and pulled.
I flinched and let out a sharp gasp. "Mama—!"
She went still.
Her grip loosened… then shifts. Her fingers wrapped tightly around my trembling arms.
Her face came closer.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Her breath was warm. Sour.
Her eyes... they weren't right.
They were wide with terror. Her voice shook as she hissed:
"Don't say anything."
"Don't say a word anymore."
I was too scared to speak. I couldn't even nod.
She held me for so long. Like she was trying to keep me from being taken.
Or maybe... trying to keep something else in.
Then she froze again.
I whispered, "Mom?"
She was still at eye level.
But she wasn't looking at me.
She looked behind me.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth fell open.
Then she screamed.
Not a normal scream.
It was that language again. That guttural, wrong voice that felt like it scraped the inside of your skull.
I ran.
I ran.
I tore free from her grasp, stumbled backward, and bolted out of my room. My bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as I ran to her bedroom. I threw the door shut behind me with a loud click.
I curled up on the floor, shaking, trying to breathe.
And all I could think about was...
She wasn't looking at me.
She looked through me.
Like I wasn't the one she was afraid of.
And I couldn't shake the feeling... that whatever's living in this house…whatever was sitting at my bedside—
I don't think it was my mother anymore.
I started hearing footsteps.
Soft. Bare. And getting closer.
A shadow moved under the door.
And then—
A knock.
And I heard her voice, and it was calm.
"Sweetheart," she said.
"Why are you still awake?"
---
I realize now…
Those were the first words she said that night.
(whispers)
It's happening again.
.
.
.
.
.
—I think I'm what it's waiting for.