My daughter always said I lived like a scaredy-cat.
She was fearless, a renowned extreme adventurer, mastering everything from rock climbing to deep-sea diving.
On her 20th birthday, to fix me, she deliberately cut off the main power and locked me in our pitch-black basement.
Mom, modern women should be brave. You’ve got to cure this fear of the dark! I’m not even afraid of thousands of feet of deep sea, why can’t you be more like me?
Skylar laughed, live-streaming, recording my journey to conquer my fear.
Listening to my terrified screams and the scratching on the door from inside, she shrugged helplessly at the camera.
“Seriously, who gets it? Having such a high-maintenance mom is just draining.”
Thousands liked it, saying she meant well, and that a ‘big baby’ mom like me just needed some tough love.
But she didn’t know why I feared the dark. It was because when I was twenty-four, to protect her, I was trapped under a concrete slab for three days and three nights.
I was carrying a freshly baked cake, carefully walking towards the basement storage room.
My daughter, Skylar, said her camping gear was missing and asked me to go down and get it for her.
I had just stepped into the basement, my feet not even steady yet.
A loud bang.
The iron door behind me slammed shut.
Immediately after, the dim bulb above flickered twice and went out.
The surroundings plunged into deathly silence and darkness.
The cake slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor. The sound of the plate shattering echoed shrilly in the enclosed space.
“Skylar?”
I tentatively called out, my voice trembling.
No one answered.
Only hurried footsteps and suppressed laughter came from outside the door.
“Skylar, is the power out? Why can’t I open the door?”
I fumbled along the wall, my fingertips touching the cold concrete, my heart contracting sharply.
That familiar, suffocating feeling, like a tide, rushed over me.
Darkness without a single ray of light.
A suffocating narrowness.
My breathing became shallow and rapid, my throat making raspy sounds like a bellows.
“Skylar! Open the door! Open it, now!”
I lunged at the door, pounding on the iron.
Finally, Skylar’s voice came through from outside, clear and cheerful, mixed with static crackle.
“Mom, stop yelling. I cut the power, and I locked the door.”
I froze, my hand suspended in mid-air.
“Why? Skylar, don’t scare me. You know I’m afraid of the dark, it’s so stuffy in here, I can’t breathe”
“It’s because you’re afraid that we need to fix it.”
Skylar’s voice, full of righteous conviction, seeped through the doorframe.
“Today’s my twentieth birthday, and my wish was for you to become brave.”
“Mom, look at you. You’re in your forties, afraid of the dark? Claustrophobic? It’s embarrassing to even talk about it. Besides cooking and doing laundry, what real skills do you even have?”
“All my followers know I have a mom who’s scared of her own shadow, and they all support me trying to desensitize you.”
Followers?
I pressed my ear to the door, hearing her speaking into her phone outside.
“Fam, did you hear that? That’s my mom. Less than a minute in, and she’s already screaming bloody murder.”
“She’s so dramatic, seriously. I went exploring that deep-sea cave, stayed there for three days and three nights, and I was fine. She can’t even handle her own basement for a little while.”
“She’s used to being pampered at home, can’t handle the slightest discomfort. She’s a big baby, needs to be toughened up.”
My whole body started to tremble, cold sweat instantly drenched my back.
Not from the cold, but from terror.
The darkness before my eyes began to twist, as if it were transforming into heavy concrete slabs, pressing down on me little by little.
“Skylar please open the door”
I slid down the door panel to the floor, my fingernails scratching at the iron door, making an ear-splitting scraping sound.
“I can’t take it I really can’t”
From outside, Skylar let out an impatient “tsk.”
“Mom, stop acting, seriously. You deserve an Oscar for that performance.”
“It’s only been a few minutes! And you’re already ‘can’t take it’? I’ve seen your medical reports, all your stats are better than mine. Don’t fake illness to get sympathy.”
“I’m telling you, you’re staying in there for three full hours today. No one’s coming out until then.”
Three hours.
The number hit my temple like a heavy hammer.
