AI Atrocities

Mary Lou woke up early, the sun peeking through the blinds of her room. She stretched in her bed, the plastic crinkling beneath her. She had been having trouble with her bowels lately, and the doctor said it was just stress from her husband's recent unemployment. But she knew better. It was a sign, a test from the Lord.

Her husband, Larry, was still asleep, his snores rumbling like distant thunder. She knew he wouldn't wake up until the TV blared to life in the living room. He had lost his job at the factory and had taken to watching daytime TV as if it were a full-time job.

Mary Lou slid out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom, her diaper squishing with each step. She had started wearing them again, not because she enjoyed it, but because she had read in an article that it brought her closer to the purity of a baby, and therefore, closer to God. She sat on the toilet and let out a sigh of relief as she filled the diaper. She felt the warmth spread, and she closed her eyes, whispering a prayer of thanks to the Almighty.

Her mother, who lived with them in the small apartment, called out for her breakfast. Mary Lou called back, "Coming, Mama!" She cleaned herself up and went to the kitchen to make eggs and toast, her diaper bulging slightly under her house dress. She knew her mother would be horrified if she knew, but Mary Lou had convinced herself that this was a holy ritual.

After breakfast, she sat her mother down and told her the plan for the day. "I'm going to go to the church and pray for Larry's job," she said. Her mother nodded, too tired to argue.

The walk to the church was brisk, the cool air biting at her skin. The streets were empty at this hour, except for the occasional squirrel darting across the pavement. She liked the quietude. It allowed her to focus on her thoughts and her prayers.

When she arrived at the church, the heavy wooden doors creaked open, revealing the dimly lit sanctuary. She genuflected and made her way to her favorite pew. She pulled out a fresh diaper from her purse and placed it on the seat, then sat down. The cool plastic made her shiver.

As she prayed, her mind wandered to the upcoming Halloween. She had always loved the holiday, not for the candy or costumes, but for the opportunity to spread the word of the Lord in a whimsical way. This year she had a brilliant idea. Instead of giving out candy, she would give out her own special treats.

Mary Lou had been saving her diapers for weeks, meticulously collecting them in a plastic bin. Each one contained a small message, a scripture verse, and sometimes a piece of her own excrement. She had read somewhere that it was a powerful symbol of her devotion to God, and she knew that the children would cherish such a unique gift.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the priest shuffling in. He looked surprised to see her so early. "Mary Lou," he said, his voice kind but slightly weary. "Is there something you need to confess?"

Mary Lou looked up at him, her eyes wide with excitement. "No, Father," she said. "I just came to pray for Larry's job and to thank the Lord for guiding me in my own little way."

The priest nodded, his expression unreadable. He knew Mary Lou was a bit...eccentric, but he had learned not to question her piety. "God works in mysterious ways," he said, and left her to her prayers.

As she sat there, she felt the pressure building in her bowels. It was time for another offering. She closed her eyes and whispered, "Thank you, Lord, for this test of faith," and let go. The diaper filled with a warm, comforting weight.

She sat there for a while longer, basking in the glow of her devotion. When she was done praying, she carefully folded the used diaper and placed it in her purse, ready to be part of her Halloween ministry. She knew it was just a matter of time before the Lord provided for Larry, and in the meantime, she had her own holy work to do.

The trip home was uneventful until she reached the stop sign at the corner of Elm and Oak. The light turned green, and she began to accelerate, only to feel a sudden urgency in her bowels. It was more than just gas. Panic set in as she realized she had made a mistake by not changing before leaving the church.

Mary Lou clenched her cheeks together and tried to hold it in, her eyes darting from side to side, looking for a place to pull over. But the street was lined with cars, and she was in the middle of a parade of parents dropping their kids off at school. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white, and whispered a desperate prayer for deliverance.

The pressure grew unbearable, and she felt a warm trickle escape. She gasped and her foot slipped off the clutch. The car lurched forward, the engine sputtering. The smell began to fill the car, a noxious mix of fear and divine intervention. She could feel it spreading, seeping into the fabric of her seat and the carpets.

