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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/HorrorJunkie123 on 2024-09-26 16:17:03+00:00.

My mother has always been overly obsessed with cleaning - and I’m not just talking about the house. I mean everything. Her car, my clothes, the insides of her ears. Hell, even the cat gets a thorough scrubbing at least once a week. 

Mom’s fixation on cleaning has always been a bit of a thorn in my side, but it used to be somewhat manageable. Now, I’m downright terrified of what it’s done to my mother. 

“Mom, please. Let me help you with this. You’ve had a long day.” 

“No,” Mom replied, refusing to take her eyes off the spot she was scrubbing on the kitchen floor. “You’re not thorough enough. You know that.” 

I sighed. It was a very blunt way to put it, but she wasn’t wrong. Mom expected each tile to be absolutely spotless, and I just didn’t have the time nor the dedication to make that happen. Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bummed out about it. All I wanted was to spend a little quality time with her, even if it meant relentlessly cleansing the already-pristine floors. 

“Okay. I’ll be up in my room, then,” I said, heading for the stairs. 

I still don’t know what made me do it. Maybe it was due to frustration, or resentment, or a primal need for attention. Maybe it was a mix of the three. What I do know, is that what I said next was the catalyst for Mom’s downward spiral. 

“It doesn’t matter how clean the house is. It won’t make Dad come back home.” 

Instant regret washed over me the moment the words left my lips. Mom froze, staring holes into the shimmering tile before her. Her eyes began to water, and a deep sense of guilt settled into my stomach. 

“I know.” 

A long, tense silence followed. My brain scrambled for the right words to say. Anything to fix what I’d done. But each time I opened my mouth to speak, the apology died on my tongue. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” I finally squeaked out, tears welling in my own eyes. 

Mom didn’t respond. She just continued solemnly scrubbing away at stains that I couldn’t see, acting as if I’d never said anything at all. 

***

Mom was different after that incident. More closed off. Before, when I would come home from school, she would take a moment to greet me and ask how my day was. I always looked forward to that. Now, she doesn’t give me so much as a wave. And to top it all off, Mom’s daily cleaning spree escalated from intense to out of control. 

She started vehemently cleansing everything in the house two days ago, and she hasn’t stopped since. I first noticed it when I arrived home from class. 

The moment I walked through the door yesterday, Mom was on me like white on rice. She snatched the backpack from my grasp, and began furiously wiping it down. 

“Uh… good to see you too, Mom.” She didn’t reply, her eyes laser-focused on my bag. 

Honestly, she was beginning to frighten me. I knew that what I’d said had struck a nerve, but I didn’t think Mom was petty enough to ignore me entirely. Yes, I screwed up. But I didn’t deserve to be shunned. 

Mom didn’t bother making dinner that evening. She was too busy running my clothes through the wash for the fourth time that day. It was as if Mom thought I had some kind of infectious disease, and the only way to prevent it from spreading was to clean my belongings like there was no tomorrow. 

I decided to try my best to ignore it. Surely, after enough time, Mom would return to her normal self. She had to… right? 

I wanted to believe that, but I really didn’t know. So, I figured it couldn’t hurt to buy her something to show how sorry I was. After all, Mom was always a sucker for gifts. 

The next day on my way home from school, I made a little detour. I stopped off at a local florist, and I bought the prettiest bouquet of roses that my jobless, teenage self could afford. As basic as it is, red roses are Mom’s favorites. 

I grinned like the Cheshire cat the entire walk home, eagerly awaiting Mom’s response to my present. I sauntered through the door, armed with brib- I mean, my random expression of kindness - and I marched straight up to my mother. She was busy dusting the tops of the kitchen cabinets, so she didn’t see me right away. 

“Mom, I’m home!” 

Silence. She didn’t even turn to look at me. I sighed. I didn’t want it to have to come to this. 

“Mom! I bought you something!” I shouted, waving the flowers in what I hoped was her peripheral vision. 

That did the trick. 

“Oh, hello Honey! I didn’t hear you come in. Are those for me?” she asked, exaggeratedly placing her hand over her heart.  

“Yep! I wanted to apologize… for a couple days ago. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” 

I could feel hot tears stinging at my eyes. I may have had to stoop as low as to buy my mother’s love, but my apology was genuine.

