It was 2:00 a.m., and baby Mia had just fallen asleep after hours of crying. Her mother, Emma, tiptoed out of the nursery, utterly exhausted. She had barely made it to her bed when the baby monitor crackled.
“Waaaah!”
Emma’s heart sank. Not again. She dragged herself back to the nursery, rehearsing her soothing words.
But when she opened the door, her breath caught.
The crib was empty.
Panic surged through her veins. The blanket Mia always clung to was lying on the floor, just outside the crib.
“Where are you?” Emma whispered, her voice shaking.
She scanned the room frantically, her pulse thundering in her ears. The closet door creaked slightly, and she froze. Had it been open earlier?
“Mia?”
No answer, only the soft whir of the baby monitor. Emma rushed to the closet and flung it open. Empty.
Her mind raced. She turned to check under the crib, but a low, gurgling sound stopped her. It wasn’t coming from Mia’s room—it was coming from the monitor.
Emma grabbed the device and stared at the small screen. The nursery looked the same, except for one difference: a shadow was moving across the floor.
But there was no one in the room with her.
The gurgling sound grew louder, turning into distorted whispers. Emma felt a cold draft behind her, though the windows were shut tight.
She spun around and screamed.
The blanket was back in the crib, perfectly folded. And Mia? She was there too, sleeping soundly as if nothing had happened.
Emma’s legs nearly gave out. She staggered toward the crib, tears of relief streaming down her face.
But as she reached for Mia, the baby monitor crackled again.
“Leave her,” a voice hissed.