Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - Trapped in White Walls A Mother Watches Horror Unfold, Then Remembers Her Lost Son #8

Episode Date: August 9, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #psychologicalhorror #lostson #tragichorror #motherhood #darkmemories  This chilling narrative follows a mother confined within white walls, facing unfolding horrors that blur reality and memory. As terror intensifies, she confronts the heart-wrenching loss of her son, weaving a tale of grief, fear, and lingering trauma.  #horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #scarystories #horrorstory #creepypasta #horrortales #psychologicalhorror #lostson #tragichorror #motherhood #darkmemories #trauma #grief #confined #hauntedmind #mentalstruggle #fear #survival #darkstory #emotionalpain

I didn't remember anything before the white room. Just the sterile smell of bleach and the gentle hum of a fan. I awoke on ice-cold floor tiles, face down in a puddle of my own drool. I remembered my name instantly. I was Mary. I was 38 years old. But that was it. I had no idea who I was or where I had come from.

The room was stark white and clinical, with four TV screens in front of me. The screens were old, the kind from my childhood, with a built-in VCR, chunky and box-like. When I woke up, they were on standby, static prickling across the glass. I demanded where I was, my mouth filled with rotten tasting ick. Silence. The buzzing lights above flickered off, leaving me in the dark, disoriented and, I guess, forced to look at the four screens. Below them sat a small glass table with a steaming cup of coffee and a small. single cookie. For a while, I was too scared to move. I sat on my knees, trying to remember

anything about my life. But like broken puzzle pieces, I had come apart, unraveling, left only with my name and age. Was I suffering for memory loss? I checked myself over, testing for a head injury. I knew exactly how to perform health checks, almost obsessively checking for concussion. That told me something. I was in the medical field, perhaps. But this felt personal somehow. Too personal. This felt, oh God, like I had done this before.

And just like those times, revulsion crept up my throat, panic twisting in my gut. But I didn't know why. I didn't know why I felt sick to my stomach, why my cheeks burned, why my hands trembled. I was used to checking for bumps and scrapes. I knew exactly where to prod my scalp, running my fingers down my skull. But I was fine. I tried to escape. There were two cameras on the ceiling, which meant I was being observed,

and my instinct screamed at me to get the fuck out. At that point, I didn't care how. I tried the door. Locked. I screamed to be let out. Again, silence. Heavy, suffocating silence that was too loud. That captured my every breath, making me too aware of my frenzied gasps.

I noticed a pile of tape sitting on the VCR player. I crawled forward and grabbed the first one at the top of the pile. February 2024 was scrawled and blocked capitals across the label. I felt like I was in a trance, like something was compelling me. The tape felt right in my clammy hands, as if I had held it. before. I slid it into the machine and pressed play. The screens flickered on. A room full of kids. Teenagers. They looked like college students or high school seniors, 17 or 18 years old. The room was identical to mine, but smaller. The same four white walls. But unlike my room,

theirs was empty. No TV screens, no coffee or food. Just. Just. blank white walls staring back at them, and a single bucket for a toilet. I had no idea how long they had been inside. But when one of them, a blonde girl with a high ponytail, jumped up and began throwing herself at the walls, panic-clad up my throat. This was the start. The girl started screaming. Almost immediately, another girl, a brunette with tight curls, stood up, strode over to her, and slapped her across the face. I tensed, waiting for a fight to break out. But instead of hitting back, the blonde wrapped her arms around the brunette, sobbing into her shoulder.

A moment later, they both returned to the others, sitting cross-legged on the floor. I counted ten of them. Five girls, five boys. They wore identical white shorts and t-shirts, blending into the walls and floor. They looked disoriented. Just like me. They sat in a circle, wide-eyed, staring at each other like they were strangers. No.

I moved closer, glued to the screen, watched them back away from each other. One boy shuffled back, jumped up, and tried to run, smacking straight into the wall. They were strangers. I wasn't even sure they knew their own names. My heart felt like it was lodged in my throat. Were they nearby? Were they in the next room? If they were in the room next to mine, then we could help each other.

Already, I was slamming my fists against the door, then the walls, screaming for help. Hello. I shrieked, before my cry died in my throat, and I almost fucking laughed. I wasn't watching a live tape. The realization slowly settled in, like cruel pinprick sliding into me. I turned back to the screens, stumbling over, and grabbing the second tape. March 2024. Something thick and slimy filled my mouth.

