17 Oct The Marred Mothers

Posted at 11:00h in Uncategorized by CreepypastaStories.com 0 Comments

📅 Published on October 17, 2024

“The Marred Mothers”

Written by Eric Lee
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 26 minutes

Rating: 10.00/10. From 1 vote.

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Nestled beneath her favorite quilt, embroidered with flowers and hummingbirds, Madeline was stirred awake by something she couldn’t quite yet place. It was 2:37 am, and she should still be asleep, but yet here she was, staring up at the dozens of plastic translucent stars her father had lovingly put up on her ceiling a few weeks ago for her 7th birthday. Madeline’s thoughts were rustled back to the fact that she was still awake as she heard Lola, the ever-faithful Bernese, barking loudly downstairs. Madeline didn’t think much of it at first. Lola was always one to bark at the first sign of a foreign invader she assumed was there to take a member of her family away. More than likely it was one of the many nocturnal creatures that found sanctuary in the big fenced-in backyard where Madeline spent the majority of her free time.

Madeline’s nose scrunched up as a sour and familiar scent came floating into her bedroom from beyond the closed door. The smell reminded her of when her dad had been working in the garage or the “man cave”, as Julia, her mom had called it. Julia came running down the stairs in a panic after a huge crack and then an angry pop emanated throughout the entire house. Madeline sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of her favorite cereal in front of her as her dad ran through the connecting doorway, mumbling something incoherent under his breath. He left the garage door open as that same acrid smell came wafting in behind him as he stood at the sink washing his hands and face.

Whatever was going on had her feeling a bit anxious, like tiny butterflies were invading her stomach. She stood up and slowly walked to the opposite side of her bedroom, inching her way closer and closer, listening for any more signs of Lola or maybe her parents. She always slept with the door closed. The house had a way of catching a small draft and slamming her door shut, jolting her awake just as she seemed to be counting that last sheep before the sandman took her away for the night. She told herself to be brave, and there was nothing wrong, but with a young child’s intuitiveness, she knew deep down there was something off about tonight.

Madeline’s blood went cold as a woman’s high pitch scream broke the silence of the house. It was a scream Madeline had never heard before but one that let her know that everything was not alright. Scared and shaking, Madeline stood on her tiptoes and grabbed the doorknob, instantly cauterizing her palms and fingers as the heated metal stuck to her delicate flesh. She cried out as she pulled her wounded hand away, tiny bits of her delicate palm clinging to the metal like eggs stuck to the bottom of a searingly hot frying pan. Her head was beginning to float, and she struggled to understand what was happening. She looked down and grimaced in pain as she inspected her injured hand and noticed a red and yellow light emanating from the gap at the bottom of the door.

Clutching her wounded hand with the hem of her sleeping gown, she stared at the glow from under the door gap as she heard another scream that brought her back to her terrifying reality. Not knowing what else to do, Madeline screamed for her parents. She screamed so hard that her vocal cords strained, she screamed louder than she ever had or ever would. There came a slamming at her door, as if a heavy object was being hurled against it. She could faintly hear Julia frantically calling out to her. Her name was hard to hear, and just as Madeline was about to shout out in response to her mother’s calls of anguish, she collapsed on the floor, her lungs having given up on their battle with the harsh inhalation of toxic smoke….

A Year and Some Months Later

“Where are you?” was all the message said, but it wasn’t the only message the phone’s display was showing. Twelve missed calls, seven unread messages all saying pretty much the same thing. Ryan wasn’t ignoring them all on purpose, he simply didn’t care. He gave little to no mind about who they were from or what they said. It was a little after eleven a.m., and his only real concern was finding any cigarette butt containing the slightest signs of scorched tobacco in the ashtray sitting on top of his litter-strewn coffee table.

He fumbled his shaking hand around in the ashtray and found a butt that looked like it would do the trick. With the cigarette butt sitting between his chapped and cracked lips, he tilted his head to the side and attempted to light the crumpled tip. The smell of singed hair struck Ryan immediately as he frantically slapped at his face, trying to extinguish any remaining traces of the wildfire attempting to consume his unkempt beard. With all the contempt he could muster, he spat the cigarette butt from his mouth like and resolved himself to the bathroom, where, like every morning as of late, he would sit on the toilet and cry. He would sit there in his bathroom and simply release every ounce of water he had from his strained tear ducts until, finally, he was nothing but a dried-up raisin.

