This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/immagetchu_uwu on 2025-07-12 01:59:37+00:00.

It’s a long shot, but maybe someone will read this before the articles. Maybe even before the police get to my house. I want someone, anyone, to know why I’m doing this. Maybe with some perspective, I’ll seem like less of a monster. I’m not a monster, I’m a mother.

Divorce is a hell of a thing.

After every scrap of evidence my lawyer and I gathered, every late night and early morning, every written testimony from everyone I knew— the stupid judge hadn’t even read them, hadn’t even looked at the photos of bruises.

Travis had taken the classes and gone to AA, and that was good enough for “your honor”.

Even though it was 50/50 custody, even though I had half, I felt like I lost it all.

I’d left him for Trinity, my 8-year-old. I did all of this to keep her safe, and now she was going to have to face him alone.

I failed her.

Explaining it to her was tough.

“But I don’t want to, Mommy!”

I sighed, petting her head gently. “I know,” I whispered. “I don’t want you to, either.”

“It’s not fair! Why do I have to?”

“Because the important man said you have to. The rules say whatever he says goes.”

“Why?”

I blinked the tears from my eyes, “because your daddy did just the right things, and the important man said that made him a good daddy.”

“But he’s a bad daddy,” she wined.

I sniffed, I didn’t like to talk badly about her father to her, but at the same time I never wanted to invalidate her. Because she was right. Travis was a bad daddy. “I know,” I wiped the tears from my eyes.

It broke my heart that she’d have to go back there without me. I can’t imagine what that’ll be like for her.

“I’m scared,” she whispered hollowly.

“I know, baby, but I’ll be right here for you when you come back,” my voice cracked with the fear and pain I felt.

Going to AA, and the abuse and parenting classes, Travis had met some new people. Awful people. People like himself.

I guess that’s why it started getting worse.

I guess that’s what started the changes.

First, she started getting quieter. Sinking into herself. The bouncy girl that sang and danced all around the house at all times, slowly became the sullen silent girl that sat in corners and spoke softly only when she needed to.

I don’t even remember when the sing-song, “mommy pass the ketchup, I need some for my smiley fries. If I don’t get some, they’ll be frowny fries!”— turned into the mumbled, “mom, can I please get the ketchup?”

It happened over the course of the year, gradually quieter and quieter.

She cut her long, beautiful hair.

She stopped wearing her favorite dresses. She said she only wanted pants when I took her shopping. Even for my sister’s wedding, she would only wear a dress if she could put her little jeans underneath.

These were just little things, but her personality was the first change I noticed.

A few weeks in to the split custody, I heard a shrill scream in the dead of night.

I bolted upright, thinking he had gotten to my baby. It took a few blinks before I realized he wasn’t here. I didn’t have to save her, I needed to comfort her.

I was at her bedside before I knew it. She flinched as I touched her. She was babbling “I won’t tell,” and “I don’t like that,” and “it hurts.”

It made me look at the bruises on her arms. A hand that had clearly grabbed too hard, with too much authority. He’d been hurting her again.

“It’s okay, honey, Mommy’s right here,” I told her frantically.

She screamed again and tucked her arms close, kicking her feet. Hot tears streaked her cheeks. “Get off of me!” She sobbed.

“Baby, it was a bad dream, it’s okay,” I soothed.

Her eyes seemed to fix on me, and she flung her arms around my neck. “Mommy, mommy, it was horrible.”

“Shh, Trinity, it’s okay,” I didn’t know what else to say to her.

She sniffled, curling herself closer. “They did something to me,” she whispered.

“What’d they do?”

“I’m not supposed to say,” she cried. “They… they put something inside of me.”

That was a lot to chew on. I mulled it over, knowing Travis had been into some pretty dark stuff. Who knows what he and his friends could’ve done to her, or have had done to her. Had they put a curse on her, or a demon in her? The idea that a malevolent spirit was feeding on my daughter both enraged and terrified me.

I prayed with her. Asking God to undo whatever Travis and done, and protect her from him doing more.

I petted her head, not knowing this was the beginning.

Next came the appetite. She started eating and eating and eating some more. It was insatiable. I saw that girl wolf down a stack of pancakes as tall as her head and neck combined.