I placed the tape back on the pile, forcing myself to stay calm. I was an adult and these kids, wherever they were currently, needed my help. That's what I kept fucking telling myself, but every so often, my gaze would find the screens once again, and I felt myself unraveling. The footage was recorded last year, and the pile of tapes were clearly documenting their captivity. Sure, they could have been rescued, I told myself. But if these kids were safe, I wouldn't have been kidnapped. I was already putting the pieces together.

Whoever took me wanted me to watch these teenagers inside this white room with no door, no escape, no food. Instinctively, I drank the coffee and ate the cookie. Whoever these people were, they weren't interested in hurting me. They wanted to hurt these teenagers. The coffee was lukewarm and the cookie tasted familiar, somehow. Oven baked and fresh. There was icing, but it had been scraped off. Something told me I wouldn't be in the room long, not long enough to get hungry or thirsty.

I found myself scanning the ceiling for more cameras. There was one attached to every corner, most likely required. recording every angle of my face. My stomach twisted as I studied the monitors. Like mine, they displayed different angles of the room trapping the teens. Screen one zoomed in on the girls. Four of them had gathered together already, with one stray boy joining them. Screens two and three focused on the boys, appearing to be already arguing. Screen four was a bird's eye view of all of them. All right, everyone listen up, one of the boys stood. He looked like the leader type. Tall and athletic looking, thick brown hair and freckles. The kids didn't have names,

so I renamed him boy number one in my head. Boy one's voice was shaking, but he kept his expression stoic. I noticed he kept scratching at his arms, a nervous tick. So, I'm pretty sure someone is playing some fucking sick game. His head tipped back, eyes glued to the camera. Screen 3 zoomed right into his face, his twitching bottom lip. He was trying not to cry. But we need to keep a clear head, okay. Does anyone remember anything about themselves? He pointed to himself. I don't know my name. I just know I'm 18, and I just graduated high school. Boy 1 took a leadership role. He was reluctant, but the other kids seemed to gravitate towards him. They went around the room, and it became clear to me that these kids had their memories fucked with two. The blonde,

I named her girl number one, who freaked out earlier in the tape, was immediately intriguing. She didn't know her name, but she did tearfully exclaim, I have a mom, and I know she's looking for me which triggered paranoia among the group. The brunette, girl number two, who slapped her, brought up the possibility of girl number one being in on their imprisonment. That's ridiculous, boy number one snapped. He stood up, assuming his role of leader. This room had no concept of time or night and day. They could have been arguing for hours, and they wouldn't even know it.

Why would she willingly join in on whatever this is? Well, this is clearly some kind of test, girl number two said matter-of-factly. What if she's, I don't know. know, the daughter of one of the researchers, or even a researcher herself. I told you, I'm not in on this. I don't know anything about this. Girl number one shrieked, pulling her legs to her chest. She seemed genuinely afraid, burying her head in her knees. Please. I just want to go home, she screamed, and the others jumped. I want to go home. I want my mom. Girl number two started to speak, only for boy number number one to shoot her the mother of all death glares. Don't. He shuffled over to her.

The last thing we need is to lose trust in each other. Girl number two averted her gaze, sliding away from him. Get the fuck away from me. Boy number one looked hurt. I could tell he was the weakest among the group. He made the mistake of acting like a leader, but he was doing just that. acting. In reality, he was just a scared teenager. His bottom lip wobbled, but he shook his head, forcing a wide-gritted smile. I, I, Captain. Ah, freckles thinks we're getting out of here with the power of friendship. Another kid, a guy with thick, blonde hair and glasses, was curled into himself. I was sure he was crying, but no matter how many times the cameras tried to catch his face, he avoided it. I called him boy number two. That's fucking odd or able. I'll make sure to rely on

friendship when we're starving. To my surprise, boy number one crawled over to the guy, laying down beside him. Go away, boy number two grumbled into his arms. I'm trying to manifest my way home, boy number one snorted. It was the first time I'd seen him smile. And you call me delusional. The March 24th tape outlined what looked like the first month of their imprisonment. I watched it, every second, every camera angle. The kids got used to their captivity, distracting themselves with games of charades and sleeping lions. They each gave up a clothing item, so they could create a makeshift curtain for the toilet. They were given new clothes, but it was weekly, instead of daily. glued to the tape, I barely noticed someone had replaced my coffee with a new one.