Ryan would be late for work again; there was no doubt about that. He would go into work looking like a vagrant and smelling like he had crawled out of a bottle of bourbon from the night before. His boss, Kyle, had told him last Friday, “Ryan, we understand you’re going through a rough time but if you come into work late, smelling like booze again, your ass will be out on the curb”. Well, he wouldn’t give Kyle the satisfaction of firing him on this scorching hot Monday, or any other day for that matter. He knew his dwindling bank account was nearing the end of its reserve, but today he would have a drink. He rose from the toilet and thought; it will be a tequila bottle I’ll be crawling out of tomorrow morning.

The hot summer air was stifling outside, with the midday sun beating down on the sidewalk right outside Ryan’s apartment door. As the sun mercilessly beat down on his face, he quickly pulled his ball cap down over his bloodshot eyes, providing a small amount of relief. Luckily traffic was lighter than normal, which was a small relief to Ryan, whose head was still thrumming with the pain from last night’s debauchery. He could faintly remember being thrown out of Sharky’s pool hall for picking a fight with a guy who had done something or another to irritate Ryan, none of which mattered to the man in the least.

The familiar door chime went off, alerting the hunchbacked figure in the back of the store that a customer had come in. It also signaled to Ryan that his journey to the land of spirits had come to its climax, and he would soon feel the sweet embrace of his loving golden liquid. He knew where all his favorites were by heart at this point. He quickly grabbed the handle of a Loco Noche’s Silver brand bottle and carried his prized new companion to the register. There he greeted Lucky with the same perceptual look of gloom and foreboding that seemed to be etched across his gaunt face as of late.

“Ry , you look like shit man, you should sit down,” the older man looking to be in his late 60s said in a slightly Boston tone. The gentleman motioned for Ryan to sit in the chair next to the trash can at the side of the counter. The store owner was a short and stout figure. He had a protruding gut but had biceps that looked like he could have at one time, been in the armed forces. He had a bald head and Ryan had often referred to him as a lean Danny Devito.

“Thanks, Lucky. I think Mother Nature is trying to kill me with the heat out there today. Can you throw a pack of Reds in with this as well? If Mother Nature won’t do the trick, maybe these damn things will.”

Lucky, with his ever-extending smile, nodded slightly and passed Ryan a small plastic cup filled with warm water before saying, “Here, drink this before you pass out and a customer comes in here thinkin’ I’m intentionally poisoning folks”.

Ryan grabbed the cup and downed the water in one gulp. Ryan could feel Lucky staring at him; he had been coming in here for almost a year and had spilled his guts to the old guy on more than one drunken occasion. He guessed the old man probably just felt bad for him, and he honestly didn’t want to offend the only person who didn’t seem to mind listening to his problems.

“You know, Ry, as much as I appreciate your business and friendship,” he stopped talking and looked over at the bottle of tequila Ryan had just placed on the counter. “And I don’t want to sound judgmental or to offend, but it’s been over a year since…” the words trailed off.

“Since what Lucky?” Ryan snapped back, hearing the venom in his words.

“I said I didn’t want to offend,” Lucky shot back.

Ryan took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from his scabbed, pocked face and said, “I’m sorry Lucky, I’m just having a time of it. I drink to forget and then when the booze wears off, I’m left with this empty feeling inside”. Lucky didn’t say anything for a few moments, he just let Ryan sit in the chair next to the cash register and sulk.

Ryan weakly stood up from the chair, grabbed out his wallet and placed his last two twenties on the counter. “Just keep the change Lucky ” Ryan murmured almost inaudibly as he grabbed his smokes and bottle of tequila before walking out the store and back into the Hell that was outside. Lucky was trying to say something to Ryan as he was leaving but he didn’t seem to notice or care, he simply let the old man’s words fade as the door closed behind him.

The walk back was just as uncomfortable as the walk there had been but the thought of soaking his emotions and feelings in fermented agave seemed to carry him the last quarter mile home, like a soldier in war carrying a wounded compatriot back to home base.

