Dark Detour

The words hung heavy in the air, thick with a sinister undertone that sent a shiver down the mother's spine. As she slid into the passenger seat beside her date, a knot of unease coiled in the pit of her stomach, a foreboding sense of dread that she couldn't quite shake.

For weeks, she had watched in silent horror as her son withdrew into himself, his once-bright eyes clouded with pain and fear. She had sensed something was amiss, but she never could have imagined the true extent of the horrors he was enduring behind closed doors.

And now, as she sat beside the man she had trusted with her heart, his casual words sent a chill coursing through her veins. How could he speak so callously about her son's suffering, as if it were nothing more than idle gossip?

But before she could voice her concerns, before she could demand answers, the car lurched forward, propelling them down a dark and desolate road. The mother's heart pounded in her chest as a sense of foreboding settled over her like a suffocating blanket, suffusing the air with an oppressive weight that made it hard to breathe.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Her date offered her a smile that sent shivers down her spine, his eyes glinting with a malevolent light that sent alarm bells ringing in her mind. "Just a little detour," he said, his voice dripping with honeyed malice. "I thought we could take a drive down memory lane."

But as they wound their way through the twisting labyrinth of backroads, the mother's unease grew with each passing mile. Something wasn't right—she could feel it in her bones, a primal instinct screaming at her to flee.

And then, as the car rounded a bend, she saw it: the dilapidated farmhouse looming in the distance, its windows boarded up and its walls stained with age and neglect. Dread washed over her in a sickening wave as she realized where they were headed, her mind reeling with horror at the implications of her date's sinister intentions.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, the mother knew that she was trapped—bound by the shackles of her own naivety, her trust in the very man who now held her fate in his hands. And as the car rolled to a stop outside the farmhouse, she knew that there would be no escape from the nightmare that awaited her within its walls.