“Ma, do you hear something?”

 

He heard it: a low mumbling that rattled the walls.

He hated it: the crushing fear that resided in him, and him only.

 

No one believed him. They deemed him crazy, a lunatic, pretending their harsh whispers couldn’t be heard. Oh, he always heard what they had to say. He heard them in the walls at night.

 

“You can’t live like this forever.” His mother would look at him, pleading for him to finally understand. He could never meet her eyes.

 

To understand what, mother? That he’s a filthy liar in everyone’s eyes, making up the voices that haunt him at night?

 

“L-Look at me!” His mother desperately cupped his face, “Can’t you understand, son? The voices aren’t real. There’s a life beyond the walls. Stop.. please..”

 

He pushed her hands away, determined and unwilling to see the heartbreak on his mother’s face. She was a liar, related to the world that could never see past their own delusions. The voices spoke to him; and, they gave him a sense of regard that his mother failed to bring.

 

He hated his mother, the voices told him so.

 

“The voices don’t lie.” He murmured, ever so softly, “They always speak the truth. Aren’t you a liar, ma? Haven’t you lied to me my whole life, ma?”

 

His mother clung against the wall, too horrified to speak. Why was his mother scared? The voices hummed in agreement, pulsing against the hands that held their source of power.

 

“Why do you never answer me?” He screamed, “Why do you pretend to care? Am I nothing to you?”

 

Her nails were bloody, scraping against the chipped paint of the walls. She stared at him with only one emotion: fear.

 

“I’ve always cared about you, son..”

 

“That’s not what the voices told me.”

 

“The voices-” She laughed maniacally, “The voices mean nothing. It’s all in your head. I’ve lived with you my whole life, and not once did I hear some stupid, demonic voice in the walls.”

 

She’s lying.

 

“You’re crazy! I didn’t want to believe it, but I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand you, anymore.”

 

Don’t believe a thing she says.

 

“Is this your plan? You want me to hear what’s in the walls? I wanted my son back. I stuck for years, listening to you talk to yourself behind closed doors, all to realize that I can’t change the insane. You’re not my son.”

 

Kill her.

 

The walls were perfectly white; and, he painted them splashes of red. The voices rung inside of his head, filling him to the brim with acts to kill, kill, kill. He screamed in agony. His mother lied against the wall, silent.

 

Give her to us.

 

He knew what he had to do.

 

With bloody knuckles, he crashed down the walls of his stability and ruin. A hole in the wall, a hole in his heart, he held his mother close to him once more. He let one, single tear slip out.

 

His mother was no longer his to keep.

 

Give her to us.

 

His mother rested inside the walls, still unable to hear the whispering voices. He only wanted her to understand. As in the walls, he only saw his bloody reflection staring back at him.

 

It was a house of mirrors, after all, and he could only watch as his mother bled.

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