Reborn in My Womb My Mother-in-Law’s Dark Ritual

My mother-in-law, Eleanor, was thrilled when she found out I was pregnant. Every single day, she would slow-cook a special pot of herbal broth to "nourish my body." But beneath this warm, caring facade, her behavior started getting weirder and weirder. During my afternoon naps, she would hover over me, whispering a strange name to my swollen belly. At dinner, she would practically force me to gulp down every last drop of her broth. And finally, in the dead of night, she took it too far. I woke up in the pitch black to feel her cold ear pressed flat against my bare stomach. "Be good, Leo," she whispered, her voice trembling with a chilling tenderness. "Mommy’s right here. We’ll be together again very soon!" Hearing those words, I shivered, half-convinced I was trapped in a nightmare. But the moment I fluttered my eyes open and realized it wasn’t a dream, terror gripped my chest. I screamed, frantically pushing the dark figure off my body. The commotion jolted my husband, Ethan, awake. He scrambled to flick on the bedside lamp. As the light flooded the room, revealing the hunched silhouette of his mother, I clutched my chest, gasping for air. My fear quickly turned into boiling frustration. "Eleanor, what on earth are you doing? You scared the life out of me! Why are you lurking in our room in the middle of the night, whispering to my stomach?" Ethan frowned, his face filled with sheer disbelief. "Yeah, Mom. Seriously, what is wrong with you?" Eleanor, caught red-handed, didn't even look embarrassed. Her eyes lingered on my belly for a long, unsettling moment before she finally looked up. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, you two. Daisy is over six months along now. I just wanted to do some late-night prenatal bonding. If we start early, the baby will be a genius when he's born." Though my heart was still pounding, I forced myself to take a deep breath and keep my voice level. I explained to her that even in the womb, babies need to sleep. Any reading or music should be done during the day, for just ten or fifteen minutes. Besides, that kind of bonding is usually reserved for the mother, given the unique connection between her and the baby. Before I could finish, Eleanor snapped. "What do you mean, 'mother'? I am his real mother! You’re just the—" "What?" I froze, staring at her venomous expression. I couldn't comprehend what she had just said. Realizing her slip, Eleanor quickly slapped her own cheek and forced a shaky laugh. "Oh, look at me, my mouth is running faster than my brain. Don't mind me, Daisy. I meant to say, I'm his grandmother. How can I be an outsider? Blood is thicker than water, after all." Thankfully, Ethan didn't let the conversation drag on. Arguing that a pregnant woman needed her rest, he gently pushed Eleanor out of the room and locked the door, pulling me back into his arms. But as I lay in the dark, my mind raced. Did I mishear her? Did Eleanor really just say she was the "real mother" of the baby in my womb? And when she was whispering to my belly earlier, she kept referring to herself as "Mommy." But that was scientifically impossible. This wasn't an IVF pregnancy. Even if there had been some medical mix-up, it would have to involve Ethan, not his sixty-year-old mother. Besides, her husband, Robert, was seventy and had lost his reproductive abilities years ago. I decided I must have been hallucinating from exhaustion. It was a good thing I didn't push the issue, or things would have been incredibly awkward. The next morning, the rich aroma of food drifted from the kitchen much earlier than usual. I had planned to say something nice to Eleanor to smooth things over, but the moment she set down that familiar pot of broth, the words died in my throat. "Eleanor, seriously, I'm entering my third trimester. It was fine when you made this soup every day early on, but my OB-GYN specifically said that over-nutrition will make the baby too large, which makes labor dangerous!" Eleanor’s hands paused. Her face crumpled into a mask of deep sorrow. "Oh... but I made this meatball broth especially light. I skimmed all the fat off the top so you wouldn't gain weight. Do you just hate my cooking? Or is my recipe too awful for you to swallow?" Seeing her look so devastated that she couldn't even eat her own breakfast, I sighed. I took the bowl she offered and swallowed the single, large meatball sitting in the broth. To be honest, the flavor wasn't bad. But after drinking it for nearly a month, I was thoroughly sick of it. What made it weirder was that no matter how big the pot was, there was always only ever one meatball. I was basically filling up on water. Eating it made me feel selfish, but refusing it made me feel like an ungrateful brat.Seeing me finish the soup, Eleanor’s face finally brightened into a warm smile. She scurried back to her room and returned with a small velvet box. Curious, I opened it. Inside was a delicate golden safety pin. The top was engraved with intricate patterns, and from the bottom, wrapped in red silk thread, hung tiny charms shaped like miniature wooden swords. "Daisy, I picked this out specially for you," Eleanor said eagerly. "It's a protective charm pin. A lot of expectant mothers wear these online to ward off bad energy and keep the baby safe. The receipt is right under the velvet cushion, so if you don't like the style, you can always exchange it." I lifted the cushion and glanced at the receipt. It was real gold, over three grams. I was stunned. Usually, Eleanor only bought cheap, dollar-store trinkets. Since when had she become so generous? After a round of polite protests, I