Emma’s daughter was only six months old when the strange sounds began. At first it was faint static—soft, popping whispers through the baby monitor late at night. Then, one evening, she heard humming. Not her baby’s voice, but something older, raspier, like a lullaby sung through cracked lips.
“Shhh,” a voice whispered. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet.”
Emma sprinted to the nursery, heart pounding. The baby slept peacefully. But the humming continued behind her, drifting from the hallway though the monitor was still in her hand.
Then the monitor crackled again, louder this time.
“Hide,” the voice whispered. “Mommy’s coming.”
Emma stepped into the hallway slowly.
Another Emma stepped out of the darkness. Same face. Same pajamas. Same shaking hands. Except her smile stretched far too wide, tugging up toward her ears like something was pulling it from the inside.
The monitor went silent.
The hallway Emma took a step forward.
And the real baby began to scream.