This time, I was given a cupcake again, with the icing scraped off. Ignoring my own circumstances, I watched the kids slowly start to unravel. Food was given to them every morning at exactly 7 a.m. It was good food. I watched them receive trays of McDonald's breakfast, and for the first few days, and then weeks, they seemed okay. The kid started to form a plan to escape, orchestrated by hashtag boy one. Their plan was to wait until their food was delivered, and then attack in numbers. However, when their breakfast was delivered, it was a single slice of bread.

I already knew what game their kidnappers were playing. After three days of no breakfast, boy number one caught on. They're punishing us, he spoke up, while they were sharing half of a slice of bread. The portion sizes were getting smaller and smaller. Boy number one was rationing his own, tearing pieces off and eating them in intervals. He was also hiding yesterday's water down his pants. This kid was smart. We formulated a plan to escape, and the people watching us don't want that, he said.

Boy number one's lips formed a small smile. He was planning something. So, for now, we play their fucking game. He was right. The kid stayed mostly silent all day, and were rewarded with three cooked meals. Following boy hashtag one's words, the teens stayed quiet. Boy number two suggested they named themselves. Boy number one wanted to be named Clem, because it felt right.

Boy number two, insisted on Ryder. Boy number three, who I was pretty sure was narcoleptic, curled up in one corner was named ZZZZ. Boy number four, a hard-faced redhead who started most arguments over food, refused to be renamed, so the others called him shitface. Finally, boy number five, a kid with a buzz cut, just shrugged, and called himself, buzz. Girl number one, the blonde, who had calmed down, didn't want to be part of the naming ceremony. But halfway through, she squeaked, Sabrina. I like the name Sabrina.

Girl number two, the fiery brunette, immediately called her out. Okay, but why Sabrina? She demanded, her eyes narrowed, hands planted on hips. So, that's your real name? She was ignored, and after realizing her theories weren't helping, Girl number two sighed, and reluctantly named herself, Scooby. Girl number three, a quiet kid with pigtails, shrugged. I like Ruby. Girl number four, the frizzy redhead with glasses, didn't find. speak. So, the others gave her a name. Mitten's. Girl number five, who had come up with the naming ceremony, smiled widely. She pinned her dark curls into a nodded bun. I had never seen an

18-year-old where butterfly hair slides. Brianna, the tape ended on her wide smiling face, the screen flickering off. I didn't have any concept of time in that room. But I had a feeling the tape had lasted around two hours. Two hours per tape, and three coffee refills I never saw. While I had been watching, another two cupcakes were balanced on a plate. I checked them. The icing had once again been scraped off. For a moment, I was paralyzed, coffee bile sliding back up my throat. Who are you? I asked the people watching me. When I was met with no response, I kept my voice calm. What are you doing to these children?

I had so many questions. Why was I being made to watch these tapes? Why VCR in 2025? Were these kids alive or dead, and did I even want to know? When my cry bounced back at me, reverberating around the room, I felt myself snap. I screamed, but it felt like screaming into a vacuum, my own cry sounding wrong, foreign, not even mine. I was trembling, my chest aching, my throat on fire.

I didn't want to watch it. I couldn't. But already, I was crawling over to the pile of tapes, choosing April 24th. Whatever happened to these kids, I couldn't stop it. But every time that fucking tape slipped from my fingers, I dropped to my knees and grabbed it, running my fingers over the surface. It felt personal, and wrong, and yet right in my hands. the scratchy label and the smooth plastic of the tape.

I rolled it around between my hands, my gaze glued to each screen. I wish I never watched them. I wish I never knew their names. But I had to know what happened to them. I had to know what 12 months of captivity did to these kids. Feeling sick to my stomach, I slid in April 24th. The screen flashed blue, before flickering to life on a still shot of boy number one. with his ear pressed to the door.

The others were gathered around, sitting in a semicircle. I had missed several days. The kids looked worn out and tired, their clothes filthy and torn up. There was a giant crayoned rainbow on the far wall. Mittens, girl number four, was playing with a green crayon, sticking it in her mouth like a cigarette. I guessed they were given them. It's here.

Clem stumbled back, and and my gaze found him once again, his eyes wide. His cry caused a commotion among the others, and realization slammed into me. They were starving again. Clem's eyes were hollow, his cheek sunken and significantly pale. There was a certain twitch in his lips I was trying to ignore.

