Blair Bathory

She wandered the empty rooms, feeling a growing dread pressing against her chest when she heard it. A baby's cry. She followed the sound to the kitchen, and there, standing barefoot in the moonlight, was her mother. She was holding a baby, me, cradled tightly in her arms. But when my mom stepped forward, my grandmother didn't smile.

She wandered the empty rooms, feeling a growing dread pressing against her chest when she heard it. A baby's cry. She followed the sound to the kitchen, and there, standing barefoot in the moonlight, was her mother. She was holding a baby, me, cradled tightly in her arms. But when my mom stepped forward, my grandmother didn't smile.

She turned and bolted through the back door, clutching the baby to her chest. Panic clawed at my mother as she chased after them, through twisted hallways that didn't belong to her house, across fields that seemed to stretch endlessly, always just a few steps behind, screaming, Give me my baby! Finally, near a dry, cracked riverbed, place my mother had never seen before, she caught up.

She turned and bolted through the back door, clutching the baby to her chest. Panic clawed at my mother as she chased after them, through twisted hallways that didn't belong to her house, across fields that seemed to stretch endlessly, always just a few steps behind, screaming, Give me my baby! Finally, near a dry, cracked riverbed, place my mother had never seen before, she caught up.

She turned and bolted through the back door, clutching the baby to her chest. Panic clawed at my mother as she chased after them, through twisted hallways that didn't belong to her house, across fields that seemed to stretch endlessly, always just a few steps behind, screaming, Give me my baby! Finally, near a dry, cracked riverbed, place my mother had never seen before, she caught up.

She grabbed the baby back from my grandmother's arms, yanking me free. For a moment, they stood there, frozen. My grandmother looked at her, tears pouring silently down her face, but not with anger, with sorrow. Then, without a word, she faded into the dark. My mother woke up gasping, clutching her belly, her arms aching as if she'd fought someone real.

She grabbed the baby back from my grandmother's arms, yanking me free. For a moment, they stood there, frozen. My grandmother looked at her, tears pouring silently down her face, but not with anger, with sorrow. Then, without a word, she faded into the dark. My mother woke up gasping, clutching her belly, her arms aching as if she'd fought someone real.

She grabbed the baby back from my grandmother's arms, yanking me free. For a moment, they stood there, frozen. My grandmother looked at her, tears pouring silently down her face, but not with anger, with sorrow. Then, without a word, she faded into the dark. My mother woke up gasping, clutching her belly, her arms aching as if she'd fought someone real.

She told herself it was just grief, just stress. But the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of her mind. When I was born, she nearly dropped me. Because I was identical to the baby she had ripped from her mother's arms in the dream. Even the tiny birthmark tucked behind my ear. Even now, my mother wonders. What if she hadn't caught up? Was my grandmother trying to steal me away?

She told herself it was just grief, just stress. But the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of her mind. When I was born, she nearly dropped me. Because I was identical to the baby she had ripped from her mother's arms in the dream. Even the tiny birthmark tucked behind my ear. Even now, my mother wonders. What if she hadn't caught up? Was my grandmother trying to steal me away?

She told herself it was just grief, just stress. But the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of her mind. When I was born, she nearly dropped me. Because I was identical to the baby she had ripped from her mother's arms in the dream. Even the tiny birthmark tucked behind my ear. Even now, my mother wonders. What if she hadn't caught up? Was my grandmother trying to steal me away?

Or was she trying to save me from something my mother couldn't see? Life moved forward. For a while, everything seemed normal, until I turned five. One night, I was playing quietly with my dolls in my room while my mom took a shower. I didn't even notice when the lights flickered. When my mom came out, she didn't hear me laughing or moving around, just silence.

Or was she trying to save me from something my mother couldn't see? Life moved forward. For a while, everything seemed normal, until I turned five. One night, I was playing quietly with my dolls in my room while my mom took a shower. I didn't even notice when the lights flickered. When my mom came out, she didn't hear me laughing or moving around, just silence.

Or was she trying to save me from something my mother couldn't see? Life moved forward. For a while, everything seemed normal, until I turned five. One night, I was playing quietly with my dolls in my room while my mom took a shower. I didn't even notice when the lights flickered. When my mom came out, she didn't hear me laughing or moving around, just silence.

She found me standing on the couch, hands pressed flat against the living room window, staring out at the moon. When I turned to look at her, my face was pale and tear-streaked. I saw Grandma, I whispered. She came to play with me. My mother's stomach dropped. But she had to leave, I said, voice cracking. She said she couldn't finish the game. Not yet.

She found me standing on the couch, hands pressed flat against the living room window, staring out at the moon. When I turned to look at her, my face was pale and tear-streaked. I saw Grandma, I whispered. She came to play with me. My mother's stomach dropped. But she had to leave, I said, voice cracking. She said she couldn't finish the game. Not yet.

She found me standing on the couch, hands pressed flat against the living room window, staring out at the moon. When I turned to look at her, my face was pale and tear-streaked. I saw Grandma, I whispered. She came to play with me. My mother's stomach dropped. But she had to leave, I said, voice cracking. She said she couldn't finish the game. Not yet.

At first, my mother tried to dismiss it, just imagination. But when she glanced the floor, her blood ran cold. The dolls I had been playing with, they weren't mine. They were hers. The same worn, cloth doll she had played with as a child. Dolls she'd left behind in Mexico decades ago. Dolls that should have rotted away, lost to time. But there they were, sitting neatly in a circle, waiting.

At first, my mother tried to dismiss it, just imagination. But when she glanced the floor, her blood ran cold. The dolls I had been playing with, they weren't mine. They were hers. The same worn, cloth doll she had played with as a child. Dolls she'd left behind in Mexico decades ago. Dolls that should have rotted away, lost to time. But there they were, sitting neatly in a circle, waiting.

At first, my mother tried to dismiss it, just imagination. But when she glanced the floor, her blood ran cold. The dolls I had been playing with, they weren't mine. They were hers. The same worn, cloth doll she had played with as a child. Dolls she'd left behind in Mexico decades ago. Dolls that should have rotted away, lost to time. But there they were, sitting neatly in a circle, waiting.