When Ryan arrived back home, he sank into his dark-stained couch, popped the top off his newly acquired bottle of heartache, and pulled from it a gulp that burned his throat and turned his stomach into a boiler of flammable worm juice. He felt the wash of alcohol roll over his body, sending him into a blissful state of cozy warmth. It was his security blanket, his knight in shining armor. Whatever he was feeling at that moment was taken away from him; it robbed him of the hurt he felt and left Ryan with that empty, cold feeling of nothingness. Two more long pulls from the bottle had him feeling flush in the face but put him deeper into his cocoon of that utter glorious blackness, slowly sending him into his long-awaited stupor.

Ryan awoke sometime later; the darkness that had enveloped his apartment indicated to him that he had successfully dodged another day in the realm of functioning humans. He looked down and felt as if something wet had saturated his pants. Then his heart dropped as he saw his newly bought bottle of Mexico’s finest lying next to the couch, thrown aside haphazardly in his drunken slumber. He struggled as he brought the bottle up to his lips in a last-ditch effort to retain any of the precious liquid hopefully still contained inside. His efforts were futile, and in blind anger, Ryan hurled the empty bottle across the small expanse of the room, where it collided against the wall, shattering and sending pieces of razor-sharp shards of glass flying everywhere, nearly missing his face.

Without any more booze in the apartment, Ryan quickly gathered his keys and wallet and left his dank, dark tomb of pity and remorse. He checked his watch; if he hurried, he could catch Lucky just as he was about to close up for the night. A few minutes later, panting and about to collapse, Ryan approached the front door of the liquor store. He first thought that he hadn’t made it in time since most of the lights were turned off, but then saw a dark figure moving in the background of the small store. He opened the door slightly, softly calling out to Lucky so as not to startle the old shop attendant. When he heard no reply, he stepped into the shop and was instantly hit with a strong odor. It smelled botanical and sweet, like walking into a florist. It reminded him of the times we would pick up flowers for Julia on what seemed like every occasion. Walking up to the counter, he called out for Lucky again, this time with a little more strength in his voice.

“Hey Lucky, It’s Ryan. I’m having a shit of a night and needed to grab a couple of things really quick”. He looked down the counter to an open door at the far end of the store, where he knew the office was. He saw something move but couldn’t make out any identifying traits. Nervously, he moved closer to the open door, not knowing what to expect. Could Lucky be in trouble? God, was there a burglar in the store? Looking around to see if there was anything to grab in case he needed to defend himself, Ryan opted for a heavy champagne bottle sitting atop its cardboard display stand. With both hands he held it upside down by the neck, like a baseball batter about to swing for the bleachers.

He turned the corner into the dimly lit office, the bottle held high above his head, and almost dropped it as he saw Lucky lying on his back, fear etched across his face. There weren’t any signs of a struggle, and as Ryan looked over the shop owner’s body, he saw no signs of blunt force trauma or any signs of blood. Panicked, he quickly knelt down to Lucky’s side and asked, ‘Hey Lucky, it’s Ryan. Do you need me to call you an ambulance?’. There was no reply from the old man, just that same blank stare. Looking around for a phone, he noticed an odd arrangement of flowers sitting atop the clean and organized computer desk.

Are those…? Ryan thought to himself. No, they can’t be. He leaned in closer, trying to see if he could recognize the flowers. He knew it. They were carnations, blood red carnations. He knew this because they were Julia’s favorites. Although, he hadn’t seen any like these before. He thought at first, the intricate designs in the middle of the flower almost made it look like a heart. No, maybe it reminded him of a face. These are incredible, he mumbled to himself. His wife would have loved to have seen these; she would have squealed at the deep red texture the petals held. He bent down to take in another whiff of the pungent-smelling flowers and nearly passed out. The flower’s smell was making him dizzy, he thought. He needed to sit down before the floral smell overwhelmed him all together.

He sat next to Lucky on the ground, leaning his ear next to Lucky’s mouth. He remembered seeing people in the movies doing this in attempts to check for signs of life. His reflexes jumped into gear as the old man let out a small crook, sending Ryan sprawling to his

elbows. Sitting himself back up, Ryan looked over at Lucky, who had his weak gaze fixed upon the crimson carnations in the middle of his desk.

“There’s something I need to tell you, and when I’m done explaining, I promise you’re going to think I’ve gone bat shit crazy”, the old man said as he turned his bald head to face a puzzled looking Ryan. “Maybe you should save your strength for when you’re feeling better, old man”, Ryan replied, trying to bring some lightness to the mood.