He had torn off the bottoms of his pants, wrapping them around his head. I had no idea how long they had been without food, but the way they moved, almost feral, backing away from the door like startled deer, gave me an idea. It looked like days. Everyone, get back, he snarled, and to my surprise, the others slowly retracted. Clem really was a leader, glaring down the others until they stepped back.

Scooby, girl number two, squeaked in delight when the food was delivered through a slot in the door. Six bags of steaming five guys. But the delivery wasn't finished. When they were all tearing into their meals, something else was slid through. I barely even noticed it myself. I was too busy watching Clem eating like an animal, stuffing fries down his throat. He was going to choke. I felt uncomfortable, my hands shaking, like I could reach through the screen and snatch his burger off of him.

The boy was ravenous. I didn't understand why I felt physical pain in my chest. I had only known these kids for a few hours, and already, I was attached to them. I snapped out of it when the second delivery hit the ground, startling the kids. It hit the sterile white floor tiles with a bang. A pickaxe. I felt the phantom legs of a spider entwine around my spine. Clem dropped his burger, and stood slowly.

Don't go near it. Girl number one, Sabrina, shrieked. Clem didn't listen to her, and something twisted in my gut. He picked it up, the thing weighty in his hands, then hurled it at the wall, Fuck you, Clem spat, his gaze flicking to camera three. I felt a visceral reaction running through me, shuffling back on my knees. Then, unexpectedly, he broke into a manic grin. We're not that crazy yet.

With a mocking bow, he returned to his meal, and the others fell in stride with him. Nobody mentioned the pickaxe, and each kid seemed relatively adjusted. They played games, drawing on the walls, resorting back to children. I noticed shitface, boy number four, inching towards the axe, but he just laughed when Clem backed him into a corner. Shitface shoved him back, maintaining a wide grin. Relax, freckles. I'm joking around.

The girls, however, who had formed a tight-knit group, kept their distance. When the next day came around, I think they were expecting no breakfast. And they were right. It's okay, Clem reassured them. We ate yesterday. We should be okay for a while. Sabrina nodded, perched in Scooby's lap. He's right.

They'll feed us eventually. They were wrong. Three days passed with no food and limited water. I think they were drinking from the toilet, and fights were starting to break out. Klen was sharing what he'd managed to scavenge, but I could see it in their faces. They were starting to lose their balance, growing delirious. Sometimes, their wandering gazes found the pickaxe still lying on the floor. They looked away, quickly, but it was clear these kids were starting to get desperate.

The lights flickered off, plunging them into darkness. I could still see them through what looked like night vision, but the kids were blind. They gathered together in one corner, led by Clem. It's okay, he kept telling them, his voice shuddering. We can get through this. Another day without food or light, the majority of them too hungry to move, and shitface, boy number four finally snapped. They're not going to feed us, he announced, slowly getting to his feet, swaying off balance.

He stumbled, and alarm bells started ringing in my head. Unless we use it, Clem stood. but boy number two, Ryder, the sandy-haired kid, yanked him back down. He's doing it on purpose, bro, Ryder muttered, his eyes half-lidded. He was the peacemaker. Dude just wants fucking attention. To my surprise, boy number three, ZZZZ and boy number five, Buzz, also got to their feet. Shit face crawled over to the axe, blindly grabbing for it.

We're all hungry, he announced, smacking me. the blade into his hand. His eyes were crazed, almost feral, lips pulled back in a bloodthirsty grin. Shit face held up the axe. So, I propose, instead of sitting around singing Come Bya waiting to fucking starve to death, we choose someone for the chop. The others screamed, immediately on their feet. The way they responded reminded me of animals in a pack. They couldn't see, but I think they could sense each other, and that was enough. With a sharp jerk of his head, Clem motioned the others behind him. Clem, Ryder, and Sabrina started forwards, uncertain, in the pitch dark.

But this was already a mistake, and they knew that. Scooby and Mittens dragged them back with help from Brianna. Shitface swung the axe playfully. I'm just saying, we got actual food when we did what they wanted. He started toward the others in slow, teasing strides. I nominate freckles. He is our leader, after all, and what leader wouldn't sacrifice himself. The boy's lips curved into a smirk.

