Short Scary Stories

Different

Different

It was the summer of 2007 when something seemed odd with my mother. The sun beat down heavily on us as we sat on the edge of our swimming pool. We dipped our feet into the refreshing water, moving our toes around.

I had just finished tenth grade in early June, a tough year to pass the finals in. Through my constant studying, my mother helped me with each frustrating question, like she always did, but then, in late July, she barely said a word.

As we sat side-by-side by the pool, I noticed my mother's bubbly personality was gone. And in its place was something dark.

It confused me. She was always so open and honest to me, always willing to help and comfort me in times of stress. In mid-July, she had become unusually distant and moody, almost depressed. I had never dared to ask her about it. I was too scared.

That person wasn't my mother. She was different. Throughout my entire sixteen years of living, she had never acted that way. I was worried, and uneasy feeling made its way into my stomach every time I saw her.

My mother's bright blue eyes turned into a dark brown, and her blonde hair turned into black. She scared me. I hadn't known what was happening to her. I was stunned into silence. Every time she crossed the room, her usual graceful, elegant stride was slow and sluggish. Her smile slowly disappeared with each day until she stopped smiling all together.

One rainy night, I was walking by her bedroom door, and I had heard something weird. I leaned up against the door to hear better, and I was terrified of what I had heard. It was growling, low and deep. It continued for about a minute, until I heard feet coming to the door. I made a run for my room and locked myself in there. I refused to come out until morning.

The next morning I had woken to my mother standing over me, her dark eyes boring into mine like fire. I kept staring into them like I was looking for something. All I found was horror. She let out a low growl, then stalked out of the room.

I was shocked, and I was terrified of her. I had locked myself in my room until dusk, when she went to bed. When I came out, the house was eerily quiet. There was a strange feeling in the air, but I brushed it off.

A few days later, I went into my mother's open room, and I smelled sulfur in the air. It seemed as if the walls were closing in on me, so I breathed in and out, taking in the smell. It was horrible, so I began to hold my breath.

My heart stopped for a second when I heard footsteps behind me. I let my breath out shakily, and dared myself to turn around. There stood my mother, or whoever she was, in the doorway, eyes dark. This time, there were no whites, just all black.

"Get out!" she growled at me, her tone deep and scary.

My eyes were wide with fear, and my hands began to shake in fright. I felt sweat appearing on my hands, so I rubbed them on my jeans. My fingers trembled as I stood in the middle of the room. The smell of sulfur was so strong that I felt as if I was going to pass out.

Then, I heard strange sound from inside the closet. My body shaking, I went over to it. Before I had a chance to open it, a glass vase that was on my mother's nightstand flew at me. I dodged it, and it shattered when it hit the wall behind me.

When I worked up the courage, I opened the closet door, and I was stunned. There on the floor, mouth taped shut and wrists bound with rope, was my mother. My real mother. She was drowsy and tired. She looked up at me, and her blue eyes filled with hope.

"Mom!" I said, bending down to help her.

When I turned around to the doorway, the woman was no longer there. The smell of sulfur dissipated, and I could breathe again. I sighed in relief and helped my mother out of the rope. I took the tape of her mouth and helped her up.

"Mom, what happened?" I asked.

"She appeared, and then the rope was suddenly around my wrists. I've been waiting for you," she said, her voice weak. "I was pushed into the closet. I've been waiting for five days."

"How did you survive?" I asked.

"There were water bottles and some crackers from our vacation in that backpack over there," She said, pointing to the corner of the closet, where a small backpack sat.

After that day, we never saw the woman again. My mother was okay, and things returned to normal. I still have no idea what the demon's goal was, but I'd rather not find out. I sometimes wonder what would've happened if I hadn't had the courage to open the closet door that day.