“Crazy”
“Jake, let me in. Let me in! I’m your mother! You have to give me money, or they won’t take me back,” the knocking at the door was relentless, the voice droning on. “You owe me this!”
Jake leaned against the other side of the door, eyes squeezed shut. No, he wouldn’t open it. He’d spent his whole childhood branded as “the weird one,” and that was enough. He walked to his room, flopped onto the bed, and turned his music up loud to drown her out.
His early years were a blur. He remembered a remote-control car for his fifth birthday, a cake, and friends from nursery. His dad was still around back then.
Then those people from that strange group moved in, and the celebrations stopped.
His mum fell under their influence fast. His dad, unable to cope with her obsession, left, got a divorce, and agreed to pay child support—though none of it ever went on clothes or shoes for Jake.
From the start, the group felt like an octopus lying in wait. Harmless and odd at first glance, until it wrapped its tentacles around you and never let go.
His sixth birthday wasn’t celebrated. Neither were the next ten—the group didn’t believe in them. Instead, there were “special days” when they got to eat something nice. The rest of the time, he and his mum went door-to-door, preaching with the other converts.
The flat was sold quickly, thanks to the group’s lawyers. Jake was left with nothing—just a registered address in some rundown shared house in a remote village. The money? Straight to the community.
His school years were spent in a cramped room with other women and their kids, dressed in donated clothes, endlessly preaching. At school, he was bullied, got into fights, and was punished twice—once by the kids, once by the group, for torn clothes and “not preaching hard enough.”
They wrote him off as hopeless, dead weight. So, at sixteen, he ran. A thousand miles from his hometown to London. Enrolled in college, worked early, then university. Now he was a successful programmer with his own flat.
But the fear that haunted him for years had come true. His mum and her fanatics had found him again. Easy prey to milk dry.
***
It started a week ago when his mum—barely recognisable—ambushed him after work.
“Hello, sweetheart! I’ve been waiting three hours for you.”
“Why?”
“I’m your mum! I missed you, came to visit. Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“No. I didn’t invite you. You’re not coming home with me. I’ll buy you food if you’re hungry.”
“Thank you, love. Let’s eat together.” She lit up at the small victory.
He bought her a meal, and they sat on a park bench.
“What about your group?” Jake asked. “Did you leave them?”
“Not exactly. But I’m not useful enough anymore. Nowhere else to go.”
“How’d you get my address?”
“They gave it to me. Told me to go to my son. So here I am.”
Jake sighed. “Where are you staying?”
“Nowhere, really. But it’s fine—I can sleep in a stairwell.”
Another sigh. “Don’t do that. Come on, I’ll make up the sofa.”
For a few days, he let himself believe she might change. No preaching, just cooking soup, asking about his life. Jake, whose social circle was mostly coworkers, softened, chatting freely about his ups and downs.
Then, a week later, they showed up. And the money vanished.
Jake came home to an empty flat and an open drawer—his savings and a big project bonus, gone. He’d meant to deposit it, never found the time. His mum reappeared soon after, flanked by followers.
“Sweetheart, you should be proud! Your dirty money went to a good cause. Now you can come back, be saved like me!”
“What? That was most of my savings. Give it back, or I’ll report it stolen.”
“Can a mother steal from her son?” She smiled, but it was cold now. “Who’d believe you? Want to be a laughingstock?”
Jake snapped. “Get out! And don’t come back—you or your cronies. I actually believed you missed me, dreamed of a normal family. And I paid for it again. At least it was just money this time.”
“You’re nothing to us. A traitor, not worth pity. You should be paying, begging forgiveness for life!” Her scream held no love, just hate.
He shoved them out, locked both bolts—she only had a key for one—and listened to her shrieks and pounding fade.
***
Next morning, Jake stepped out for his usual run. His mum was waiting on a bench with two men.
“There he is! My own flesh and blood, leaving his poor mum to die in the street! Sleep well, darling, while I froze on concrete?”
He walked past, ignoring her. But she followed, her companions too. He spun around. “What do you want?”
“Sweetheart, you know we collect donations. You grew up with us, you know the good we do. Pay up.” Her voice turned shrill. “Or we’ll ruin your life, your reputation. No peace at home or work.”
“Why should I pay you or your cult? Because of you, I went years without a home, decent food, or clothes!”
“Because you never truly believed!” she spat. “Repent, before it’s too late. Only the faithful are saved.”
“Leave, or I’m calling the police. Your group’s illegal now.”
They left. But Jake was drenched in sweat, heart pounding. Eight years later, and the sight of them still terrified him.
Next day, his boss called him in.
“Listen, it’s none of my business, but do you know our phones have been ringing off the hook about you? They’re saying you threw your mum out, left her homeless.”
“It’s true I grew up in a cult because of her. She sold our flat, gave everything to their leader.”
“Jake, I don’t want to pressure you, but a big client called. They don’t want you on their projects. Take a leave of absence, or look elsewhere. We’ll give you a good reference, but we can’t have this drama.”
He quit that day. No point arguing he wasn’t a monster.
The group’s reach was something he’d known since childhood. They’d probably known where he studied, where he lived—just waited until he had something to take.
Walking home, his phone rang.
“How’s the demo of your new life, Jake? Like it? Wait till the neighbours hold their own trial. We’ve barely started.”
“What do you want?”
“You’re ours, Jake. Your mum brought you in as a child. You know the rules. Pay, and you’ll live. We’ll even get your job back—or a better one.”
“I want nothing from you.” He hung up, exhausted.
He booked the next flight to Edinburgh. The flat could be sold later. Right now, he just needed to salvage what was left of his life.
Maybe they’d get bored chasing him. Let them find another victim. He’d paid enough for his freedom already.