For the greater good, dude, the light suddenly flickered on, surprising the group. Clem's side backed away, blinking rapidly, some of them hissing. While shit-face stayed nonchalant, swinging the axe. They saw it as a mercy, some of the girls breaking down in relief, far off in the corner. I saw shit-faced smile grow, his eyes widening. He saw it like invisible gods were confirming his belief. They gave us light back, he yelled, and through that stone-cold demeanor and wild eyes, I glimpsed a scared teenage boy. He was terrified, so he was acting out. They want something back, after what they've given us,

he announced, slipping effortlessly into the leadership role. They've fed us. Now they want payment. He was playing with their heads to get them to agree. Shitface was smart. Smarter than he let on. He was hungry, I understood that. He was fucking scared, but resorting to murder. The boy was in front of Clem in three strides, ZZZ and Buzz following. Shitface's smile was spiteful. He'd been itching to take the lead. I could tell by the way he moved, that cocky saunter in his step. You want us all to be okay, right? he murmured, inclining his head mockingly. You want everything to be fucking sunshine and rainbows.

So why not take one for the team, oh, fearless leader? He dropped to his knees, dramatizing a cry. Please. Oh, leader, must you let us suffer? We are your followers, after all, Clem didn't move. Sabrina stood behind him, pressing her face into his shoulder. Ignore him, she murmured. Just get back.

Klen gently shook her away with a defeated sigh. Okay, fine, you're right, he told shitface. Give me the axe. Shitface's expression crumpled with confusion. He lurched back, but Klenm snatched the axe, twisted around, and hacked off Sabrina's head with a single, brutal chop to the back of her neck. I think I tried to stop the tape, but I was frozen, watching pooling scarlet seeping across white tiles. The others erupted into screams, and Sabrina's body landed at Clem's feet.

He didn't move, his fingers tightening around the wooden handle, beads of red dripping down his face and splattering his white tea. Shit face staggered back, his eyes wide, mouth open. Clem, unsteady on his feet, pivoted to face the others cowering in the corner. He was eerily calm, his gaze unblinking. I think I had just watched this boy lose his humanity. His eyes were vacant, empty pools, a flicker of a triumphant smile twitching on his lips. The hollowness of his expression stood out, terrifying in void, and I wondered if I was seeing everything. The tapes had been strategically recorded. I had no doubt there was missing footage. If they don't feed us, then we will feed them. I felt like I was going to puke.

Boy number one. Clem. I found myself moving closer to the screen, until I could feel static prickling my face. He was still a kid. I didn't understand why I was crying. I couldn't stop, my hands were trembling, my heart pounding through my chest. He was 18. Just graduated.

I fell back when he swung the axe one more time, his gaze locked onto the camera, before placing it back on the floor. Ignoring Sabrina's body, Clem turned his attention to shitface. Don't fuck with me, he murmured. Before he dragged himself to a corner, dropped to his knees, and curled into a ball.

Scooby did her best to cover Sabrina's body. Mittens helped her. Brianna sat in a corner, head buried in her knees. Breakfast came the next morning. Nine individual trays filled with croissant. cans, cupcakes, toast, cereal and chocolate. The others stuffed their faces. But I wasn't watching them. I was watching Clem, who, instead of joining them for breakfast, was crawling toward Sabrina's body at a snail's pace. When he reached her, I expected him to say a prayer,

or hug her. Instead, Clem soaked his hands in her blood, and shuffled over to the wall. He used her blood-like paint, while the wall was his canvas, head inclined, lazily dragging his fingers, scrawling a simple, smiley face. The other kid's expressions were clear on each scream. They were terrified of him. Mittens and Brianna were silently eating while Scooby and Shitface stayed away, hiding in individual corners of the room. Writer was the only one trying to make conversation, picking at his chocolate croissant. But even his gaze was frantic, flicking back and forth between and Clem and the blood-stained axe abandoned in the corner.

When a loaded gun was dropped through the delivery slot in the door this time, all eyes turned to Clem, still hovering over Sabrina's body. It looked like he was trying to push her brains back inside her skull. Mitton surprised me by shuffling over to the gun and sticking it down her shirt. She nodded to the others and, to my confusion, they seemed to go along with it. Ryder dropped a plate of food in front of Clem. Eat, dude. He pulled a face.

What the fuck are you doing? Didn't we get another weapon this morning? Clem asked, sitting up with a sigh. Something acidic filled my mouth. He was smearing her blood all over his face. Ryder didn't reply, and the teenager turned to the others. I said, did we get another fucking weapon? Nope.