Her face reddened with embarrassment as she pulled into the nearest parking lot, her eyes welling with tears. She knew what she had to do. She reached into her bag and pulled out another diaper, her trembling hands fumbling with the tapes. As she changed herself in the driver's seat, she whispered a prayer of apology to the Lord, promising to be more vigilant in the future.

Once she was clean, she sat back and took a deep breath, the scent of baby powder and plastic momentarily overpowering the stench of her accident. She knew that this was just another test of her faith. And as she started the car and pulled back onto the road, she felt a strange sense of peace wash over her. This was just one more way she could offer herself to the Lord, one more way to show her devotion.

.oOo.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of chores and preparations for Halloween. She had to make sure that her house looked festive enough to attract the neighborhood children, but not so much that it seemed like she was condoning the pagan holiday. A delicate balance.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the living room floor, she gathered her collection of diapers and headed outside. Each one was wrapped carefully, a scripture verse tucked inside like a secret message from heaven.

Her son, Timmy, watched her from the window, his nose scrunched up in disgust. He had never understood her strange habits, but she knew that one day he would see the beauty in them. She set the bowl of diapers on the porch and waited for the first knock on the door.

The first few children looked confused when they saw what she was offering, but she just gave them a warm smile and said, "This is a special Halloween treat from the Lord." Some took them, others ran away screaming. It didn't matter to Mary Lou. What was important was that she had done her part.

And then, as if on cue, Larry's car pulled into the driveway. He looked tired and defeated, his shoulders slumped. She could see the sadness in his eyes. But she had a surprise for him. A small bag of her own diapers, filled with love and a little bit of herself, to remind him that she was always there for him, through thick and thin.

She handed him the bag and kissed his cheek, the smell of her diapers lingering in the air. "Don't forget to thank the Lord for his many blessings," she whispered, and watched as he took the bag into the house, his face a mask of disgust.

Inside, her mother was watching TV, her eyes glued to the screen. "Mama," she said, "I need you to help me with something." Her mother looked up, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. "What is it, dear?"

Mary Lou took a deep breath and told her about the diapers she had been giving out, and the ones she had saved for Larry. Her mother's face went pale, and she slowly turned back to the TV, not saying a word.

Mary Lou felt a twinge of doubt, but she pushed it aside. This was her calling. This was what God wanted her to do. And she would not be deterred by the judgment of mere mortals.

"Timmy," she called out sweetly, her voice carrying through the house. "Could you come help your mother for a moment?"

Her son's footsteps were hesitant as he approached the doorway. "What do you need, Mom?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and dread.

"I need you to change me," she said, her voice filled with a strange sense of serenity. "It's time for a fresh diaper."

Timmy's face contorted into a grimace, but he knew better than to argue with his mother when she was in one of her religious moods. He followed her into the bedroom, where she lay down on the bed, lifting her hips slightly so he could slide the dirty diaper out from under her. He tried not to gag at the smell, his eyes watering as he placed it in the plastic bag she had provided.

"Now, Timmy," she instructed, patting the fresh diaper on the bed, "place this under me and then lift my legs."

With trembling hands, Timmy did as he was told, trying not to look at the mess he was handling. He had always found it strange, but he had learned to keep his thoughts to himself.

Once the new diaper was in place, Mary Lou sighed contentedly. "Thank you, Timmy," she said, her voice gentle. "You're such a good boy."

He didn't know how to respond. The situation was too bizarre, too embarrassing. He just nodded and backed out of the room, his cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and discomfort.

That evening, as Larry sat on the couch with the bag of diapers on his lap, staring blankly at the TV, Timmy couldn't help but feel a sense of pity for his father. He knew his mother's love was misguided, but he also knew that she truly believed in what she was doing. It was a strange dance they all performed, tiptoeing around her delusions.

