If he needed something, he went through Mom.
I answered, heart pounding. “Dad?”
His voice was shaky, almost desperate. “Kimberly, get your brother and come NOW. Something STRANGE is happening to your mom. You have to save her.”
Panic hit me like a truck. Was it a heart attack? A stroke? An accident? My mind raced with worst-case scenarios as I sped toward my parents’ house.
Fifteen minutes later, I burst through the front door so fast I nearly tripped over the rug.

But it turned out to be a TRAP…

Because my dad wasn’t waiting with Mom in distress. He was standing completely still in the hallway, holding something behind his back. His face was pale but calm. Too calm.

“Dad?” I said, backing a little toward the door. “Where’s Mom?”

He stepped forward slowly, eyes darting past me toward the front yard. “She’s… she’s not the same anymore, Kimberly. I don’t know how to explain it. She’s in the basement. Don’t go down there yet. I need you and Luke here first.”

I pulled out my phone and called my brother.

“Where are you?” I snapped the moment he picked up. “Dad said something’s wrong with Mom. It’s serious.”

“I’m five minutes away. Don’t do anything stupid till I get there.”

Typical Luke. Cool-headed even in a crisis.

When he arrived, we stood at the top of the basement stairs, all three of us. Dad held a flashlight and an old wooden baseball bat. Luke had brought his big Maglite from work. I had nothing but a phone and shaking hands.

We opened the basement door, and I swear a chill blew up from below. Like the house was breathing from underneath.

The lights were out. The only sound was a low humming.

“She’s down there,” Dad whispered. “She won’t come up.”

We crept down slowly, each step creaking beneath our feet. The humming got louder, and then… it stopped.

Then we heard her voice.

“Kimberly. Luke. I knew you’d come.”

But something in the way she said it made my skin crawl. It wasn’t just what she said. It was how.

Almost too perfect. Like someone imitating her.

We turned the corner and saw her. Sitting on the old floral couch in the middle of the basement, perfectly still.

“Mom?” Luke asked.

She smiled. “I feel better now. Much better.”

Something was wrong with her eyes.

They looked… clouded. Not blind. Just off. Like she was looking through us, not at us.

“I was sick, but I’m not anymore,” she said, and tilted her head slowly. “He helped me.”

“Who helped you?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. Just stood up.

That’s when we saw it—there were cuts on her arms. Not bleeding, just… symbols. Carved with something sharp.

“Mom, what happened to you?”

She took a step forward. Dad raised the bat. “Don’t.”

She paused. “You’re afraid. You should be.”

Luke stepped in front of me, shining his flashlight directly in her face. “Who are you talking about? Who helped you?”

She blinked slowly. “The one in the wall.”

And then she pointed.

To the far corner of the basement.

Where the old brick had cracked years ago during a flood.

We all turned to look.

Nothing.

And then… thud.

Something inside the wall knocked back.

Dad dropped the bat. “We’re leaving. Now.”

But Mom—whatever version of her this was—moved fast. She blocked the stairs with her arms stretched wide.

“You can’t go. It’s almost done. We’re almost free.”

That’s when Luke, bless his stubborn heart, pushed her aside. He didn’t hurt her—just enough to get past.

I grabbed Dad’s arm and we ran.

We called 911 the second we got out. Told them our mother was having some kind of psychotic episode. That she was a danger to herself.

They arrived in minutes.

But when they went down to the basement…

She was gone.

Just… gone.

No sign of forced entry or exit. The only thing left was a long crack in the brick wall, wider now. And on the couch, a slip of paper:

“Some chains are chosen.”

⧫⧫⧫

That was three days ago.

She hasn’t come back.

The police are baffled. No signs of foul play, no evidence of kidnapping. Just vanished.

Dad hasn’t been the same. He doesn’t talk much. Just sits at the kitchen table and stares out the window. Luke has been sleeping on my couch. He doesn’t say it out loud, but I know he’s scared to be alone.

I started researching symbols. Old languages. Demonic possession. Anything. I even went to a priest.

He listened carefully. Then he asked, “Have you ever heard of ‘voluntary walk-ins’?”

I hadn’t.

Apparently, there are stories—legends, really—of people inviting something else into themselves. On purpose. In exchange for healing, knowledge, or even peace.

Sometimes the person is still in there, trapped. Sometimes they’re… not.

It sounds insane.

But I keep thinking about what she said. “He helped me.” And, “We’re almost free.”

She wanted it.

Maybe she thought it was the only way to escape something worse. Maybe she was suffering in silence and none of us saw it.

I found her journal last night. Hidden under her side of the bed.

Pages and pages of prayers. Desperate ones. Asking for help. Begging for peace. Saying she was tired of pretending to be okay.

There were mentions of dreams. A “man in the corner.” A whisper that promised, “No more pain.”

We thought she was fine. She smiled every day. Took care of everyone else. Never once said she was breaking.

And now she’s… gone.

Maybe not dead.

But definitely gone.

⧫⧫⧫

This morning, I walked past the cracked wall in the basement. I don’t know what made me do it. Maybe I wanted closure. Maybe I wanted to hear something.

And just as I turned to leave—

Thud.

One knock.

Just like before.

But this time, I didn’t run.

I whispered, “Mom?”

No answer.

But for a second, I felt something…
Like a hand brushing mine.

And then silence.

⧫⧫⧫

It’s hard to explain what happened. Even harder to understand it.

But here’s what I do know:

Sometimes the people who seem the strongest are the ones carrying the heaviest load.

They won’t always ask for help. They’ll keep smiling until it breaks them.

So if you love someone—check in. Really check in. Don’t assume they’re okay just because they say they are.

And if you are the one struggling, please… don’t wait until your only escape feels like something dark and unknown.

There is help. There is light.

Don’t go down that basement alone.

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