The Most Terrible Aspect of Motherhood

One is meant to find a gift in motherhood that infuses unconditional love and transforming events in life.

But if it weren’t?

What if a mother was overwhelmed in something disturbing, something wicked, instead of fostering life? Imagine yourself as a mother experiencing oneself transforming into something inconceivable.

Worse still—what if your own mother was something inhuman hiding behind a familiar appearance instead of the lovely woman you assumed she was?

Examining the terrible duality of motherhood, this psychological horror-thriller delves into the narratives of two points of view—one from a woman confronting a terrible transformation and the other from a daughter learning the terrible truth about her mother.

You should get ready. Because in this narrative the actual nightmare is not what hides in the darkness. That individual tucks you in at night.

Part 1: I’m a Mom…  And I’m Becoming a Monster

1.The First Signs of Horror

Motherhood changes you.  But this?  This was something else.

At first, it was indirect

• Not matter how tired I was, I couldn’t sleep.
• My skin felt wrong—tight, dry like something was changing beneath the surface; my mirror reflection stayed a bit too long, as though it were observing me.
• I told myself it was simply postpartum anxiety. Lack of sleep.
• Nonetheless, the truth is, The truth was rushing towards the surface.

2. The Want That Should Not Exist

It began with needs—not for food but for something more fundamental.

• The smell of my baby started to be seductive in a way that twisted my stomach.
• My husband’s heartbeat pounded in my ears, rhythmic, inviting.
• The sound of crying shivered my spine rather than inspiring pity.Worst still I wanted not to fight it.

3. The Moment I Knew I Was Dangerous

The night it all came undone, I was rocking my baby to sleep.  His small fingers closed around mine, gentle, trusting.

Then—uninvited—a solitary idea came into my consciousness. Taste like what would he find?

I put him down. I gasped and turned away as though I had been scorched. My hands quitted, my breath came in short spurts. What was going on with me?

Holding the washbasin, I dashed to the bathroom. My thinking was not my own. Was the darkness of my eyes? My teeth: were they more pointed?

I was breaking down.

I also had no idea whether I could stop it.

Second: Mom Is a Monster

4. the Mother I Thought I knew

I worshipped my mother growing up. She was affectionate, protective, the kind of mother who kissed every injured knee to heal it.

Until one day she was not.

She stopped blinking as much as well.

Her skin seemed odd. Too pale, too stretched, like a mask over something else.

• I’d wake up in the middle of the night and find her standing at the foot of my bed.  Just watching me.
• I reminded myself I was picturing it, that I had paranoia.
• Up till the evening she changed.

5. The Night the Monster Came Out

I’ll never forget it.

I woke up to a terrible sound—like something slimy and rough being torn apart.  The old wooden floors creaking underfoot, I crept down the hall.

I then turned to see her.

My mother, bent over in the kitchen, was eating something bare-handed. She smeared blood on her mouth. Her teeth—too long, too sharp—glinted under the wavering light.

I inhaled. Her head swung to meet me. And at that I noticed her eyes.

They had lost their human quality.

6. Running From a dream to a nightmare

I turned and started to dash. I just grabbed my small brother and ran without thinking or hesitation.

• The house creased as she tracked.
• Her voice called my name gliding across the chimneys.
• I knew she was arriving regardless of our distance.
• This wasn’t my mother anymore.  It was something wearing her skin.

7. The Final Truth

Hiding in an abandoned motel, I dug through my grandmother’s old diary, desperate for answers.

And I found them.

Generations of our family had carried the curse; mothers were engulfed in it and turned into something horrible. The only way to stop it… was to destroy the heart of the monster.

Would I be able to though?

Could I murder the only mother I had ever known?

First story: “I’m a Mom… But Something Is Wrong With Me”.

A Crossing Psychological Horror

The Love That Became Fear

I wanted to be a mother more than anything in the world.  When I finally held my son in my arms, I promised him I’d love him forever.

But then… things started happening.

• I would wake up in strange places, unable to remember how I got there.
• I’d find bruises on my arms, scratches on my skin—like I had been fighting something in my sleep.
•  My husband told me I whispered things at night, things that made no sense.

And then one night, I heard the baby crying.

Heart thumping, I went to his cot. But my hands were not my hands as I sought him.

