Chapter 3: Not My Mother

Chapter 3: Not My Mother

The Williams’ house was a monument to suburban perfection, right down to the perfectly manicured lawn and the welcoming pineapple-shaped door knocker. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of lemon polish and the cloying, serene notes of the song. It emanated from the television, a nature documentary where majestic eagles soared to the alien melody. It seeped from the kitchen radio, a constant, placid companion to the rhythmic chop of a knife.

Chloe stood by the front door, her car keys clutched in a sweaty palm. “I’m heading out, Mom. Going to meet the guys at the diner.”

Her mother, Elizabeth Williams, turned from the cutting board. Her smile was a perfect, placid curve. It was the same smile she wore for press photos with Chloe’s father, the mayor—a smile of practiced warmth that no longer reached her eyes. Today, it didn't even seem to connect to her face.

“Oh, I don’t think so, honey,” she said, her voice as smooth and empty as the music. “It’s getting dark. You should stay in tonight. We’ll have a nice family dinner.”

A chill, unrelated to the air conditioning, traced a path down Chloe’s spine. “It’s five-thirty. And Dad’s at a town hall meeting, remember?”

“He’ll be home soon,” her mother replied, her gaze unwavering. For a fleeting moment, her eyes seemed to catch the light from the window in a strange way, shimmering with an unnatural, pearlescent sheen, like oil on water. “Stay. I’ll make your favorite. Pot roast.”

This was the obstacle. Illogical. Unyielding. Chloe felt a familiar throb of pain behind her temple, her own personal early warning system. But this time, it wasn't a distant, ambient feeling of hunger she was sensing. It was a sharp, focused intent radiating from her own mother: Contain the specimen. Do not let it leave the enclosure. The thought was so alien, so chillingly detached, that Chloe flinched.

“I’m not really hungry,” Chloe said, her hand reaching for the doorknob. “I’ll be back by ten, I promise.”

“No.” The word was soft, but it landed with the finality of a locked door. Her mother hadn’t moved, but the entire atmosphere in the house had shifted. It became heavy, oppressive. The lemon polish scent suddenly seemed cloying, designed to mask something rotten underneath. “You will stay.”

Chloe’s heart hammered against her ribs. She turned the knob. It didn't budge. She twisted the deadbolt. It was already thrown. She hadn’t locked it. She stared at her mother, who was still standing by the counter, holding a paring knife, that serene smile never faltering.

Panic clawed at Chloe’s throat. She ran to the phone on the hall table, snatching the receiver. There was no dial tone. Just a faint, pulsing hum that vibrated in time with the song. Her home had become a cage.

---

“She’s thirty minutes late,” Jax grumbled, drumming his fingers on the sticky tabletop of the diner booth. “Chloe’s never late.”

“Maybe her mom made her stay home,” Maya suggested, arranging her cutlery into perfect parallel lines. But her voice lacked conviction. They all knew something was wrong. The air itself felt wrong, saturated with the never-ending song that played from the diner’s jukebox.

Leo sat hunched over his sketchbook, his eyes dark with anxiety. “We should have a plan. We can’t just go blundering into things.”

“The plan is, we go check on our friend,” Jax said, his protective instincts overriding any fear. “Let’s go.”

He slid out of the booth, his broad shoulders filling his letterman jacket. Maya and Leo exchanged a worried glance and followed him out into the twilight.

The Williams’ house was bathed in a warm, inviting glow. A light was on in the living room. It looked like a postcard of American domesticity. When Jax rang the doorbell, Elizabeth Williams answered almost immediately, her smile as bright and false as a storefront mannequin’s.

“Jax! What a surprise. Is everything alright?” she asked.

“Evening, Mrs. Williams. We were just supposed to meet Chloe. Is she here?”

“Oh, she came down with a bit of a headache,” her mother said smoothly. “She’s resting upstairs. I’m afraid she won’t be able to go out tonight.”

It was the perfect lie. Plausible. Dismissive. But as she spoke, Leo, standing just behind Jax, stared at her reflection in the polished brass of the pineapple door knocker. It wasn't Elizabeth Williams he saw. It was a distorted, elongated parody. The spindly, insectoid creature from his sketchbook was there, its shimmering, multi-faceted eyes seeming to stare directly at him from the warped metal.

Leo grabbed Jax’s arm, his fingers digging in. His face was ashen. Jax didn’t need any more convincing.

“You know, I think we’ll just pop in and say hi for a second,” Jax said, taking a deliberate step forward, forcing Mrs. Williams to move back. “Won’t take a minute.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not a good idea,” she said, her voice losing its warmth, flattening into a monotone command. The pearlescent light in her eyes intensified. “The children are not to be disturbed.”

She used the word “children” as if it were a scientific classification. As she raised a hand to block the doorway, Jax pushed forward, his shoulder brushing against her arm.

And then, something impossible happened.

Mrs. Williams flinched away from him as if he were made of fire. A pained hiss escaped her lips, the serene mask on her face shattering for an instant into a rictus of agony. The shimmering light in her eyes flickered violently, like a TV screen losing its signal. A high-pitched squeal, a distorted fragment of the omnipresent song, tore through the air.

She staggered back, clutching her head, a flicker of the real Elizabeth Williams—confused, terrified—surfacing in her eyes before being swallowed again by the placid emptiness.

Jax froze, staring at his own hands. “What did I do?”

“Your presence,” Maya breathed, her eyes wide with sudden, brilliant understanding. “It’s like interference. It disrupts their control!”

There was no time to analyze it. From inside the house, they heard a muffled scream. Chloe’s scream.

“Chloe!” Jax yelled, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. He charged through the doorway, using his body like a battering ram. Leo and Maya were right behind him.

The moment Jax crossed the threshold, the oppressive atmosphere in the house seemed to warp around him. The ever-present song faltered, filled with static and discordant shrieks. Mrs. Williams crumpled to her knees, moaning, her hands pressed to her temples.

They found Chloe halfway up the stairs, backed against the wall, her face pale with terror. Her mother had become a twitching, glitching horror, caught between her human form and the monster within. As Jax ran to Chloe, the glamour around her mother broke completely for a split second. All three of them saw it—not just in a reflection, but in the flesh. The creature’s impossibly long, stick-like limbs unfolded, its featureless head snapping toward them with an audible click.

It was a sight that burned itself into their minds.

“Get her out of here!” Maya yelled, her voice trembling but firm.

Jax grabbed Chloe’s arm, pulling her toward the door. “Come on, let’s go!”

Chloe was paralyzed, her empathic sense overloaded by the raw, alien hatred pouring off the creature wearing her mother's skin. But the solid, grounding presence of Jax next to her—a bubble of pure, untainted reality—was enough to break the spell. She scrambled after him, Leo and Maya right on their heels.

They burst back out into the cool night air, slamming the door behind them. They didn't stop running until they were piled inside the safety of the Bronco, the engine roaring to life. Jax peeled away from the curb, leaving the perfect house with its perfect lawn and the monster in the living room behind.

They were all gasping for breath, hearts pounding with a primal fear. Chloe was sobbing quietly in the back seat.

“She wasn’t my mother,” she whispered, the words fractured by grief and horror. “That thing… it was wearing her.”

Jax gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He glanced in the rearview mirror, at the shaken faces of his friends, at the receding image of the house that was no longer a home. The adults weren't just acting strange. They weren't just brainwashed. They were puppets, their strings pulled by unseen monsters from a world behind the sky. And they had just cut one of those strings, however briefly, declaring war on the puppeteers.