“I think what I have to say, you will want to hear sooner rather than later”, Lucky replied with an air of exhaustion littering his words. Bringing himself upright, the old man groaned as he sat himself on the wall adjacent to the desk, putting the flowers in eyesight.

“My wife and I owned a small cabin out in ole’ Dark Pines woods maybe 20 miles from town. Had ourselves a sweet baby boy that was about five when the fire took em.”. This revelation threw Ryan back a bit. In all the times he had come into this man’s store and spilled his heart out, Lucky never told him any of this. Selfishly, he felt a slight sting of betrayal, he felt for a second, that the only person he felt he could talk to had been lying to him the whole time. As if Lucky had been reading his mind he said in a soft voice” I’m sorry for keeping that from you Ry, I didn’t mean to hurt you by not sharing that sooner”. Ryan couldn’t be mad at him though, he understood that some things are too painful to say out loud.

“Why are you telling me this now?”, Ryan asked with a solemn tone in his voice. Lucky looked his friend in the eyes and simply said, “Because there may be a chance to see your girls again”.

They had moved to a small storage room located further in the back of Lucky’s Liquor. The room was designed to hold excess inventory but, since the store hadn’t seen a busy day since Clinton was in office, it had just enough room to cram a few cheap fold out chairs, a small card table and shelves housing knock off brands of cleaning supplies. After helping Lucky into a chair, Ryan went to the front of the store, locked the door and turned off the remaining lights. Before heading back to the storage room, Ryan grabbed a few shooters of Jack Daniels and a bottle of water for Lucky.

Ryan entered the storage room and sat down at the table, with Lucky sitting directly across from him. A dim light attached to the ceiling swung slightly back and forth illuminating the middle of the card table. The light swayed lazily with the help of an oscillating fan mounted to the wall adding a more ominous tone to an already ominous situation. “Have you ever heard the local legend of The Marred Mothers?” Lucky asked after what seemed like an eternity to Ryan. The skeptical man arched his eyebrows and slowly shook his head back and forth in response, trying his hardest to listen with an open mind as he was not one for usually believing in folk tales, myths or “legends”.

Lucky could see Ryans skepticism plastered on his face, like a mother having to listen to their child’s recounting of an imaginary monster. The old man, with a grunt, lifted himself up and

out of his chair, and when Ryan began to stand up in an effort to help the old man, Lucky motioned with his hand to stay seated. “I’ll be just a couple of seconds; I need to go grab something”. As soon as Lucky had left the room, Ryan pulled a shooter from his pocket and downed it in a single gulp. If I had known I would be listening to some folklore bullshit, I would have grabbed a few more he thought.

When Lucky returned to his chair and placed a single crimson carnation in the middle of the table, the sweet smell hit Ryan immediately. “These are…” Lucky said just before Ryan interrupted with “carnations….” a brief pause, then he finished,” they were Julia’s favorite”. Lucky looked up at his friend, hunched a little closer, and asked, “Do you know what they represent?”. Ryan could hear the hesitation growing in the old man’s words. His head was feeling a little light all of a sudden. “I think I remember the florist saying they represented love, but that’s the same bullshit they pitch about every other fucking flower” Ryan said with a bit of growing resentment in his voice. He dug into his pocket again and fished out another shooter, downing it at breakneck speeds.

The smell was starting to overwhelm Ryan. He thought maybe it was the alcohol making his head feel light, but he knew deep down it wasn’t from the whiskey. He looked at Lucky, who was staring at the floor, and motioned to the flowers. With just a tinge of apprehension, he asked “What’s up with those things, seems like they’re making me woozy”. Lucky lifted his head, ignoring the question and continued. “Going back thousands of years, carnations were once considered very sacred; they were referred to as the “God” flower. The ancient Greeks believed they contained cosmic powers that could harness the powers of the Gods they worshiped. I did some research a while back, and it wasn’t written about much, but some believe that there were certain groups or cults of people that would hold secret sacrificial ceremonies in which they would use these carnations to harness dark beings and conjure mischief.”.

Lucky looked up to make sure that Ryan was paying attention and continued with his tale. “Nowa’ days folks just give ’em to their boyfriend or girlfriend for Valentine’s Day but what a lot of folks ‘round here don’t know is that they have a darker side that stems back from around the end of the 17th century”.

