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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Roos85 on 2024-10-01 23:28:24+00:00.

I love my son. This isn’t a wish he was never born, rant. I love my child unconditionally, I just hate that this is my life.

My son is a wonderful, funny boy with a zest for life that radiates from his eyes. He didn’t ask for this as much as I didn’t; if anything, I blame myself for my son’s problems. He’s only six, and if things are bad now, it terrifies me to think what it’s going to be like for him when he gets older.

Everything about his existence is heartbreaking, and as his mother, I get front-row seats to every tear he hides, every moment he feels small and every time the world turns its back on the incredible person I know he is.

Before my son was born, we were a God-fearing, church-going family. My son’s disability wasn’t prominent until he reached five, and when it became difficult to hide, the church asked us to leave because they thought my son was an abomination to God. It was in that moment I knew my life would never be the same. Their rejection crushed me, not just because they turned their backs on us, but because they took with them the community I thought would stand by us.

The biggest betrayal came at the hands of my husband. He was never subtle about his feelings towards our son. It wasn’t so much in what he said, but how he acted. The way he avoided eye contact, the sighs of frustration, the way he distanced himself from us. The resentment in his eyes said more than words ever could. Over time, it became clear that to him or his son, it wasn’t just a challenge; he was a burden.

It started gradually with my husband. He began working late more often, always claiming he had extra projects or last-minute meetings. At first, I believed him, thinking he needed space to cope with our son’s struggles. But the late nights turned into entire weekends away. I’d find myself putting our son to bed alone, wondering where he really was. One evening, when he didn’t come home until dawn, I finally confronted him. His response was cold and detached. He didn’t deny the affair. He didn’t apologize. He simply shrugged and said, “I can’t do this anymore.”

That was a year ago. Marriages don’t always work out. I get that, and I can get over it, but I was more heartbroken for my son, who keeps asking if his daddy is coming home or if his daddy still loves him.

My son’s disability isn’t something anyone can prepare for. Growing from his back is a twisted, grotesque remnant of what was once his twin alive, speaking, and pure evil. We call him Eli. His face is distorted, with a crooked smile that seems like he is constantly sneering at you, and his eyes gleam with an unsettling intelligence.

He whispers vile things into my son’s ear, planting seeds of doubt to poison his mind. Eli is more than a burden, it’s as if his very existence thrives on tormenting us both.

As my son grows, so does Eli. What began as a small, unsettling presence on his back has now become something far more horrifying. Eli’s body is expanding, and his limbs pushing out further, with his face growing more defined and sinister.

My son’s posture has started to bend under the weight of him. Walking has become difficult, with each step a struggle as Eli clings tighter, growing heavier by the day. His whispers have grown louder too, more insistent, as if he only exists to taunt me and my son.

Lying in bed, I was jolted awake by the sound of shuffling footsteps moving through the house. I thought for sure someone was breaking into the house. A sense of dread crept up my spine and I quickly slipped out of bed, tiptoeing down the dimly lit hallway to my son’s room.

When I pushed the door open, I froze in horror. There he was, lying on the bed, his body pale and frail, barely hanging on to life. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. But what struck me most was the absence of Eli; the grotesque twin that had tormented us was nowhere to be found. I rushed to my son’s side and cradled his body in my arms,

Terror gripped me as I crouched beside my son. The house was unnervingly quiet until the sound of Eli clawing his fingernails into the floorboards as he dragged himself towards the bedroom sent shivers down my spine.

Suddenly, there he was, emerging from the darkness of the hallway as his grotesque body moved towards us with an unnatural and predatory grace.

With a sickening fluidity, Eli began to meld back into Callum’s back, their bodies merging in an abnormal union. My son gasped, his eyes wide with terror, and at that moment, I knew this nightmare was far from over.

As the weeks progressed I noticed a change in Callum. It was as if he was losing control of himself, as his body got weaker. All the while, Eli was growing stronger.

I awoke to the soft rustle of movement beside my bed. It took my eyes and my mind a moment to adjust and realize Callum was standing over me.

It was dark and all I could see was a vacant stare from my sons eyes that cut through the darkness.

At first, I thought he was sleepwalking.

“Callum, you ok, honey?” I whispered, my voice thick with sleep. But something was wrong. He didn’t respond. Slowly, his head turned toward me, and as he stepped into the faint light from the hallway and stared right through me as an unsettling smile spread across his face.

I sat up quickly and reached out to him, but he didn’t move. Instead. I saw a struggle in his eyes, the familiar, frightened look of my boy, trapped beneath the surface as his body started convulsing.

“Eli’s in control now,” the voice sneered, sending a chill through my bones. Callum’s lips moved, but it was Eli speaking through him, twisting every word.

"He’s getting weaker, and I’m getting stronger.”

My son stood just inches from me, but he was no longer himself. I tried to hold him tight as he continued to convulse as Eli’s cruel laughter echoed through the house.

The next day, after a restless night, I tried to call my husband, but all I got was his answering machine. My hands trembled as I left a message for him to get to the house. As I hung up, I heard Callum’s sweet, innocent voice calling out from his bedroom. My heart leapt with relief, hoping he was finally himself again.

“Mom?” he called softly.

I rushed upstairs, my chest tightening with a strange mix of hope and dread. But when I opened the door, my son wasn’t there. Instead, Eli lay sprawled on the bed, with a wicked grin stretching across his face.

“Mom?” he repeated in Callum’s voice, the tone so pure, so familiar, that it made my blood run cold.

My legs turned to Jelly as I backed away, horrified by the twisted sight of Eli mimicking my son. His eyes gleamed with malice as he spoke again.

"What’s wrong, Mom?”

My breath hitched as I stood frozen, staring at Eli on the bed, as he layed their grinning at me. But then, from beneath the bed, I heard a soft shuffling. My stomach dropped. Slowly, Callum crawled out, his body moving unnaturally, just like Eli’s had before. His limbs bent at impossible angles, dragging himself closer, as he dug his fingers into the hardwood floor. I stumbled back, as a cold sweat trickled down my back.

When my husband finally burst through the door, his face was pale and gaunt, as if he hadn’t slept in days. A look of guilt beamed from his eyes as he looked at Eli sprawled on the bed, grinning wickedly, while Callum writhed on the floor, convulsing in agony.

I rushed to comfort our son, my hands shaking as I tried to soothe him.

“Eli, stop this!” I shouted, desperate to regain control of the nightmare that had consumed our lives.

“This is all my fault,” my husband murmured. “It’s all my fault that Callum is like this.

His gaze dropped to the floor, as he clenched his fists.

“He’s like this because of me because of my genes. That scar on my stomach wasn’t from an accident. It’s a reminder of what Callum is going through. I had a twin brother too. He was a part of me the same way Eli is a part of Callum.”

My stomach dropped as the realization sank in.

“What happened to him?”

My husband took a deep breath, glancing back at Eli on the bed.

He’s still alive and locked in my parents’ basement.”

My heart sank further as I grasped his words.

“You can’t be serious!”

"I think it’s time Eli meets his uncle.