I Got a Frantic Video Message from My Mom — I Was Shocked to Find Out What Dad Had Done to Her

It started like any ordinary Saturday. I was lounging on my couch, flipping through TikTok and sipping on my favorite drink, enjoying the rare quiet moment in my apartment. With nothing to do, I had fallen into the social media rabbit hole when my phone lit up with a message notification.

It was from my mom.

Nothing out of the ordinary there—except this time, it wasn’t a text. It was a video message. That caught me off guard, because my mom is the least tech-savvy person I know. In fact, I didn’t even think she knew how to send a video message, which immediately made me think something was wrong.

The thumbnail showed nothing but a black screen. There was no picture, no preview of what might be in the video, and her voice was muffled, almost as if she were whispering in secret. That sent a chill down my spine. I opened the video, and the moment I did, my heart skipped a beat.

There was my mom, crouched in the corner, her voice barely a whisper. “Annie,” she said, her tone shaky and full of fear, “Sweetheart, your dad… he locked me in the basement. Can you come help me? He thinks this is funny. I think there are rats down here. Please come quickly.”

I stared at the screen, frozen in shock for a good few seconds. What the hell did I just hear? My dad—my stubborn, grumpy, “jokester” of a father—had locked my mother in the basement?

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I felt a wave of confusion and anger wash over me. Mom looked scared, and she wasn’t the kind of person to exaggerate things or pull pranks of her own. No, if she was asking for help, it meant she needed it.

Dad’s Pranks Have Always Been Annoying, But This Was Too Far

Let me backtrack for a moment and give you some context. My dad is what you would call “old school.” He’s the kind of guy who never fully adjusted to modern life. Picture someone straight out of the 1970s—gruff, stubborn, and constantly stuck in his ways. He’s not a bad man by any means, but he is difficult. He doesn’t like heart-to-heart conversations and avoids emotional moments like the plague. But he does express himself through pranks.

Over the years, he’s developed a habit of pulling what he thinks are “harmless” practical jokes on my mom. Usually, it’s little stuff like hiding her glasses or her car keys just before she’s about to leave. It’s annoying, sure, but not earth-shattering. My mom just rolls her eyes, and life goes on.

But locking her in the basement? That was a whole new level. I could hardly believe he had done something this extreme.

I immediately tried calling her back, but it went straight to voicemail. Panic set in, and I could feel my heart racing. My mom wasn’t someone who asked for help unless she really needed it. She’s the type who can handle anything life throws at her. But she’s also terrified of confined spaces—and the dark.

Knowing she was stuck in the basement, possibly alone with rats, was too much. I had to do something, and fast.

The Urgent Drive to My Parents’ House

I texted her, hoping her phone was still on, but there was no reply. “Maybe her phone died,” I muttered, trying to calm myself. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t it. She was probably scared, pacing back and forth in the darkness, and trying to figure out how to deal with my father’s latest “joke.”

I grabbed my keys and flew out the door. The drive to my parents’ house usually takes about 20 minutes, but I swear I made it in twelve. The entire time, I was fuming. What was my dad thinking? Did he really believe that locking his wife in a dark, rat-infested basement was funny? I kept running through scenarios in my head of how I would confront him when I arrived.

But here’s the thing about my dad: He may think he’s the king of pranks, but he’s not the only one in the family who knows how to plot revenge.

I parked in front of my parents’ house and didn’t even bother knocking. I used my spare key to let myself in and headed straight for the basement door. Sure enough, it was locked from the outside. The key was hanging on the hook right next to it, as if this were all part of some sick joke.

I knocked softly on the door. “Mom? It’s me, Annie.”

“Annie!” I could hear the relief in her voice. “Thank God. Your dad thought it would be funny to leave me down here so he could eat in peace. Can you believe that?”

I quickly unlocked the door, and when she stepped out, she didn’t look angry—just exhausted. But there was something in her eyes, a little glimmer that told me she was ready to get back at my father for this one.

“Where is Dad?” she asked.

“In the living room,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s probably shoveling food into his mouth, glued to the football game.”

“Typical,” Mom replied with a tired smile. “But this time, we’re getting him back.”

Our Plan for Revenge – Targeting Dad’s Precious Recliner

Here’s something you need to know about my dad: He loves his recliner more than anything else in the world. It’s not just any recliner, either. It’s an overpriced, top-of-the-line, electric-powered, heated, massaging chair with USB ports for his devices. He treats it like a throne.

Naturally, Mom and I decided that his “throne” was the perfect target for our revenge.

I crept into the living room where Dad was completely engrossed in his football game, oblivious to everything around him. I quietly unplugged the recliner from the wall and pulled out a small tube of super glue that I had grabbed from the kitchen. With Mom watching, I carefully smeared the glue over the chair’s control buttons.

He didn’t even notice a thing. Typical Dad.

We snuck back into the kitchen and waited. Mom pulled out a tub of cookies, and we sat there, snacking in silence, listening for the telltale sounds of his frustration. We didn’t have to wait long.

At halftime, we heard Dad shift in his chair and press the recline button. Nothing happened.

He pressed it again. Still nothing.

“What the heck?” he muttered, clearly confused.

Mom and I exchanged looks and quietly crept back to the living room doorway. We peeked in, just in time to see him start to pull at the armrests in frustration. His hands were stuck. The glue had worked perfectly.

“What’s wrong, Frank?” Mom asked sweetly, strolling into the room with a grin.

“The chair’s broken!” he grumbled, tugging harder at the armrests.

“Maybe it’s from overuse,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Or maybe it’s payback for locking me in the basement?”

Dad’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t—” he stammered. “How did you…?”

“Annie let me out,” she said simply.

I stepped into the room, holding up my phone. “Smile for the camera, Dad. This is going straight into the family group chat.”

“You wouldn’t!” he barked, his eyes narrowing at me.

“Oh, but I would,” I said with a smirk, pressing send.

Taking Mom Home – And Leaving Dad to Deal with His “Throne”

The text replies from family started pouring in almost instantly, filled with laughing emojis and sarcastic comments about Dad’s predicament. He hates being embarrassed, and this was a new low for him. But, if you ask me, he deserved it.

“Mom’s coming home with me for the weekend,” I said, turning to Dad. “You can figure out how to get yourself out of that chair.”

Mom grabbed her overnight bag, and together, we left Dad still glued to his “throne.” Something told me that he wouldn’t be locking anyone in the basement again anytime soon.

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