“Legend has it that the Marred Mothers were a coven of three sisters, known to have been the local healers in the town back when it was in its earliest stages of development. The sisters were known to have healed the sick with tinctures filled with strangely colored and queer smelling liquids, as most women who were accused of being witches did back then. They were said to have been particularly fond of the children most of all, handing out sweets and dolls made of furnished wood and straw”.

Lucky had to stop for a second to take a drink of the water Ryan had previously brought in, then he continued.” One day the child of a very prominent landowner died while under their care, and they held a town meeting where they decided that the witches had to be dealt with once and for all. There were some who tried to advocate for the women, telling about all the sick they had healed, but those voices were soon silenced with threats of immediate violence. They took to their proverbial pitchforks and torches, burning the accused witches’ cottage with them trapped inside. It’s said that as the cottage was being fully consumed by flames, the townspeople could hear the wails of the sisters as the fire ravished their flesh and devoured every inch of the property. The only thing said to have survived the mob’s fire was a small patch of crimson carnations set a few hundred feet from the sisters’ now-burnt remains”.

Ryan could scarcely believe this weird, fabricated-sounding story. What was Lucky trying to do here? He pictured the poor sisters trapped in the house just like his family. He saw his family screaming as the fire danced across their skin, crawling over and inside them. He couldn’t help but picture their mangled bodies clutching one another as the intense heat boiled their eyeballs and flames crept into their mouths as they let out their cries of agony.

That was it. Ryan couldn’t take any more of this. He stood up a little too fast and had to catch himself before he toppled over on the card table. Just as Ryan was about to violently grab the red flower and rip it to shreds, he jumped back in shock. He looked at Lucky with a terrified expression and was about to ask Lucky something about how the flower had just moved on its own, but all he got out was an unintelligible “Whaa hhhh eee” as an aluminum pipe came crashing down on the top of his head with a metallic ting. Ryan’s world instantly went dark, and he felt nothing as two pairs of geriatric hands worked nervously to bind his hands and feet before they arduously loaded his unconscious body into the back of an old run-down Chevy, unceremoniously slamming the rusted tailgate shut.

Ryan was starting to come to, just as the final candle was being lit. He felt straps digging into his armpits, and it seemed to him that he was being held up around his waist somehow. He couldn’t see anything apart from a small glint of light coming from a rip in the burlap sack that someone had slipped over his head like in one of those old western movies, but he could smell that overwhelming floral scent again, only this time there was an added smell, like the incense he had smelt as a boy in church. He tried moving his head around to see if he could see anything out of the small hole, but all he could calculate was that he was fucking confused. What had knocked him out? Where the fuck was he? Where was Lucky? “LUCKY, YOU SON OF A BITCH. WHERE ARE YOU?” Ryan yelled weakly at the top of his voice, sending an instant rolling whip of intense pain streaking through his aching head. He felt dizzy, and he was pretty sure he was about to puke all over the inside of his sack when it was yanked off. It was still nighttime, and with his vision slowly adapting to the light, he could see 50 feet in the distance. It was a person dressed in a dirty robe, once a deep red but now faded to an ugly pink. The hooded figure stood hunched over an opulent pedestal etched with ornate designs and eldritch-looking symbols. The figure and pedestal were both illuminated by dozens of odd candles, all ranging in different sizes and shapes. The candles made shadows dance around the treetops that swayed high above as Ryan tried to think of a rational explanation for the series of events that had transpired thus far.

. He tried to move his hands to find something to defend himself with, but his hands were bound behind his back by a thick strand of rope that was eating into his already chafed wrists. He looked around momentarily to try to get some semblance of his surroundings and saw he was in a cover of woods that looked like it had been cut away at one time but was now overgrown and weed-ridden. Along with the overgrown weeds, Ryan saw that this small patch of woods was also littered with spots of red. At first, Ryan couldn’t discern what they were, but he quickly realized, it was those damn red flowers. The carnations seemed alive as they swayed back and forth with no evident help from any gusts of wind. The pedals seemed to move on their own. The cloaked figure walked steadily closer. Then, with the last bit of confidence Ryan had, he shouted out to his abductor, “What the actual fuu…” but was stopped short with an abrupt slap across his face by a meaty hand. The slap sent another shot of pain driving into his mouth as he bit down on his tongue, tasting that metallic copper of blood.