finally accepted it and placed it in my drawer, chalking it up as her way of apologizing for the scare last night. After lunch, I felt drowsy. Eleanor eagerly took over the "prenatal bonding" duties, and given the expensive gold pin, I decided to let her have her way. As her rhythmic voice read a children's book, I drifted into a semi-conscious state—awake enough to perceive my surroundings, but too heavy to open my eyes. During this time, I felt a soft hand gently stroking my belly. The movement was incredibly light. What struck me was that she wasn't rubbing in circles, which doctors warn can cause the umbilical cord to wrap around the baby's neck. She was stroking in a specific, protective pattern. "Look how perfect our baby is," she murmured, her voice dripping with a bizarre, maternal obsession. "Leo. My little Leo. You'll be out to see us soon. Just stay good inside your sister-in-law's belly, okay?" I snapped awake. The words echoed in my mind. The voice was definitely Eleanor's. It was so bizarre. Why on earth was I having these vivid, nonsensical dreams lately? Aren't pregnant women supposed to dream of cute animals or beautiful gardens? Why were my dreams so twisted? As I sat up, I noticed a tiny snag in the fabric of my dress right over my stomach, as if it had been scratched by rough skin. Had my hands really gotten that calloused? "Eleanor, I'm going to skip the grocery run with you today," I called out. "I think I need to do a hand mask and get some rest." Maybe it was just my imagination, but Eleanor looked relieved, as if she had just shaken off an annoying burden. Perhaps I was just being overly sensitive due to the pregnancy hormones. I remembered how, in my first month, I had sobbed uncontrollably just because Ethan took a few minutes too long in the shower. Right after I finished applying my hand serum, the front door clicked open. I expected Eleanor, but to my surprise, it was Ethan. He had gotten home even faster than his mother, who had only gone to the local market down the street. "Hey babe, I bought seafood Cajun boils for dinner!" Ethan grinned, holding up two containers. "I asked the doctor, and he said a little bit of shellfish is totally fine. I know you've been craving it for weeks. Where's Mom? She can whip up a couple of side dishes, and we can eat." But when Eleanor walked in and saw the seafood containers on the table, her face darkened instantly. Sure enough, when dinner was served, the seafood containers remained tightly sealed. The table held only a couple of plain vegetable dishes and, of course, the dreaded clay pot of broth. Ethan lost his temper before I even could. "Mom, the doctor literally said it's fine in moderation! Besides, keeping Daisy happy is what's most important right now. If her body is craving something, it means she needs it!" The atmosphere turned icy. Eleanor refused to budge. With a sigh, I placed a spoonful of scrambled eggs into Ethan's bowl to calm him down. Losing his appetite entirely, Ethan snatched up the seafood containers and grumbled, "Fine. If we can't eat it here, I’ll just go give it to Liam next door." Eleanor lunged forward and grabbed his arm. "No! Liam is severely allergic to shellfish." "Then I'll throw it in the trash! Nobody eats it!" Ethan snapped, storming out the door.Dinner ended in a tense silence. Afterward, Eleanor pulled me aside, looking deeply earnest and concerned. "Daisy, please don't be mad at me. I'm doing this for your own good. Nowadays, restaurants put all kinds of chemicals in their food. You're so close to your due date; we can't let a silly craving ruin everything we've worked for. All that pain you went through would be for nothing. Once the baby is born, I’ll cook whatever you want." She then asked me to calm Ethan down. I nodded, wondering why he was taking so long just to throw away some trash. A few minutes later, Ethan slipped back into the bedroom. He locked the door behind him with a conspiratorial smirk and pulled a plastic container from behind his back. It was filled with freshly peeled shrimp and lobster tails. "Here, eat up," he whispered, looking like a puppy waiting for praise. "Mom is just old-fashioned. This is my baby too, and I wouldn't do anything to hurt him, but I have to take care of my wife first." Touched by his gesture, I hesitated for a moment before eating a few pieces. Surely a small handful wouldn't hurt. But that night, my skin broke out in itchy red hives. Fortunately, Eleanor had some allergy ointment in her medicine cabinet. Still, something felt off. "Ethan, isn't this weird?" I asked as he applied the cream. "Neither of us is allergic to seafood. Even if I ate too much, shouldn't it be an upset stomach? Why am I breaking out in hives?" Ethan sighed, looking incredibly guilty. "Maybe pregnancy just changed your body chemistry. Don't worry about it tonight. I'll take you for a full check-up tomorrow." Suddenly, the name *Leo* popped into my head again. When I mentioned it, Ethan smiled warmly and rubbed my belly, proud that our baby was "naming himself" so early, even if he got the surname wrong. "Our boy is going to be a genius, Daisy. I've never heard anyone in our family use that name. We don't have any relatives with the last name Davis either... though, come to think of his name, Liam next door is Liam Davis. Mom always just calls him Liam." The next morning, Ethan drove us straight to the clinic. Since some pregnancy examinations could be invasive, we brought Eleanor along for support. After a grueling battery of tests, the doctor reviewed the charts and let out a small hum. "Everything looks perfectly fine. The hives were likely caused by skin contact