I woke up to the sound of my baby monitor crackling to life at 3:06 am. It was dead silence, but somehow I felt like whatever was on the other end was waiting for me to respond.

Edit 2: This story is now available on the r/nosleep subreddit. Thank you again for your overwhelmingly kind comments, awards and support. I've written a second part and posted it there as well. I'll see you there. Edit: Thank you for your overwhelmingly positive response. I am sincerely grateful for your kindness and generosity. This story in its entirety can now be found on r/nosleep, and I've posted a second part as well. I woke up to the sound of my baby monitor crackling to life at 3:06 am. It was dead silence, but somehow I felt like whatever was on the other end was waiting for me to respond. The device on my nightstand stared back at me, its blue LCD taking up the space where my husband’s phone usually lay. He’d taken the monitor with him to work that morning, to use alongside the app on his phone. The app hadn’t worked for over a week, breaking down at random times throughout the day. My phone was set to vibrate, and it jumped in my hand as a text from my husband came in. Monitoring her from my office. App’s still down. The crackle came again, louder this time; sounding almost like static on an old television set. I shifted the monitor in my hand, trying to get a better look at the screen. It was still dark, but I could make out the faint, greenish outline of my daughter’s crib. When Lucy was born three months ago, my husband and I took shifts throughout the night to keep an eye on her. I was breastfeeding, and he would bring her to me when she was hungry, and then take her back to her crib once she was done. One night, I awoke to the sound of him screaming. I sat up in bed to see that he’d thrown the monitor across the room, where it shattered on the hardwood floor. I tried to calm him down but he refused to tell me what had happened, his whole body shaking with fear as he tried to hug himself into comfort. He wouldn’t let me see Lucy until I promised I wouldn’t try to look at the monitor, that I’d wait until he was ready to tell me what happened. I was tired, and I still had the remnant fog of anesthesia in my head, so I assented, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The next morning, he took me to the nursery. Lucy wasn’t there. She was in a room down the hall. “Where’s her stuff?” I asked, confused. “I moved it while you were still sleeping,” he said, looking away from me as he tried to hand me Lucy. “I was going to tell you, but you weren’t ready to hear it yet.” “Why did you move it?” I asked, my voice crackling with growing frustration. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, at a loss for words. “Why did you move it?” I asked, louder this time. “What did you see?” I demanded, even louder. “Alright, stop it,” he hissed, slamming his fist down on my bedside table. “If you want to know so badly, fine,” and that was all he said. I glared at him, waiting for him to continue, but instead, he just handed me Lucy and rushed downstairs. I sat in silence, fuming as I looked at Lucy. I thought she looked back at me, but when I blinked, I realized I’d been imagining it. I gripped her just a little tighter as I tried to push the thought away. I looked at the screen of the monitor, hoping to see my daughter’s peaceful face, but it was dark. I turned it off and set it on the nightstand closest to the door, as far from view as possible. I thought about calling for my husband, but I wasn’t ready to talk yet. I was too angry, and the worst part was that I didn’t know why. I couldn’t explain it. I looked at Lucy, and I felt…protective. Like I was defending her from some unseen force. I laid her in bed next to me, making sure that she was on her stomach, and that her face wasn’t covered by the sheets. I checked and double-checked, my hands shaking as I did so. I sat back against the headboard, and cradled her in my arms, trying to calm myself as I stroked her soft hair. “What did you see?” I asked, still fuming. I looked at the monitor, where a shadowy outline of a crib slowly came into view. It was empty. I felt a cold jolt run through my spine. Where was Lucy? Why wasn’t she in her bed? I groggily sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. I’d been asleep, and I must have dreamed all of this. That’s how it felt, like a dream. I could still smell the anesthetic from when Lucy was born. My husband was right. He’d been right all along. I wasn’t ready to hear it. A shadow crept across the screen of the monitor. My husband. I rubbed my eyes, confused. Why was he in the nursery? But he’d said he’d be keeping an eye on her from his office. I heard the sound of shuffling outside the room I was in. I sat up straight, trying to look through the monitor, but it was too small, too grainy. I thought I saw something, a flash of light, but then the feed cut out. The crackle came again, this time louder, and I knew I had to answer. “Hello?” I called out, but my voice was barely above a whisper. “What did you see?” a woman asked from the other end, her voice distorted, like a recording played at the wrong speed. I laughed nervously. “What?” I heard static, and then she spoke again, her voice still distorted. “What did you see?” she asked. “I didn’t see anything,” I replied. I heard a sound like laughter, still distorted. “You saw it,” she said, her voice slow. “Your husband saw it too.” There was more static, and I pulled the monitor closer to my face, squinting to try and make out anything on the screen. “What’s going on?” I asked. “Where’s Lucy?” “She’s exactly where she’s supposed to be,” the woman replied. “Just like your daughter.” “Who is this?” I demanded. “My name is Dr. Emily Taylor. I’m a pediatrician at St. Luke’s Memorial Hospital.” I recognized the name on the birth certificate. “Why are you calling me?” I asked. “I think we need to talk,” she said. “Can—” The monitor’s feed crackled to life. It was my husband’s office, and I could hear him talking to one of our employees. “I’m trying to get a hold of my wife,” he said gently. “Don’t worry about me.” I heard the sound of a throat clearing on the monitor, and then my husband spoke up again. “Yes, she’s seen it. I told her, but she’s in denial.” I gritted my teeth. Why was he talking about me? “What did you see?” Dr. Taylor asked again. “I saw my husband, talking to one of his employees,” I replied. “No,” she said. “What did you see on the monitor?” There was more static, and I could have sworn I heard a child crying. “I saw her crib,” I said. “It was empty.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “You saw it. And if you didn’t, your husband did,” Dr. Taylor said, and the feed went dead. I gripped the monitor in my hand, slamming my fists into the bed in a fit of rage. “Hello?” I screamed at the top of my lungs, tears streaming down my face. “What did we see? What did he see?” I heard footsteps in the hallway. My husband had heard me screaming. I stopped, waiting for him to come in. I knew he’d tell me now. I didn’t care if he was ready or not. I needed to know, and I wasn’t going to let this go anymore. The doorknob turned slowly, and it stopped, as if whoever was on the other side was waiting for my permission to come in. “Hello?” I called out to the monitor again, my voice barely above a whisper. The doorknob turned again, and the door creaked slowly open. “Can anyone hear me?” The door was open just a few inches. I could see the flickering light of the hallway. “Hello?” “Is…is anybody there?” I asked, my voice cracking. The door slowly creaked open, and my husband stood in the entrance, a nervous look on his face. “I think we need to talk.”

I woke up to the sound of my baby monitor crackling to life at 3:06 am. It was dead silence, but somehow I felt like whatever was on the other end was waiting for me to respond.

Comments (6) 7508 👁️