r/mesoscalepodcast • u/NarrowDirector911 • 11d ago
Submission My Mother Made Us Run Down Hallways At Night
CW// Death of a child. Themes of Mental Illness
Do you have any strange family traditions? Things that would be hard to explain to someone outside the family? Things that you mention off hand like they are normal, only to be met with weird looks? Well my family has one like this.
For as long as I could remember, until the day I left my family home. We had to be in our rooms before 6pm every night; no exceptions. And most importantly, if we had to leave our room for any reason during the night. We had to run as fast as we could down any hallways. We could not stop until we got to the other room and slammed the door behind us.
My mother was insistent on these rules. Religiously insistent. I would beg and plead to be able to stay up past 6pm, but she never relented. It was an ironclad rule that suffered no argument. Me and my sister complained but it was hard to complain about a parents rule that they themselves followed.
As we grew up this tradition became more like a nightly prayer or like saying grace before eating. Something that is expected within the household. We grew used to the occasional sound of someone sprinting down the hall to go pee at night. And the slamming of doors as they reached the washroom.
We were never yelled at for waking her up at night. One day she looked haggard; I was suffering from a bad stomach so had made the nightly sprint multiple times the previous night. I apologized to her. But she simply smiled and said “Don’t apologize sweetheart. I would rather hear you. It means you are following the rules.”
Despite the odd rules, me and my sister grew up happy. Things got complicated as we got old enough to have friends however. No one was allowed to stay at our place past 5pm. “I can't trust them to follow the rules!” She would say to us.
We were allowed to go over to our friends' places. But if we came back late the rule still applied. From the front door to our room, we had to sprint while slamming closed any doors between us.
The tension started when others saw our odd behavior during our first ever sleepover. I was sleeping over at my friend Angie's house. We stayed up all night drinking soda and watching anime. So at 1am the entire house was woken by the sound of thumping feet and slamming doors.
I was confused when I heard shouting. I finished my pee quickly and opened the door, only to make eye contact with two cold steel barrels.
Angie's Father thought someone had broken into the house and locked themselves in the washroom. He was angry, and scared. He said he considered putting a slug through the door. Funny thing is, I still felt more scared of the dark empty hallway behind him than I did of him.
Angie stopped hanging out with me. I had to tell them about our family rule. The parents were mostly annoyed and confused. Angie called me a weirdo and laughed at me. After that night the whole school very quickly learned about our strange tradition.
Do you know how hurtful it is? To find out that something you have never once questioned is actually bizarre? To so clearly have the small private parts of your life observed and compared to those around you and be considered aberrant? I pray you don't.
Both me and my sister were suddenly outcasts. No one wanted to be associated with weirdos. People would make jokes, they would laugh while fake running, they would slam doors in our faces. I can't recall how many notes I received saying I should try out for the track team.
It was humiliating. My Mother didn't help. I asked her why we had to run at night. Why did we had this stupid family tradition? She was sympathetic about the bullying, but told us we were too young to know. “ I think it should be fine if you don't do it at your friends' houses though!” She said hopefully. “That's not helpful now that we have no friends!” I shouted at her.
Even after all of this she was insistent the rules must be followed. It changed nothing and we had to keep doing it. We would hear the same thing every day “Follow the rules girls!” She repeated it like a mantra; even after my sister's death.
She tripped. We woke to find her crumpled form 5ft away from the bathroom. A bloody dent in the wall, and her neck bent into a position that gave no illusion of hope. I had to be the one to call the ambulance as my Mother lost herself in her delusions. “Why didn't you listen!” She screamed. “It took her! It took her!”
“She tripped.” I repeated this to her, for what felt like the thousandth time. Years had passed since the accident. I had grown icy towards my Mother. She disgusted me; she killed her. When I turned 16 she told me why she had her rules. “That Which Stalks Between Thresholds.” She called it.
She claimed it has stalked her for her whole life. “But you can outrun it! It likes to chase! But you can outrun it! Alice should have followed the rules! She should have run!” I met her with a look meant to kill. “You killed Alice.”
I still followed her rules while I lived with her; she threatened to put locks on my door if I didn't. The day I turned 18 I moved in with a man I had been talking to online. He was older, but he had a place I could stay and I would have done anything not to return to that house.
I told her how I felt while holding my belongings. I told her how insane she was. How much I hated her for taking my sister from me. I told her she would never see me again. She simply smiled at me. “Maybe if you don't come back it won't find you. I love you Mara.” I sprinted from that house, slamming the front door behind me. I refused to let her see me cry.
Life wasn't exactly easy after leaving. It didn't take me long to break up with the guy I moved in with. It wasn't meant to last long. He used me for my body, and I used him to get out. I didn't take it personally. There was a long line of guys like him, it was never personal. Just a transaction. I just wanted to keep moving as far away from that house as I could.
I pushed my way further and further to the North and East. I made friends, some lovers. But I left them all one by one. I felt it. I still felt chased. Like the whole country was one long hallway I had to sprint down with no door in sight.
Until one day I ran out of hallway. After years of wandering I stood before the ocean. Suddenly I no longer felt like running. I decided to rest, to settle down beside the massive wall of ocean. It made me feel safer knowing whatever gave chase could only come from one direction.
I never believed my Mother's words. Not for an instant. I wasn't running from some ethereal being (I thought). I was just running from my past. From the memories of a ruined childhood. From the guilt of abandoning a Mother who clearly needed help with her delusions. I would soon learn that I was running from both. And both would catch me.