There before Ryan stood Lucky, the old man from the trusty liquor store up the road. His features were slightly masked by the hood he had draped over his head, but he couldn’t mistake the grin stretched across the man’s face. Lucky pulled out a red canister as if out of air and finally acknowledging his so-called friend said, “Well, there, my boy, you are in quite a pickle here”. Then he began to remove the lid of his newly acquired canister and started pouring its contents at the base of the tree Ryan was firmly attached to. He stopped mid-motion and looked up at Ryan and whispered softly enough for just the two of them to hear, “to be fair, I did tell you at the beginning of all this that you were gonna think I was bat shit crazy”. Ryan was about to ask Lucky what was going on or who the figure in the near distance was, but a flash of light caught his attention and the words died in his throat. Ryan looked over to the pedestal to see the shrouded form remove their hood to reveal a mangled woman’s face, riddled with burn marks and irritated blisters that reminded Ryan of torched roadkill. Her eyes seemed to hold no color except for an utter blackness that seemed to hunger for Ryan’s sanity.

“Hello Ryan, my husband says we have a lot in common”, came a very low and raspy voice from the scarred woman. Atop her head, in place of hair, was a burnt mess of repulsive red blistering tissue, and her eye sockets seemed sunken. Her cheeks held no form and appeared to be falling off the sides of her emaciated face, resembling candle wax that had melted and then pooled at the base of her jawline. Ryan could feel his blood starting to chill and his legs growing a bit weak. He had a knot growing in his throat and didn’t know exactly how to respond to such a claim and meekly let out a gurgled” what do you want?”

‘I want what every mother that has lost their child wants…” She stopped her sentence short as she gestured to her husband, who had set the red canister down and replaced it in his hands with a medium sized wooden box that appeared to have been recently covered in mud and grime. The box looked oddly familiar, its small rectangle shape and delicate designs displaying some sort of pattern that had deteriorated into a mess of veins and bumps. It took Ryan back to the day of his wife and daughter’s funeral; he could hear the rain pounding on the top of their caskets as he wept alone next to their graves for what felt like days. The thought sent chills running down his spine and made the flesh of his entire body prickle with goosebumps. The short, fat man broke Ryan out of his sorrowful daze as he placed the wooden box down at his mistress’s feet, pulled a pry bar from beneath his robes and started removing the lid of the ill-fated box.

As the lid was being pried off the top of the box, a strong wind blew into Ryan’s perspiring face, sending with it a smell of decay and rot. It felt to Ryan that death itself had blown its pungent breath directly into his nose. He gagged and felt again that he would expel whatever was left in his gut all over the front of him when he heard a mummering coming from the mangled woman. He looked up and saw she was now placing a small object wrapped in a blanket on the wooden pedestal. It was a blanket Ryan knew well. He had washed a blanket looking like this one numerous times after Madeline had drugged it through the garden or spilled her juice on it. He knew it couldn’t have been the original blanket, for that one had been incinerated in the fire that had forced its loving owner to leave this material world. He remembered picking up the duplicate blanket from the local seamstress a couple days before the funeral, praying for his dead daughter’s approval of the blanket from across the plain of existence.

“This must be hard for you, dear” the old, decrepit woman said softly, as if truly showing compassion for the poor man’s state of well-being. “But fear not, for this is the end of the road for your pain, for your inner struggle” her words trailed off into the stagnant night air. The old woman’s gnarled fingers wrapped around the cord to her robe and slowly untied the knot situated around her gruesome neck. As the robe fell to her feet, it revealed a small and withered shell of what may have been a woman at one time but was now an image of utter putridness. The creature’s breasts sagged, and the skin appeared loose and heavily scarred. Ryan could see where flesh from her neck had been long ago burned and hadn’t healed correctly, resulting in ooze filled boils resembling a macabre red pearl necklace. Her deflated stomach hung over her pubic area, and the skin around her navel, which was a sickly and irritated red, cascaded into deep purples and black. She looked infected by something; it seemed to be consuming her internally, finally breaking through the skin, resulting in the wicked image displayed before the two men.

