my MIL was cooking for us every night. then I set up a hidden camera.

I wasn't going to post this but I'm sitting in a motel at 6am and my hands are still shaking so here we go.

Before we got married, my husband used to brag about his mom's cooking constantly. Like, "you're gonna eat the best home food of your life every day bestie" energy. I just laughed it off. Mama's boy stuff. Plus his mom seemed sweet, warm, the whole package.

We got a little newlywed apartment in Goyang (Gyeonggi-do) and honestly? Life was perfect. For like a minute.

Then MIL started bringing banchan¹ over because "poor daughter-in-law works so hard." And at first I was GRATEFUL. We're both working full time, we come home dead, and suddenly there's a full spread waiting. Godsend.

Except once a week became twice a week became. every. single. day.

Giving her the door code was my villain origin story I fear.

I'd walk in after work and she'd be humming in my kitchen. My kitchen. And when I tried to bring it up with my husband he'd go "she's doing it FOR us, count your blessings" like I was the problem.

Okay. Fine. Whatever.

Then things got weird.

She stopped bringing the normal stuff and started showing up with these black plastic bags full of. idk what. "Oh this is so good for you, it only grows deep in the Gangwon mountains." Weird mushrooms. Weird roots. Black shriveled things I have genuinely never seen in any mart or market in my entire life.

And the food started tasting like dirt.

Not bad exactly. But every bite had this cold, fishy, SOIL taste at the back of my tongue. I told my husband and he was like "it's mountain herbs, they have strong flavor, stop being dramatic."

After that, we started sleeping. A LOT. Like we'd eat dinner and just. collapse. Couldn't keep our eyes open. And every single night I had the same nightmare. Hands. So many hands. Grabbing my ankles and pulling me down into wet dirt.

Then the apartment started feeling. off.

She'd clean while waiting for us but things would be moved. Furniture pushed an inch. Picture frames flipped backwards. My favorite teacup shoved to the back of the highest shelf. Little things. Things you'd gaslight yourself about.

One day I was vacuuming under the couch and found a small wooden doll. Crudely carved into a human shape. The face was burned completely black.

I have never felt my skin crawl like that. That was NOT our doll. That did not belong in my house.

Showed my husband. He goes "oh mom probably picked up a charm somewhere, can't hurt" and tossed it in a drawer. LITERALLY tossed it.

This man would eat, sleep, and nothing else. I was the only one in this apartment who could feel that something was deeply, deeply wrong.

This wasn't in-law drama. This was my home. My safe space. Being eaten alive from the inside and I was the only one noticing.

The breaking point came that weekend.

Husband was at a coworker's wedding. I was home alone doing a deep clean. I opened the kimchi fridge² and way in the back corner, behind everything, there was a small jar I had never seen before.

I opened it.

The smell hit me first. Dirt. That same dirt smell. Inside was this dark red liquid and floating in it: a clump of hair. Fingernail clippings. And a small printed copy of MY ID photo.

MY ID PHOTO.

I felt every drop of blood in my body go cold.

I cried to my husband that night. Showed him. And this man. THIS MAN. Said "maybe she was doing a prayer to ward off bad luck for you, my mom isn't like that." Called me superstitious. Said I was being weird about HIS MOM.

That's when I knew. He's not on my team. He was never on my team.

So I needed proof.

Next morning I pretended to leave for work, came right back, and installed a tiny hidden camera in the corner of the cabinet above the sink. Then I sat in a cafe all day shaking. When the sun went down I didn't go home. Got a motel room nearby and opened the camera app with trembling hands.

She showed up right on schedule.

Pulled out the black bag. The mushrooms. The roots. But she wasn't cooking. Not really. She was stroking each ingredient. Whispering to them in something I couldn't make out. Like they were alive.

Then, mid-chop, she just. stopped. Looked up at the empty air and SMILED. Big warm smile at nothing. And whispered to an empty chair at the dining table, "baby, are you hungry? just a little longer, okay?"

I stopped breathing.

The stew started bubbling. She ladled out a spoonful, blew on it to cool it down, then opened the cabinet under the sink and bent down. The camera couldn't see inside. But she was feeding it. She was feeding something in the dark under my sink.

"Is it yummy? my baby?"

That came through my phone speaker and I almost threw up.

And then. right before I closed the app. The worst part.

She finished cooking. Looked around the kitchen once. And slowly. tilted her head up. and stared DIRECTLY at the cabinet where I'd hidden the camera. Like she was looking me in the eye.

She smiled. Pulled her lips back so wide I could see every single tooth. And mouthed, slow and clear:

'let's eat together, my baby.'

I dropped my phone.

I called my husband like 40 times. No answer. He was already deep in MIL-dinner sleep I'm sure.

I stayed up all night with my eyes wide open and the second the sun came up I drove home. Just grab my stuff and run, that was the only thought in my head.

Pulling into the parking lot I saw a familiar car pulling OUT. Hers. My stomach dropped through the floor.

Ran upstairs. Door locked. Punched in the code with shaking fingers.

Everything was exactly like last night. Stew still steaming on the table. Two bowls of rice. My husband dead asleep in the bedroom.

I started throwing clothes and valuables into a bag as fast as I could. And then, because I had to know, I walked over to the kimchi fridge one more time to check the jar.

[post cuts off here]