with some mild external allergen, not the seafood. If you weren't allergic before, you aren't allergic now. The baby is completely healthy and unaffected." I let out a sigh of relief. I knew the seafood wasn't the culprit. Maybe Ethan had touched something dirty while peeling it. As we were leaving the clinic, we ran into our next-door neighbor, Liam. He was limping out of the outpatient department, looking exhausted. "Oh, hey there, Ethan, Eleanor," Liam greeted us, his voice strained. "Is everything okay with the baby?" After a brief chat, we learned that Liam had slipped on the stairs and badly sprained his ankle. Feeling a sudden surge of neighborly pity, Eleanor immediately insisted that Liam come over to our place for dinner every day until he healed. I couldn't help but feel a little uneasy. Liam was a lifelong bachelor, yes, but Eleanor was a married woman. Wasn't she being a little too eager? Over the next few days, however, I felt guilty for my suspicious thoughts. The two of them barely interacted in any inappropriate way. Their eyes were clear, and at most, they only took short walks around the block together. One afternoon, since Eleanor hadn't returned from her errands yet, I decided to walk to the local market myself. I wanted to feel useful instead of just sitting around the house like a helpless dependent. About ten minutes later, I arrived at the butcher shop Eleanor always frequented. There were two meat stalls side by side. As I hesitated, one of the butchers called out to me. "Hey, aren't you Eleanor's daughter-in-law? Did you guys move? I haven't seen her around here in almost six months!"I froze, completely baffled. Eleanor always claimed she bought her fresh meat here every single day. If she hadn't been here in six months, where did the meat in my daily broth come from? Did it just materialize in our kitchen? "Oh, we've just been busy at home, so she doesn't get out much," I lied smoothly, trying to mask my confusion. "Wow, your pork looks really fresh today. Give me two pounds, please." After buying the meat, I visited several other grocery stores in the neighborhood. The answers were all the same—none of the shopkeepers had seen Eleanor in months. Could there be another market? No, the next closest grocery store was miles away. For an elderly woman who didn't drive and hated spending money on Ubers, it made no sense for her to travel that far. When I got home, Eleanor’s face paled the moment she saw the grocery bags in my hands. She nervously tried to probe if I had heard anything odd at the market. I kept my face completely blank. "Odd? No, why? I just bought some meat and came straight back. Did something happen?" She visibly relaxed, but during dinner, she casually tried to cover her tracks. "Make sure you drink all the broth, Daisy. Don't look down on it just because there's only one meatball. The ingredients are incredibly rare. I have a friend who sources it fresh from a private organic farm in the countryside and drops it off at our door every morning." The moment the words left her mouth, I reached across the table with my fork, scooped up the single meatball, and dropped it into Liam's bowl. "Since it's so rare and nourishing, Liam should have it," I said with a sweet smile. "He needs to recover from his ankle injury. I've been eating this for months anyway; missing one day won't hurt." Eleanor’s face turned an ugly shade of purple, but she forced herself to stay silent under Ethan's watchful eyes. Later, while washing the dishes, I stood by the kitchen door and watched her closely. Liam hadn't touched the meatball. And Eleanor, who always claimed to hate waste, didn't eat it either. Instead, she carefully washed the meatball under the tap, dried it with a paper towel, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and took it back to her bedroom. Why would she save a washed meatball? Was she planning on eating it as a midnight snack? "What are you daydreaming about? Go to bed," Ethan called out, pulling me from my thoughts. "Stop staring at your phone all night. If you're bored, go read a book in the study. Let's raise our kid to be an intellectual." I rolled my eyes at him but headed to the study anyway. My insomnia was getting worse, and I blamed Eleanor. If she hadn't kept me out so late today, I wouldn't have slept so long during my afternoon nap, and I wouldn't be wide awake at 3:30 AM. Sitting in the armchair, I sipped on a juice box and scrolled through my phone. After about twenty minutes, it was nearing 4:00 AM. I turned off the lamp and quietly opened the study door, intending to slip back into bed. But the moment I stepped into the hallway, a hushed voice from the living room made me freeze. "Tomorrow, you need to hire someone to pretend to deliver the meat," Eleanor’s voice whispered urgently. "Make sure Daisy sees it so she stops doubting us. You don't want all our hard work to go to waste, do you? This is for our baby, Liam." "I know, I know," Liam’s voice replied, sounding equally tense. "Our little Leo has been so good inside Daisy's belly. It's a dark method, but since the boy can already interact with us through her stomach, the ritual is definitely working. Our priority right now is to ensure she delivers our baby safely. Her own safety is secondary." My blood ran cold. *Their little Leo inside my belly?* Why was Eleanor calling the baby she had with Liam *ours*? Was I losing my mind? Then, Eleanor's voice dropped even lower. "Liam, don't you dare get soft-hearted now. If anyone finds out, do you think Daisy would ever let this baby be born? We just have to wait until the fruit is ripe. I’m still in contact with the spiritual medium."