The gnarled, emaciated woman started to delicately remove the object from its worn and weathered wrapping, then placed it in the middle of the altar. Ryan could see the object but couldn’t make out any kind of identifying marks or features. Even if he couldn’t see what exactly was wrapped in the cloth sash, his paternal instinct was crying out to him that the body of his deceased daughter was being desecrated right in front of him. He felt rage like he had never known before began to well up inside of him. Ryan was never one to take his aggression out on others, but seeing his dead daughter’s corpse lying there in front of this gnarled and deformed thing sent him into a spiral of madness he didn’t know he could experience. He wanted nothing more than to be released from his bindings and tear the woman’s head from her body. Then thoughts of his daughter laughing and playing outside were replaced by images of pain and anguish that sent Ryan reeling back against his restraints, causing the bindings to cut deeper into his flesh sending warm trails of blood to stream down his arms and chest. Just as Ryan was about to call out for the vile woman to go back to the depths of Hell she crawled out of, Lucky shoved a rag into his mouth silencing the enraged man so as not to interrupt the final part of this evening’s event.

The woman’s murmuring grew into an audible incantation in a strange language Ryan couldn’t place – Latin maybe, he thought. Although it was the dead of summer, the air was beginning to grow chilly, and as the wind picked up, the candle lights danced and flickered in the breeze. The woods grew darker as if the moon and all the night’s stars were being doused out as if in honor of the wicked woman and her ill intentions. In an instant, the gnarled form grabbed the handle of a long-bladed knife and plunged it into the small form laying atop the wooden pedestal. Then suddenly, a cacophony of screams emanated from all around them. The woods echoed with the cries of anguish and agony coming from crimson carnations as they vibrated and the pedals moved in sync with each other.

“I give to you this child in exchange for another”, the woman said over the continuing wails of the flowers. “I demand my son back in exchange for this small offering” she finished as she looked over to her husband, signaling for him to continue with his part of the ceremony. Lucky turned to Ryan and had to almost shout over the growing chorus of the carnations. “Listen Ryan, they are calling for you, they need your acceptance to complete the exchange”. Ryan couldn’t think straight. The only thing he could think of was his poor little girl and wife calling out for his help. “I don’t understand “, was the only thing he could think to say.

“The Marred Mothers Ryan, they need a sacrifice of love to bring back the dead. They require you to announce your love and acceptance of your loss. With your daughter, we will transcend the astral plane. We will finally have our son back and you will be reunited with your lost family ”. Ryan couldn’t focus. Maybe it was the growing intensity of the flowers or maybe it was seeing his daughter lying mangled and molested with a knife sticking from her chest. He felt lightheaded and he could feel the warm trickles of tears running down his face as he looked at Lucky and simply replied “ Whatever it takes to be with them again”.

With that Lucky took out a box of matches, struck one, and tossed it at Ryan’s feet, instantly igniting the ground around him. The flames were intense, and Ryan could only picture this was what his child and wife had experienced in their last moments of life. The fire took no time spreading across the small wooded enclosure, illuminating the entire area around them and revealing rows and rows of crimson flowers, all wailing in harmony. As the red flames turned a vibrant shade of blue, Ryan heard the moans of some incorporeal beings as they materialized in front of the ornate pedestal. The forms of three women dressed in robes were now standing in front of the altar, dressed in the same attire as the gnarled woman had been previously wearing. With their backs facing Ryan and Lucky, they couldn’t see the faces of the women, but Ryan guessed that was probably for the best, he wasn’t sure his mind could take anymore of this.

The three lanky forms were hunching over the altar, and they appeared to be examining Madeline’s body in contemplation. The tallest of the forms raised its head as the other two slowly did the same. All at once, Lucky’s wife was engulfed in the blue flames as she was lifted off the ground by some unseen force. The woman began to yell in pain as the fire crawled up her body and began to ravish every inch of scarred flesh she had . Ryan could hear her call out for the suffering to end, and for Lucky to help her, but the old man could do nothing as he watched in horror as his wife was slowly consumed by the flames. Her flesh started to fall away in burning chunks, her rib cage slowly being revealed for all to see. Her face was nearly gone as her eyeballs popped and the vitreous membrane leaked out and instantly curdled from the intense heat. She tried screaming one last time, but the flames took advantage and lept down her throat, silencing her forever.

What remained of the woman’s body fell to the ground with an audible thud, sending Lucky into a raged filled panic. For all the time the old couple had sat in their study, reading dusty tomes in search of a way to bring back their long deceased son, it ended like this. Lucky couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong, they had done everything the scriptures had said. What they hadn’t taken into consideration was the only thing in the world that could truly conquer the fabric of space and time, inevitably sending all their gruesome work towering down before them. The Marred Mothers were not some demonic force to be used as a tool for evil but were an ancient power that sat dormant, holding onto the last bits of charity they were once so loved and admired for.