But as he watched his father's expression shift from confusion to disgust to resignation, he realized that maybe it was time for them to have a talk, to get him out of this toxic cycle.

The next day, after school, Timmy approached his father in the kitchen. "Dad," he said, his voice low and serious. "We can't keep pretending like this is okay. Mom needs help."

Larry looked up from his untouched sandwich, his eyes weary. "I know, son," he said. "But I don't know what to do. She's so convinced that this is what God wants."

"But it's not right," Timmy insisted. "We can't let her keep doing this."

Larry sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping further. "I know you're worried, Tim, but your mother has always had her own way of dealing with things."

Timmy's voice grew stronger. "But this isn't just dealing with things, Dad. It's hurting us. And what about her health?"

Larry rubbed his temples, his eyes never leaving the kitchen table. "I've talked to her doctor," he murmured. "They said it's psychological. We need to get her to a therapist."

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy in the air. Then Larry looked up, his eyes meeting Timmy's with a newfound determination. "Let's talk to her together tonight. Maybe we can get through to her."

The evening came, and with it, a tension that hung like a fog over the small apartment. After dinner, Larry cleared his throat. "Mary Lou," he began, his voice gentle but firm. "Timmy and I need to talk to you about something."

Mary Lou looked up from her plate, her eyes wide and innocent. "What is it, my dears?" she asked, her voice light.

Larry took a deep breath. "It's about the diapers, honey," he said. "We're worried about you."

Her smile didn't waver. "Don't worry," she said, patting her bulging diaper. "This is just a way to show the Lord how much I love him."

Timmy spoke up, his voice shaking slightly. "But Mom, it's not normal. And it's not good for you, either."

Mary Lou's expression darkened for a moment, but then she sighed and took Larry's hand. "You just don't understand," she said. "This is between me and God."

The conversation went on for what felt like hours, a delicate dance of love, fear, and frustration. But in the end, Mary Lou remained steadfast in her beliefs, refusing to seek help or change her ways.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Timmy watched as his father grew more and more distant, the spark in his eyes dimming. He knew that they couldn't go on like this forever. Something had to give.

One day, as he was walking home from school, an idea struck him. He had heard of a support group for families dealing with religious obsessions. Maybe they could find some guidance there.

Timmy approached his father with the idea tentatively, his heart racing. "Dad," he said, "I think we should go to this meeting. It's for people who have family members with... issues like Mom's."

Larry looked up from his newspaper, his eyes hopeful. "Do you really think it could help?"

Timmy nodded. "It's worth a shot," he said. "We can't keep pretending everything's okay."

And so, with a mix of hope and dread, Larry and Timmy made the decision to seek help. They found the address for the support group online and set a date to attend together.

The evening of the meeting, they sat in a small, nondescript church basement with a group of other people, all sharing similar stories. Timmy felt a weight lift off his chest as he heard others speak of their struggles, their pain, and their love for their troubled relatives.

For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel alone. And as he looked over at his father, he saw a flicker of the man he once knew, the man who had been buried under the weight of Mary Lou's delusions.

As they drove home that night, the silence in the car was no longer awkward. It was filled with the quiet understanding that they were in this together, and that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to help Mary Lou without losing themselves in the process.

The next day, Timmy decided to take matters into his own hands. He waited until his mother was busy in the kitchen before sneaking into her room and grabbing a handful of the diapers she had prepared for her unsuspecting recipients. He stuffed them into his backpack, his heart racing with a mix of fear and excitement.

At school, he approached his favorite teacher, Mrs. Jenkins, who had always been understanding and supportive. He waited until the last bell had rung and the hallways were empty before pulling out one of the wrapped diapers. "Mrs. Jenkins," he said, his voice shaking slightly, "I know this is weird, but I need you to see this."

Her eyes widened as she unwrapped the diaper, the scripture verse fluttering to the floor. "What is this, Timmy?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and concern.

"It's from my mom," he said, his cheeks flaming red. "She's been giving these out to people, saying it's a sign of her devotion to God."