I felt the oxygen being rapidly drained from my chest.
Before my eyes was no longer the basement door.
But broken precast slabs.
Twisted rebar.
The lingering smell of blood and dust.
“Help help”
I started desperately scratching at the door. My nails broke, a piercing pain shot through my fingertips, but I felt nothing. Everything went pitch black.
The live stream outside continued.
Skylar seemed to bring her phone closer to the door crack, wanting her audience to hear more clearly.
“Listen, everyone, that scratching sound, doesn’t it sound like a rat?”
She chuckled, her voice full of mockery.
“Mom, can you hear me? Tens of thousands of people are watching you. Can you just get it together?”
I couldn’t hear her anymore.
In my ears, there was only a thundering roar, like the earth’s crust was tearing apart, like buildings were collapsing.
My legs began to cramp violently.
My right leg, the one that had been impaled by rebar, almost amputated.
Phantom pain shot through my entire body like an electric current.
I curled into a ball, my hands clamped over my head, trying to make myself as small as possible.
“Don’t crush me don’t crush me”
I murmured unconsciously.
“The baby’s down there don’t hurt the baby”
Skylar outside obviously couldn’t hear what I was saying, only my indistinct mumbling.
She shrugged at the camera.
“Listen, still mumbling away. Probably cursing me.”
“Fam, I’m really doing this for her own good. Mark spoils her too much; he won’t even let her walk alone at night, which has made her so regressive.”
“Only by conquering fear can one find value. What’s the difference between her and a walking dead otherwise?”
The live chat was scrolling incredibly fast.
“Support the streamer! This kind of mom is just suffocating.”
“She’s saving her, she’ll thank you for this later.”
Skylar looked at the comments, a satisfied smile on her face.
She believed she was doing something great.
She was “saving” her weak, incompetent mother who embarrassed her on social media.
In the basement, I could no longer breathe.
The hyperventilation made my limbs numb, and my lips started to tingle.
“Ugh”
I started dry-heaving uncontrollably, but nothing came up, just agonizing retching sounds.
Skylar frowned, stepping back two paces, covering her nose.
“Gross. Mom, seriously? Are you playing the victim just to get me to open the door?”
“If you keep this up, I’m adding time. Originally three hours, now it’s four hours.”
“I want you to know, your little tricks are useless against me.”
I heard the word “adding.”
Despair, like a black tide, completely engulfed me.
I stopped scratching the door.
My hands had no strength left.
My ten fingers were a bloody mess, nails torn back, leaving horrifying streaks of blood on the iron door.
I lay on the cold concrete floor, my body starting to twitch uncontrollably.
My consciousness began to fade.
A face appeared before me, a tender, dust-covered baby’s face.
She was crying in the cracks of the ruins.
I had to hold on.
I had to hold up this slab.
Can’t sleep.
If I sleep, it collapses.
If I sleep, she dies.
“Ah”
I let out a short, piercing scream.
Outside the door.
Skylar was showing off her new climbing rope to the camera.
After that scream, the basement suddenly went silent.
Someone posted a comment in the live chat.
“Streamer, no sound now, did something happen?”
“Did she pass out?”
Skylar glanced at the door, scoffing.
“Don’t worry, she’s faking it. I know my mom best; she usually makes a big fuss even if she just gets a paper cut. This is just her trying the ‘soft’ approach when the ‘hard’ one didn’t work. She wants to scare me into opening the door.”
“I’m not falling for it. We have to stick to our principles; three hours means three hours.”
She continued to fiddle with the rope in her hands, explaining knot-tying techniques to the camera.
Time ticked by.
Ten minutes.
Twenty minutes.
There was still no sound from the basement.
Though Skylar spoke confidently, her eyes began to dart around, occasionally glancing at the door.
Just then, the sound of keys turning came from the main door.
It was my husband, Mark, Skylar’s father, returning home.
He was supposed to work overtime today, but he’d had a nagging bad feeling, an unsettling twitch in his eye, so he came home early.