He started to run to his dead wife’s still burning corpse but was stopped short by some invisible wall. The vibrant blue flames from the fire Lucky had set were growing ever taller with every passing moment. The wind was picking up ash and soot, making it nearly impossible for Ryan to breathe. His bindings were giving way, however, as the fire was intensifying and Ryan could feel himself slowly being released from the rope’s grasp. With the fire nearly upon him, he tensed every muscle he could muster and finally broke free and fell to the ground, his hands barely catching his fall.

Ryan began to push himself up and watched as Lucky, seeming to be locked in some kind of hypnotic state, slowly lumbered his way to the altar all together, ignoring the fire that had started to creep up the back of his robes. As Lucky stood in front of the hooded figures , they recited a phrase in that ancient yet familiar language when, with a violent jerk, Lucky’s body was suddenly slammed down to the ground and his limbs began to twist and turn at odd angles. His right arm was twisted and snapped as Ryan heard every bone in the man’s arm break like twigs under foot. Ryan saw the man’s left forearm explode to the right as a piece of bone jotted out his elbow in a spray of blood and gore. HIs legs were violently bent backwards with his heels touching the back of his shoulder blades, appearing as a grotesque contortionist. He would have called out for help, possibly for an end to his suffering, but it did little as the man’s neck turned a full 180 degrees, stopping when the skin began to rip away, finally giving the man what he was begging for. Just like his wife, Luck’s body was consumed by the blue flame, and his corpse lay still as the embers of his body flared and the ashes were taken by the wind.

Ryan was trying to catch his breath as he slowly got to his feet. His legs were wobbly, and he felt drained of all energy. He looked at the three cloaked figures as they stared back at him. He raised his arms to show he meant no harm and slowly made his way to the altar, which by now was nearly consumed in the blaze surrounding the area around him. Giving the man some room, they stepped aside, and Ryan made his way to the lifeless corpse of his daughter. He looked down at his broken little girl’s body and slowly removed the knife sticking out from the cavity in her chest. After tossing it down, he carefully scooped up his little girl and turned back to face the cloaked figures as they looked down at the two in admiration.

“I’m not sure what is going on, but if there is any way to be with my family again…” He trailed off, not knowing how to finish his sentence. The Marred Mothers stood there in silence , blue flames erupting all around them. Ryan didn’t know what to do, and just as he was about to give up hope all together, he heard something. They didn’t move their mouths, but Ryan heard their words all the same. “We see your compassion and pain. We admire your strength and loyalty to the family you once held near to you. We cannot bring your family back to this world, but we can guide you to them if this is what you seek. They wait now for you, but only when you’re ready.” Ryan didn’t have to think twice about the decision he would make. If he could be with his family again, there was no other option.” I wish to be with them again, safe from this world of destruction and rot” he called out , his voice, although weak and scratchy from smoke and flame, held with it a strength of a thousand men. He looked down and Madeline’s body was gone. He panicked and looked around, but saw nothing but blue flames and smoke above. The cloaked figures were now gone as well, vanished in the smoke. He was all alone again.

Then suddenly the flames were dying down, and Ryan could feel the intensity of the heat subside, giving him some small relief from the night’s punishment. The ghostly blue flames were gone, and all that remained around him were scorched pieces of earth and clumps of ash. The fire had been extinguished, but what was left for him now. He fell to his knees, defeated and without any answers to what had just happened. He remained there, motionless for a while, until, at last, he heard a small noise behind him. He quickly turned around to see Julia and Madeline standing in front of what looked to be a doorway, with a bright light coming from behind them. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, could it really be them? His heart melted, and he started to cry uncontrollably. He ran to them both, and after he felt the solidity of his wife and child, he knew it wasn’t a dream. His nightmare was over and now it was time to spend the rest of eternity with the people he loved the most. As they were walking back through the strange portal they had come from, Madeline stopped, turned back and ran to grab something that had fallen off the now scorched pedestal and onto the ground. With her unmarred blanket in hand, she looked up at her father and, with a huge smile, said, “Thanks for the blankey, Daddy, it’s perfect.”