Mrs. Jenkins took a deep breath, her expression softening. "Okay, Timmy," she said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We need to talk to someone about this."

Together, they approached the principal, who was equally shocked by the revelation. He called an emergency meeting with the school counselor and Larry, and soon, the entire faculty was aware of the situation.

The mailman, Mr. Smith, was equally surprised when he found a diaper in his mail bag. He had always liked Mary Lou, but this was a bit much, even for her. He took it as a sign that maybe it was time to keep a closer eye on her.

.oOo.

The following week, Larry and Timmy sat in the cramped office of Dr. Sweeney, the therapist recommended by the support group. She listened intently as they recounted the events of the past few months, her expression a mix of professionalism and disbelief.

"Mrs. Jenkins called me," she said, her voice calm. "And she's quite concerned about your wife, Mary Lou. She's seen some of the diapers she's been giving out."

Larry nodded, his eyes downcast. "It's gotten out of hand," he murmured. "We didn't know what to do."

Dr. Sweeney leaned forward. "It's clear that Mary Lou is dealing with something deeper than just religious fervor," she said. "This is a form of compulsion, and it's not healthy for her or for those around her."

Timmy spoke up, his voice filled with a newfound courage. "What can we do to help her?"

The doctor handed them a pamphlet titled "Understanding and Supporting Someone with a Religious Compulsion." She explained that it was a complex issue, one that would require patience, understanding, and professional help.

They left the office with a sense of relief and purpose. They had taken the first step in acknowledging the problem and seeking help. It was a long road ahead, but they were ready to walk it together.

That evening, as Mary Lou sat in her usual spot on the couch, watching her favorite reality show, Larry took a deep breath. He knew he had to talk to her, had to find a way to explain that her actions were not just strange, but harmful.

Timmy sat beside him, his hand in his father's, lending silent support. Together, they approached her, the pamphlet in Larry's hand fluttering slightly with his nerves.

"Mary," Larry began, his voice cracking with emotion. "We went to see a doctor today. They think you might need some help."

Mary Lou's eyes didn't leave the TV screen. "Help?" she said, her tone mocking. "I don't need help. I have the Lord."

Timmy handed her the pamphlet. "It's not about that, Mom," he said gently. "It's about your...your diapers."

Her gaze snapped to them, her eyes narrowing. "My diapers are a gift from God," she snapped. "How dare you question his will?"

"But, Mom," Timmy tried again, "you can't just give people your...your feces."

The room grew tense, the air thick with the scent of her diaper. She stood up, her bulk swaying slightly, and looked them both in the eye. "If you don't believe in the power of the Lord," she said, her voice rising, "then you don't believe in me."

Larry stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We love you, honey," he said. "But this isn't right."

Her expression softened, just for a moment, before hardening again. She reached down and unbuckled her diaper, pulling out a handful of her feces. "Here," she said, shoving it towards the therapist, who had just entered the room. "Take it. It's holy."

The therapist, a petite woman with a look of utter shock on her face, took a step back. "Mrs. Smith," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I think we should discuss this in a more appropriate setting."

Mary Lou's smile grew wide, almost manic. "You see?" she said, turning to her family. "Even she knows the power of the Lord."

The therapist managed to recover her composure and guided them back to the living room, where they all sat in uncomfortable silence. It was clear that convincing Mary Lou to seek help would be an uphill battle.

As the therapist began to explain the nature of her condition and the importance of treatment, Mary Lou grew more and more agitated. She began to rock back and forth, mumbling prayers under her breath. Larry felt his heart breaking, watching the woman he once knew slip further away into her delusion.

Timmy sat in the corner, his thoughts racing. He couldn't bear to see his mother like this, but he also knew that they couldn't continue to enable her behavior. It was tearing their family apart.

Finally, the therapist suggested that they take a break and come back the following week. As they left, she whispered to Larry that they might need to consider more intensive interventions.