The fingers held too lengthy length. The nails are jagged and pointy.  My skin—pale, strained, incorrect.

I stumbled back, gasping.  And in the reflection of the nursery window, I saw something I couldn’t unsee.

I wasn’t me anymore.

The Darkness That Took Over

I fought it.  I tried everything. Therapy; medicine; drugs. Even exorcisms.  But nothing worked.

• My body felt like a cage.
• My ideas weren’t my own.
• Something else inside me whispered, waiting.

One night, then, I was standing over the cot of my infant.

I wasn’t conscious. I wasn’t asleep.

I was another thing entirely.

The Decision Mother Should Not Take

I whispered, “I love you more than life itself,” holding my kid the following morning.

And for this reason, I had to go.

I became unable to trust myself.

I kissed my husband farewell, dabbed at the tears on the cheeks of my child, and left.

Since my demon inside wasn’t gone. And I would much sooner break my own heart than run the danger of shattering his.

I am a mother. And I’ll look after my kid. Even from inside myself.

Second story: “My Mom Is a Monster… And No One Believes Me”.

A Psychological Thriller from Family Secrets

A Mother’s Lies or Her Love?

Everybody considered my mother to be the ideal mother. The person who made cookies kissed scraped knees, and tucked you in at night with “I love you.”

Nevertheless, I knew better.

The truth was known to me.

For at night my mother shifted.

She didn’t blink; she didn’t breathe like a regular human; and occasionally I would wake up to find her seated in the dark staring at me.

I told Dad. I informed the professors. Nobody took my word for the truth.

Sweetheart, your mother loves you, they said. She would never inflict damage on you.

They did not, however, see what I saw.

The Monster Underlying the Smile

I was ten the first time I saw her in her real shape.

The middle of the night it was. I stood to grab a glass of water. But I discovered her standing in the kitchen as I passed the corridor mirror.

Except for that, it was not her.

Her back bent. Her nails curved like claws, her hands too long. And her mouth—God—was opened too wide, as though she were struggling to recall how to grin.

She then whirled around.

Her voice was very quiet as well.

“You ought to be asleep, honey.”

I hurried back to lock the door from my room.

The secret I never meant to learn

I began to dig. vintage picture albums secret records. everything able to show my mommy wasn’t exactly my mother.

And then I came upon it.

A birth certificate. My birth Certificate.

Mother’s Name: Unknown.

The woman who had reared me wasn’t my own mother.  She had kidnapped me.

My gut turned. My hands quivered.

Should she not be my mother? What then was she?

The evening I ran through

That night, I didn’t sleep.  Heart thrashing, I locked my door.

I then heard it exactly at 3:13 AM.

Unlocking on its own, my bedroom door.

I closed my eyes and acted to be asleep. The temperature of the air dropped. Then I sensed her standing above me.

I hardly moved. I passed out.

She said, in the softest whisper, “You found out, didn’t you?”

I ran.  I rushed so fast I don’t recall grabbing my shoes.  I didn’t stop until I reached my neighbor’s house, crying for aid.

By the time the police arrived, my “mother” was gone.

She also never has been located.

The Truth Haunts Me

Ten years pass now. Three times before I turn in for sleep, I check my doors. Heart pounding, I still get up believing she is watching me.

Knowing one thing for sure drives me.

She did not possess human qualities.

She is also returning for me one day.

The Emotional Authority of These Tales

These two narratives appeal to some of the most profound human anxieties:

• Losing mothering control over yourself.
• Understanding the person who reared you is not who you believed them to be.
• Your own house hides hiding behind your uncertainty.

Both are horrifying because they mirror actual anxieties rather than because of otherworldly monsters

• What if we aren’t in control of ourselves?
•  What if the people we love most aren’t who they seem?

These are the questions that transform these stories from being horrific tales into intensely emotional, lasting nightmares.

Conclusion: The Horror of Motherhood

The reality nobody tells you is that motherhood is about more than just producing life. Sometimes, it’s simply fighting the impulse to take it away.

One thing is certain: certain monsters are formed regardless of whether you are a youngster wondering whether the lady who nurtured you is indeed who she claims to be or a mother dreading the darkness coming in. Others were created. And some others. Some are there in front of us, hidden.