A Mother's Deadly Instinct
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Who is Blair Bathory and what is this podcast about?
I woke up to the sound of my mother calling my name from the kitchen. But as I stumbled out of bed, I saw her standing beside me, whispering, Don't go down there. I heard it too. From the darkness below, I heard her voice again, this time calling, Sweetheart, come down and eat breakfast. Hi, I'm Blair Bathory, and this is the Something Scary Podcast. Thank you so much for being here, whether this is your first time or you're one of the brave souls who join us every week. And this Mother's Day, we honor the incredible strength and love of the mothers who shape our lives for the better. Those of us lucky enough to have them or other nurturing figures are truly blessed. But remember, not all maternal bonds are pure.
What you think is love may be something darker, something that lingers long after the last breath. Proceed with caution, for not all mothers are what they appear. Some don't live up to the title, even if they're living at all. First, when instincts scream, followed by a mother's wrath. Finally, in our last story, a child almost taken. But before we get to our stories, I wanted to remind you to subscribe to the Something Scary podcast on Spotify or wherever you listen to your podcasts. That way, you'll never miss an episode. You can also leave us a comment or a rating. We love hearing from you, and I try and answer as many people as I can. So, wanna hear something scary? A mother's deadly instincts.
Sometimes, lullabies aren't meant to comfort. They're meant to warn, like in this story written by Sarah. Mara had whispered it every night for months, rubbing slow circles over her swelling belly beneath the glow of the nursery lamp. Sweet dreams, Junebug, she'd murmur.
What is the story behind Mara and the mysterious baby Junebug?
Feeling the faint flutter of tiny feet, the soft push of an elbow just under her ribs, she knew this child the way she knew the sound of her own breathing. She knew the rhythm of her daughter's heartbeat before she ever saw her face. So when Junebug came early, a blood-slick arrival under the cold buzz of hospital lights, Mara told herself the fear she felt was normal. The hours had blurred into white noise, nurses shouting, her husband's pale face, the endless drum of machines. Junebug was rushed to the NICU. Just a precaution, they said, common with early births. Mara counted the hours until she could hold her own. When they came, they placed the baby in her arms. She was perfect. Dark hair, tiny curled fingers, soft gurgling breaths.
but as Mara rocked her, a hollow note thudded in her chest, a sense, sharp and unwelcome, that something essential was missing. The doctors smiled. They called it postpartum anxiety, hormones, exhaustion. The doctors kept saying, Mara nodded and smiled, too tired to argue, but the feeling burrowed deeper every day. The first night home, Mara placed the baby monitor on the nightstand. She watched the screen obsessively. Junebug's crib bathed in the soft gray light of the camera. The baby barely moved at first, only a twitch here and there. But as the hours dragged past midnight, the movements changed. Junebug didn't stir like a newborn. Her limbs twitched too sharply. Her spine arched. Her tiny fists curled and clawed against the mattress. Mara leaned in, her breath catching.
On the monitor screen, the baby twisted unnaturally, her head jerking once, twice, almost like she was listening for something. Her husband sleepily called for her to come to bed, but when Mara tried to show him, Junebug lay still, serene, angelic. You need to rest, he said, pulling her back to bed. Days blurred into nights. Mara fed, rocked, and changed Junebug. But the feeling grew, that deep, primal wrongness. Her mother came to visit once and offered an awkward, brittle hug. You're just overwhelmed, sweetheart, she said. Everything feels strange at first. But when Mara handed Junebug over, her mother flinched, a small, involuntary shudder she tried to hide. Mara noticed. She noticed everything now. By the third week, Mara couldn't sleep at all.
The house, once warm and comforting, felt too quiet, too expectant, like it was holding its breath. She started hearing it at night, the soft, wet slapping sounds on the floorboards. Tiny hands, tiny knees sliding across the wood. But Junebug wasn't crawling yet. She shouldn't even be rolling. Mara clutched her husband's arm one night, shaking him awake. Listen, she hissed.
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Chapters
5 chapters
1
Who is Blair Bathory and what is this podcast about?
0:02–2:07
2
What is the story behind Mara and the mysterious baby Junebug?
2:07–8:56
3
What strange events make Mara question her baby’s identity?
8:56–15:29
4
How does Mara discover the truth about Junebug at the hospital?
15:29–25:57
5
What personal updates does Blair Bathory share about her film project?
25:57–33:43