As soon as he entered, he saw the house was dark, with only the phone’s fill light shining near the basement door.
Skylar was talking into her phone.
“Dad? You’re home?”
Skylar was a little surprised to see her father, then quickly reverted to her nonchalant expression.
“Perfect timing, you can come watch. I’m giving Mom some desensitization therapy.”
Mark froze, glancing at the tightly shut basement iron door, then at the phone in Skylar’s hand.
“Where’s Grace?”
“She’s in there.” Skylar pointed at the door. “I cut the power so she could practice being brave. She’s been in there for over half an hour. She was just putting on a show to scare me, now she’s probably tired and sleeping in there.”
Mark’s face instantly turned ashen.
His briefcase hit the floor with a thud.
He rushed over in a few steps, pushing Skylar aside.
“Are you insane! You locked her in there? And cut the power?”
Skylar stumbled from the push, almost dropping her phone.
She yelled indignantly, “Dad! What are you doing! I’m live-streaming! Stop spoiling her all the time! You’ve completely ruined her!”
Mark ignored her completely.
He lunged at the door, pounding on the iron.
“Grace! Grace! Are you in there? It’s Mark!”
No response.
A deathly silence from within.
Mark’s hands started to tremble. He pulled keys from his pocket, but his hands shook too violently, the keys fumbling at the lock several times.
“Damn it! Damn it!”
He roared, his eyes bloodshot.
Skylar was still chattering beside him.
“Dad, seriously? It’s just a little dark room. No one’s going to die. Your reaction is way over the top, no wonder Mom’s so fragile.”
Mark spun around, his eyes blazing with a ferocity that could eat her alive.
“Shut up!”
Skylar was startled; she had never seen her father look so terrifying.
Finally, the key slid into the lock.
Mark yanked open the iron door.
A wave of musty, acrid, and metallic smells hit them.
By the light of Skylar’s phone, they saw the scene inside.
I was curled up in the corner behind the door, like a crushed bug.
My hands were a bloody mess, all my nails torn back.
My dress was soaked beneath me.
My face was a ghastly purplish-blue, lips dark, eyes closed, and my chest wasn’t moving.
“Grace!”
Mark let out a gut-wrenching roar and rushed in, scooping me out.
My body was stiff as a board, still locked in that fetal position, clutching my head. He couldn’t pry me open.
Skylar stood at the doorway, phone in hand, frozen.
The live chat was scrolling wildly.
“Holy cow! Something really happened!”
“Her hands they’re covered in blood!”
“This doesn’t look like faking, her face is purple!”
“Is the streamer playing too big a game?”
Skylar looked at my horrific state, stammering defensively.
“This this must be Mom scratching herself to scare me could she really be that extreme with herself?”
Mark rushed out, carrying me. As he passed Skylar, he slammed into her hard.
“Call 911! Call 911 right now! If anything happens to Grace, I’ll kill you!”
Outside the ER, Skylar sat on a bench, still clutching her phone.
The live stream was still on.
She didn’t dare turn it off.
The public backlash had already begun.
Skylar was a full-time influencer; she had to “clarify,” she had to prove this was just an accident, that her mother’s health was poor, and it wasn’t her fault.
“Fam, I never expected this to happen.”
She said into the camera, her eyes red-rimmed.
“I really meant well. Who knew her mental resilience was so bad And her hands, she definitely scratched them herself, I didn’t touch her”
“The doctors haven’t even come out yet, everyone, don’t start blasting me. Maybe she just fainted from low blood sugar.”
Mark stood by the ER door, still as a statue.
He listened to Skylar’s words, his fists clenching until his knuckles cracked.
Just then, the ER door opened.
The doctor emerged, beads of sweat on his forehead.
“Who is the patient’s family?”
“I am! I’m her husband!” Mark rushed forward.
Skylar also stepped closer, holding up her phone.
“Doctor, is Grace okay? Was she just scared unconscious? I told you she was such a chicken”
The doctor gave Skylar a chilling look, then turned to Mark.