Shitface spoke up from his corner. No need for frontal lobotomies. today, O fearless leader, Clems slowly inclined his head, and the lights flickered off once again. These kidnappers were clever. They were using the lights as a form of communication. No, I was already choking on my words when Mittens dropped the gun with a squeak. Before I knew what I was doing, I slammed my fists into the wall. Stop! I shrieked, my mouth full of bile. What was that? Clem's voice sent my heart into my throat. On screen, his gaze was on the camera. Directly at me. There was no way he could hear me. This was pre-recorded footage from a year ago.

And yet, what was what? Rider murmured with a nervous laugh. Can you hear something? I threw myself into the walls, screaming. They could hear me. But that was impossible. That. Clem staggered to the wall, pressing his ear against its sterile white. His eyes narrowed, his lip curling. It's a woman. With the group's attention on the cameras, I grabbed the coffee cup, hurling it against the wall. Hello. I yelled.

It's okay. I'm going to get you out of there. The tape stopped with nine pairs of eyes trained on camera four. I felt myself hit the ground, my head spinning. There was no way they could hear me. No way. I slid back over to the tapes, kneeling and freezing cold coffee. Feeling suffocated, I shoved the May 24th tape into the player. Blank. The screen was white. It was playing, but there was no footage. Panic started to slither down my spine, contorting in my gut. I ejected the tape, and slid in June 24th. Blank.

The screen this time was bright blue reflecting in my face. By now, I was scrambling, grabbing July 24th. They were all blank. Empty. I went through August 24th and September 24th. I think at this point, it was starting to hit me. Was April 24th live? I left the screens, this time pounding on the door. Hello? I cried, punching the wall until my fists were bleeding. Can anyone hear me? When my lights went out, the screens flashed from bright blue to a single still image. Clem. His face was projected on all four screens, his wide, grinning mouth, his hollow eyes. Behind him, the walls have been smeared scarlet, entrails dripping from the ceiling. I could see bodies behind him, but I couldn't make them out. He inclined his head slowly,

a mockery of a bow, as blood seeped down his chin, stringy red tangled in his hair. And atop his head sat a crown of something, stark and jagged, glittering in the dim white light. I tried six months' worth of tapes, all the way to March 25th. But every single one was just clem grinning at the camera. Sometimes, he would paw at it like an animal, fleshy red clinging to his teeth. December 24th was more lively. He skipped around the room, slipping in blood, giggling, for almost six hours straight, before going back to the camera. Back to me. When I ejected the last tape, the door clicked open. I reached for the tapes, but a voice startled me.

Leave them, Mary, I did, slowly walking out of the room. I was on a long white corridor, and drinking in each door, those kids could have been behind one of them. Before I could check them out, a fire door was opened, and I was ushered outside where a car was waiting. I got inside with no question, and the car drove me, home. Home. I suddenly recognized my hometown. The high school. The kindergarten. The soccer field.

When the car stopped at the end of my road, I almost toppled out, my memories slamming into me like waves of ice water. I ran home to my husband who was standing on the doorstep, his lips pursed. He was pale, his hands full of paper. Harry. He hugged me, wrapping his arms around me. You didn't find him, he whispered into my shoulder. I pulled away, my throat on fire. Him, I jumped when a golden retriever jumped up at me. Clem. I ruffled his head, tears stinging my eyes.

He was such a good one. Good boy. Harry led me back inside our house, into our kitchen filled with cookies and cupcakes with, have you seen this boy, perfectly written with blue icing? And littering our house, posters with a familiar face. I snatched one up, and immediately puked. Zach. The smiling boy on the cupcakes and cookies, on the missing posters. I knew how to look for bumps and scrapes because I was used to them. I was used to checking for concussion when my baby was knocked over on the football field. I wasn't in the medical field. I wasn't a doctor. I was a mom. I didn't know I was screaming until Harry wrapped me into a hug.

Honey, what's wrong? He kept saying, but I was numb. I climbed the stairs with shaky legs and stumbled into my son's room. Zach. Memories swamped me, dragging me to all fours. I remembered his tenth birthday party, his mouth full of frosting. Asterisk, look, mommy, his voice is in my head. I can still see his face. Zach, my sweet boy. How did I forget him? How did they make me forget him? Boy one. Clem, the emotionless killer who murdered a room full of teenagers. My son. Please help me. I need help. I found my son but I lost him again. I don't even know if he's there anymore.

I can't fucking breathe. I know it sounds crazy, but on the April tape, those kids could hear me. My son could hear me. But how is that possible?