“It’s okay, Gemma. I know you didn’t mean it,” Mom said, hopping down from the counter and wrapping me in a massive bear hug. I won’t lie, I may have shed a tear or two. I’d really needed that. 

Mom smiled warmly at me when she finally pulled away. My heart swelled with relief. For the first time in a long time, I felt like things were going to be okay. 

How wrong I was… 

I watched as Mom’s gaze broke from mine and fell to the roses still clutched between my fingers. Her welcoming visage melted, and a deep frown replaced her affectionate grin. 

“Sweetie, the thorns. You’re bleeding.” I glanced down, and sure enough, she was right. A small rivulet of crimson was traveling from the back of my hand down to my wrist. I must have been so caught up in the moment that I didn’t feel it. 

“Let me clean that up for you. We wouldn’t want it dripping onto the floor, now would we?” Mom said, snatching a wet rag from the sink. 

I placed the bouquet onto the counter, and began backing away. “No, no, Mom. It’s fine, really. I’ll just go to the bathroom, and-”

“Nonsense! I’ll take care of it. Let me see.” 

“Mom, it’s okay. I can handle it.” 

“Gemma, let me see it.” Mom gritted her teeth and clutched the rag so tightly that a few droplets of sink water fell to the floor. 

“Alright,” I said, hoping not to anger her any further. 

“That’s a good girl,” Mom replied, snatching my wrist. She began rubbing ferociously, wiping at the bloody spot like it was a deadly virus that needed to be eradicated. I released a weak whimper as she continued, unrelenting. 

“Mom, stop. That hurts,” I whined, tugging against her grip.

“Just. A little bit. More.” 

“No! Let go of me!” I shouted, ripping my arm away. I glanced down at my hand to find that Mom had only made it worse. My skin stung, and I could tell that the abrasion had spread as a direct result of Mom’s obsessive cleansing. 

“Get back over here. I wasn’t done yet,” Mom ordered, advancing toward me. I hesitantly met her stare, and my heart dropped. Mom’s eyes were wild. They looked hungry. Predatory. Like a rabid animal ready to tear into its prey. 

I slowly backed into the hallway. I didn’t know what to do. I had never seen her like that before.

“Mom, please. You’re scaring me.” My voice sounded so brittle. In that moment, I felt like a scared, defenseless little girl again.  And that terrified me. 

“Oh Honey, there’s nothing to be afraid of! Mommy won’t hurt you. Just come here, and I can make all the pain go away.”

For a second, Mom’s manic expression faded. I could sense the nurturing, loving parent that I once knew. I almost returned to her. 

But then, she lunged for me. 

I sidestepped her and bolted for the stairs. I could hear her screaming at me all the while. “Come here, you disrespectful little shit! I will not tolerate this kind of behavior. You get your ass back down here now, young lady. If I have to come up there, mark my words, you will regret it.” 

Tears trickled down my cheeks as I flew up the steps and locked myself in my room. I shoved my dresser in front of the door, barricading myself inside. I had never seen Mom in such a volatile state, and I had no idea what she was capable of. 

That’s where I am now. I didn’t want it to have to come to this, but I think I’m going to have to call the police. My heart is racing as I type this out. 

And to make matters worse, I found a letter where my dresser had been. I think someone wanted me to find it. My name had been hastily scrawled across the front, and it looked old. With trembling hands, I opened the letter and read its contents:

Gemma,

I’m sorry for doing this to you and your mother. I love you more than anything in the entire world, but I couldn’t stay with her any longer. I’m a coward for that, but I had to leave for my own safety. This may sound insane, but you need to know. A few years after you were born, we were both in a dark place. I was drinking heavily, and your mother had turned to the occult. She ended up being possessed by a demonic entity. It reacts to the sight of blood. Whatever you do, NEVER show her if you’re bleeding. It will send her into a manic frenzy. Please, stay safe, and know that I will always love you. 

Yours, 

Dad 

I wish I would have found the letter sooner. It might be too late for me now. Because I can smell potent cleaning chemicals and bleach wafting through the cracks in the door - and Mom is calling in a sickly sweet voice. 

“Gemma, please come out. I don’t mean any harm. All I want is to scrub all that filthy flesh and blood away from your bones."