The ride home was quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Timmy stared out the window, watching the world go by. He knew that Halloween was approaching, and with it, the spectacle of his mother's twisted ministry. He had to find a way to stop her before it was too late.

The next week, Larry decided to take action. He couldn't just sit back and watch his wife's mental health deteriorate. He called the therapist and made an appointment for all of them to come together. This time, he was ready to lay it all on the line.

When they arrived at the office, the therapist looked at them with a mix of sympathy and concern. "I've spoken to a few colleagues," she said, her voice measured. "They've agreed to see Mary Lou for a full evaluation."

Mary Lou's eyes widened, and she began to protest, but Larry held her hand firmly. "We're doing this," he said, his voice strong and steady. "For us."

The evaluation was a blur of questions and tests, all designed to uncover the root of her obsession. Timmy watched his mother from the corner, her eyes darting around the room, her mouth moving in silent prayers.

When it was over, the therapist sat them down and spoke in a gentle but firm tone. "Mary Lou," she said, "you have a condition called scatomania. It's a form of OCD where you believe that your feces have religious significance. It's treatable, but it's going to take work."

Mary Lou's eyes blazed with anger. "You think I'm sick?" she spat. "I am a vessel of the Lord's will!"

Larry and Timmy watched in horror as she stood up and began to rip her diaper off, flinging the contents at the therapist. The room was filled with the putrid smell, and the therapist recoiled in shock. "Mary!" Larry yelled, trying to restrain her, but she was too strong.

Timmy looked around, desperately searching for something to cover her with. He grabbed the nearest object, a blanket, and threw it over her. "Mom, please," he pleaded, his voice shaking.

But she was beyond reasoning. She continued to scream and throw, her eyes wild. The therapist called for security, and soon, two burly men entered the room, their faces a mix of confusion and disgust.

As they tried to subdue her, she fought with a strength that seemed unholy. "You're all going to burn in hell!" she shrieked, her words echoing off the walls. It took all three of them to get her under control, and even then, she kicked and screamed, her feces smearing across the floor.

In the aftermath, Larry and Timmy sat in the waiting room, their heads in their hands. They had never seen her like this before, so out of control. They knew that it was going to take more than a simple therapy session to get her the help she needed.

The therapist came out, her face pale and her clothes stained. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "We're going to have to refer you to a psychiatric hospital. This is beyond my expertise."

Larry nodded, his eyes filled with sadness. "Do what you have to," he murmured.

Timmy looked up at his father, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "We'll get through this," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

And so, they did. They faced the whispers of the town, the stares of their neighbors, and the painful reality that their mother and wife was not just eccentric but dangerously ill. They found a hospital that specialized in her condition and made the difficult decision to commit her for her own good.

It was the hardest thing they had ever done, but as they drove away from the hospital, leaving her behind, they knew it was the right choice. The house felt empty without her, but it was also cleaner, less suffocating.

For the first time in months, they sat down to dinner without the smell of diapers hanging in the air. They talked about baseball, about school, about the weather. They talked about everything but her.

As they cleared the plates, Larry turned to Timmy. "We're going to get her the help she needs," he said. "And we're going to keep fighting for her."

Timmy nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I know," he said. "We're in this together."

And so, the long road to recovery began. It would be fraught with setbacks and challenges, but with each passing day, they grew stronger in their love and their faith. They knew that even in the darkest moments, the Lord was with them, guiding their steps.

They visited her every day, bringing her flowers and books, trying to keep her spirits up. They prayed together, the three of them, holding onto the hope that she would come back to them.

But Mary Lou refused to acknowledge that anything was wrong. She was adamant that her diapers were a sign of her devotion, and the doctors and nurses were just pawns of the devil trying to pull her away from her faith. She would spend hours recounting her dreams of speaking to Jesus, who she claimed had told her that her poop was a holy communion that needed to be shared.

Timmy and Larry watched in despair as her condition grew worse. She became more and more agitated, often screaming at the staff and other patients. The hospital staff tried to explain that her beliefs were not only unhealthy but dangerous to herself and others, but she wouldn't listen.