I woke up in the middle of night to get a glass of water, and found her sitting on the floor in front of the fridge eating anything she could get her little hands on.

She started eating weird things, too. Like putting a pickle under a slice of cheese in the microwave, then eating it with a fork. Meat sticks with tartar sauce. Cottage cheese with ruffles sour cream and cheddar chips (actually that one was really good). She craved maraschino cherries the most. She ate a whole jar in one sitting.

It seemed like a growth spurt had hit her like a bus.

Trinity started maturing in other ways, too. Growing hair, filling out in certain places, body odor.

I had thought she was a little young, but maybe she was just an early bloomer.

Then one morning, I was getting her ready for school. Packing her lunch, making sure she showered and got ready, the whole bit. When she came into the kitchen fidgeting with her shirt, I was cooking bacon. I turned to tell her something when I realized she was turning green. I began to ask her what was wrong, when she doubled over slightly and spewed rancid beige and pink puke all over me. I swore I could see the rancid acidic, fruity, fishy smell.

I gagged myself.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she panicked.

I grabbed a towel and wiped her chin where a little excess dribbled, “it’s okay. Are you sick?”

She nodded, “my tummy hurts,” she clutched it to demonstrate.

I sighed, “go lay down, I’ll call the school.”

She nodded again, solemnly, embarrassed, before shuffling off to her room.

Trinity kept throwing up, too. Every other morning she rushed to expel whatever racked her body.

It was then that I started getting suspicious.

I was frustrated I wasn’t getting any answers from Travis. Frustrated that I didn’t know how to help her.

Her face began to change. Not just as she grows, but her nose swelled up and her eyes sunk in. She started getting acne. Red dots paraded across my little girls face and sores opened from her little fingers picking them. Her hair became greasier and started falling out. Her nails became brittle. She became brittle.

Then, I started noticing her body shape. Her hips and thighs got bigger, her stomach distended, and her unmentionables swelled. Her feet and hands got so big they looked disproportionate to her body.

Trinity was changing inside and out.

She was irritable. Not regular maturing kid irritable, but something else. She had rage behind those eyes sometimes.

Once, she frisbeed a plate at my head. She picked up things she shouldn’t have been able to. She toppled our statue of Mother Mary, breaking her open beckoning hands.

I bought her a cross to wear around her neck, but she never wanted to wear it.

I sprinkled holy water in her food and she threw it up.

I put salt around the door and windows in her room and I found them dusted away.

One day, she winced in pain as she bit into a cupcake.

I squinted, trying to make sense of it. Had the cupcake hurt her? “Sweetie, come here.”

She looked worried, like she’d done something wrong.

“C’mon,” I coaxed.

She came over with her head hung low.

I gently touched her chin and lifted her head. “Open up.”

When she did I was hit with the smell of decay. All of her teeth were laced with yellow, brown, and black. There were holes in some spots, and cracks in others.

Whatever this was, she was rotting from the inside.

It was then that I called our priest about an exorcism. Father Wilkerson said these things take time, he’d have to get approval. He told me to take her to the doctor first.

So I took her to the dentist, and three extractions, seven crowns, and 18 fillings later, she was a new girl.

It was some time before I heard back from the priest. I tried to ask him about it at church, but he always told me he was still waiting.

I couldn’t wait anymore. I couldn’t sit by as my daughter was victim to some unholy spirit that tore her body and mind apart. She wasn’t my daughter anymore. She belonged to the demon now.

I cried myself to sleep often.

She woke me up with her nightmares often.

She kept just saying they put something inside of her, and I knew that Travis had put a demon inside my daughter to punish us.

This all lead up to this morning.

She woke me up early with a nightmare, and while she dozed back off I drank my coffee.

When she got up she immediately emptied what little contents she had in her stomach, loudly retching as she prayed to the porcelain god.

We prayed and ate, and she managed to keep it down.

Then she got ready to shower, and that’s when shit really hit the fan.

I heard her scream.

I ran to her, worried that some ungodly thing had gotten to her.

It had.

I burst through the door to find my daughter screaming and crying hot tears. She was naked, ready for her shower. Her h...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1lxoshq/my_daughter_came_back_from_her_dads_house/