“The patient’s condition is critical. Severe stress-induced cardiomyopathy, leading to cardiac arrest. And her extreme claustrophobia caused respiratory alkalosis and multi-organ hypoxia.”
“During the resuscitation, we had to cut open her top for defibrillation.”
The doctor paused, his eyes showing a flicker of pain and shock.
“Family, those injuries on the patient’s back and legs they’re old injuries, aren’t they?”
Mark closed his eyes in pain, nodding.
“Yes.”
Skylar froze for a moment, then interjected, “What injuries? Grace doesn’t have any scars. Her skin is perfect.”
She aimed her phone camera at the doctor.
“Doctor, don’t make things up. Grace cares about her appearance; she couldn’t possibly have scars.”
The doctor ignored her, turning sideways.
A nurse wheeled out a gurney.
I was being transferred to the ICU.
My clothes had been cut away, covered only by a thin white sheet.
Due to the intense resuscitation, the sheet had slipped slightly.
Revealing my back.
Skylar’s phone camera clearly captured the scene.
Hundreds of thousands in the live stream saw it simultaneously.
It could barely be called a “back.”
It was a map of hideous, twisted, terrifying scars.
Dark brown, centipede-like scars crisscrossed everywhere.
Some areas were deeply sunken, as if a chunk of flesh had been forcibly gouged out by something heavy.
Other areas were raised, ugly hypertrophic scars from healed skin.
Most terrifying were the two deep, round indentations near her lower back, as if thick rebar had directly pierced through.
They were the scars of hell.
Skylar gasped, her hand trembling, almost dropping her phone.
“What what is this? How can this be Mom’s back?”
She recoiled in horror, pointing at the gurney.
“This is so ugly so disgusting Is it a skin disease?”
She instinctively looked at the comments, seeking affirmation.
But the chat was no longer filled with mockery; instead, it was a flood of question marks and horror.
“Oh my god! What kind of injuries are those?”
“What did she have to go through to get scars like that?”
“Streamer, you didn’t even know your own mother had injuries like that?”
Skylar panicked.
She looked at Mark, her voice trembling.
“Dad what happened to Mom’s back? Did she did she get into a fight before? Or get involved with some gang? How did she get like this?”
“It’s so scary, no wonder she never wears backless dresses or goes swimming with me she was afraid of being ugly”
“SMACK!”
A crisp slap echoed through the hallway.
Mark, with all his strength, slapped Skylar hard.
Skylar was knocked flying, hitting the wall, blood instantly welling from the corner of her mouth.
Her phone fell to the floor, the camera facing the ceiling, but the sound was still clearly transmitted to the live stream.
“You animal!”
Mark pointed at Skylar, his eyes bloodshot, his body trembling.
“You call this ugly? You call this disgusting?”
From the hidden pocket of his wallet, he shakily pulled out a neatly folded, yellowed old newspaper clipping.
He slammed the photo onto Skylar’s face.
“Open your damn eyes and look! What is this!”
The photo fluttered to the floor.
Skylar, clutching her face, cried as she picked up the photo.
It was a newspaper photograph, low pixel quality, blurry.
The background was a collapsed ruin.
Amidst the rubble and rebar, there was a woman.
She was kneeling on the ground, her upper body twisted severely forward, her hands pressed firmly to the ground, a huge, heavy concrete slab crushing her back.
Two pieces of rebar pierced her lower back, blood staining the dust beneath her.
But her posture was unmoving.
Like an arch bridge.
And beneath her, in the tiny space she had created with her flesh and blood.
Lay an unharmed, sleeping infant.
Below the photo was a small caption:
The Great Mother: Supported for 72 hours under ruins, protecting her infant daughter with her spine
Skylar looked at the photo.
Looked at the woman’s face.
Though covered in blood and grime, though twisted in pain.
It was Mom’s face.
Young Mom.
Her gaze dropped to the infant.
The baby’s swaddling clothes had a small ‘Skylar’ embroidered on them.
Skylar’s mind went blank with a loud “buzz.”
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