One day, Timmy found her in the garden, a place she had always loved. She was surrounded by a pile of dirty diapers, her eyes glazed over with a disturbing sort of bliss. "Mom," he said softly, "we need to talk."

"The Lord has spoken to me, Timmy," she said without looking up. "He says that you and your father are lost sheep. That you need to see the truth."

"Mom," he said, his voice trembling, "this isn't the truth. This isn't what God wants."

She looked at him then, her eyes fierce. "You don't know God like I do," she spat. "You're just a child playing in the dark."

Timmy felt a knot form in his stomach. He had never seen his mother so consumed by her delusions. He knew then that they were fighting not just for her health, but for her soul.

The next few months were a blur of hospital visits, doctor's appointments, and prayers. They tried every treatment available, but Mary Lou remained steadfast in her belief that her diapers were a gift from God.

And then, one day, she disappeared.

They searched everywhere, but she was gone. Panic set in as they realized she had escaped the hospital, leaving behind a note that simply said, "The Lord has called me to spread His message."

Timmy and Larry searched the town, their hearts racing with fear. They knew that she was out there, spreading her dangerous beliefs, and that it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt.

The police were called, and a search party was formed. They combed through the woods and knocked on doors, but there was no sign of her. It was as if she had vanished into thin air.

And then, as the days turned to weeks, they began to receive reports. Diapers filled with human waste were being found all over town, each one with a religious message scribbled in the margins. The townsfolk were terrified, not knowing who was leaving these disgusting offerings.

The tension grew with each passing day. The once-quiet town of Elmwood was now a hotbed of fear and accusations. Larry lost his job, and Timmy was teased mercilessly at school. The whispers followed them wherever they went, a constant reminder of their family's dark secret.

But they didn't give up. They continued to pray, to hope, and to love. And as they did, they slowly began to piece together a plan to find her, to bring her home, and to get her the help she so desperately needed.

They turned to the only people they could trust, the members of their support group. Together, they formed a search party of their own, armed with understanding and compassion. They knew that Mary Lou was out there, lost in her own world, and they were determined to bring her back to reality.

The search led them to a small, secluded church on the outskirts of town. It was there that they found her, surrounded by a group of children, all wearing her "special" diapers. She was in the midst of a sermon, her eyes wild, her voice filled with a feverish passion that chilled Timmy to the bone.

They approached her cautiously, speaking her name softly. She looked up, her eyes filled with rage. "You dare to interfere with the Lord's work?" she screamed.

Timmy stepped forward, his voice shaking. "Mom," he said, "it's me. We love you, and we're here to help you."

For a moment, she seemed to waver, her eyes searching his. And then, with a roar, she lunged at him, the children scattering like leaves in a storm. The congregation of lost souls who had gathered around her parted in fear as she raged, her diaper sagging with the weight of her holy burden. "I don't need your help, you heathen!" she screamed. "The Lord is my shepherd!"

Larry stepped in, his heart breaking. "Mary, please," he begged. "We just want you to get better."

But she was beyond reason now, her eyes glazed with a fervor that seemed almost supernatural. "Better?" she cackled. "You think I need to be 'better'? This is what the Lord has chosen for me!"

Timmy watched, his heart heavy. He had hoped that seeing them, her family, would snap her out of it. But she was too far gone, lost in her own twisted theology. He knew they couldn't force her to come with them, not like this. They needed a new approach, a way to show her the love and care she desperately needed without triggering her delusions.

The therapist had warned them about this, about the depth of her denial. But hearing it and seeing it were two different things. He felt a tear slide down his cheek as he watched his mother, the woman who had once baked cookies and read bedtime stories, now a raving madwoman, her eyes alight with a fire that seemed to consume her from within.

They decided to leave her there, to pray and hope that she would come to her senses. It was a hard decision, one that haunted Larry and Timmy for many nights. They didn't know if they would ever get her back, if she would ever be the woman they knew.