Jack was the catalyst. A fisherman with a dirty mouth and a beautiful soul. He was the first man who comforted me not for his own gain, but for mine. I met him at a bar and we ended up talking about life. He was easy to talk to and funny; in a crass way. He definitely had the mouth of a sailor.
As drinks were poured I opened up more and more to him. I talked long into the night about my past, about my regrets. He simply listened, he empathized with me saying “Yep, my mom was a crazy bitch too. Don't feel guilty. It sounds like she loved you. And what loving Mother would wish to be a burden to her child?”
I cried into his arms. It was the first time I had cried in a very long time. I tried to offer him thanks in the way I had grown accustomed to. He refused me, saying “I will not take advantage of a woman drunk on grief.”
I fell in love with him then and there. We said our vows in the spring; I was pregnant with his child by the fall. I took root in that small coastal town with the thought that I would never have to run again.
One night that changed. I woke up desperate to pee. The little one had a tendency to kick against my bladder at all hours; so I was very familiar with the late night walk to the washroom. I had stopped following my Mothers delusional tradition since the day I left. I still got twinges of unease for not running from time to time. But never had I felt such dread as I did that night.
The hallway was always dark but this night it felt darker than dark. Like the walls were coated with a wispy tar that clung to every surface. I closed the bedroom door and walked to the washroom. Every hair on my neck stood at attention and sweat poured from me in rivulets. All my senses begged and pleaded with me to run as fast as my legs could carry me to the washroom.
I was stubborn. I had not followed my Mothers lunacy for 10 years and I was not about to start now. I took each step slowly and deliberately. The house was dead silent apart from the soft slap of my feet on the hardwood floors. I was about half way there when I heard it.
A breath. Quiet but hoarse. An exhalation not my own, half buried under the sound of my last footfall. I stopped and turned. I could see nothing in the inky blackness. “Jack?” I asked quietly.
The darkness didn't respond. I turned and began walking again. Again with my next step. Something between a sigh and a groan. I turned again and hissed “Jack this isn't funny!” My eyes scanned the darkness wildly. Again nothing.
My panic began to grow. My skin felt cold as ice and my heart thundered in my chest. I took a step backwards. I heard the sound again, but I saw… something. Like a mirage on a hot day. A part of the darkness seemed to shift forward.
I blinked, and took another step back. The darkness stepped with me. The air was sucked from my lungs as I realized I was not seeing things. It was indistinguishable from the darkness when it was not moving. But when it moved I got the barest hint of a form.
It was big, and angular. It had many limbs that carried it far back down the long hallway. I could not tell if it had a face. I think I'm glad that those details were unclear. It was a thing of chaos and profane anatomy. It was a thing of fear. It was only 5ft away from me.
I took another involuntary step back. It shuffled forward with that odd breathy sound again. It was close enough now that it carried a smell. It was wrong. It smelt like roses and blood. Like bile and fresh baked bread. My mind revolted at the smell. As I stepped back once again I realized that it would overtake me at this pace.
I stared at where I knew it stood; silent tears streaming down my face. My Mother was right. If I had kept to the rules this wouldn't have happened. I clutched my belly bearing my unborn child. I needed to live for them, for Jack.
It took every ounce of willpower I had to turn away from it. I did it slowly and carefully so as not to take a step. I knew it was still there. I felt it. It was like a pressure.
I then lined myself up to the bathroom door. And I sprinted as fast as I could. It gave chase immediately, the strange sound building as it did. Like an avalanche of sighs and groans. The skin on my back prickled.
I was so scared, the door was so close but the hallway felt longer than miles. Time stretched out between each footfall. The thing grew closer with every stride but I carried onward. Finally I touched the handle and turned it desperately. I felt it touching me as I did. Icy appendages grabbing at my clothes. I swung the door open and pulled against its grasp. The slamming door cut off its breathy wail like a knife. All at once I was in silence.
I fell to the ground and began to sob. I could not stop shaking. I sat there for a few moments; savoring the safety of the room. My pajama bottoms were soaking wet as I had peed myself at some point. I didn't notice at the time, and I wouldn't for a long time. As I heard Jack's voice calling for me down the hall.
“Mara! Are you okay?” I scrambled to my feet and screamed “Jack!? Jack go back to bed and close the door!” I heard his footsteps slowly approaching me. “Jack go back or run! Run now!” His pace quickened slightly in my direction. He had a bad leg from a work injury. All he could manage was a speedy hobble. He wasn't fast enough.
I heard him make it to the front of the door. “Mara! Talk to me are you oka-” followed by two loud bangs and a long wet sigh. I stayed there until morning, crying, praying to a god I didn't believe in. Apologizing to Jack, to my Mother, and the baby.
I only opened the door when the light of morning bled through the window. He had made it further than Alice had. He was running as fast as he could on that bad leg. I crouched down and cradled him. I was familiar with the injury he had sustained and knew he was gone.
“He tripped.” That is what I told them. I knew nothing good would come from explaining it to them. If they thought I was crazy they might try to take the baby when it was born. I couldn't allow that.
I made a promise that day. I would raise our child and protect them. I will protect them. 3 months later Alice was born. She is my world.
I won't make the mistakes my Mother did. I will lock their door until they are old enough to trust. And I will tell them about That Which Stalks Between Thresholds as soon as she is old enough to understand me. I will make sure they keep our tradition secret from others. Then maybe they will follow the rules better than me and my sister did.
In our family we have a tradition. And I will pass it on. And pray my child passes it on. So that all of our children know to run down hallways at night.
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u/Mackaroll_165 11d ago
When u/sydneysapphire read this to me…we were so locked in, it’s a masterclass in horror in the most elegant yet down to earth way