It started as a quiet evening, one that seemed so normal at first. My sister and her newborn baby, Lily, had just moved into a house on the outskirts of town. The place was old, with creaking floors and dusty corners, but it had character—at least, that’s what she said.
One night, I received a call from my sister, her voice shaking, almost whispering, “Something’s not right with Lily.”
I rushed over, finding her pale, trembling as she held the baby. “What’s wrong?” I asked, my heart pounding with worry. Lily looked fine at first glance, but the moment I looked deeper into her eyes—those small, innocent eyes—I felt a chill crawl down my spine. They weren’t just the eyes of a baby anymore.
As the days passed, Lily began changing. She would scream at night, a piercing wail that would echo through the old house. My sister said she heard footsteps around Lily’s crib at odd hours, but every time she went to check, no one was there. The baby started to laugh—an eerie, guttural sound far too deep for a child so young.
Then, one evening, as I was visiting again, I heard it too. The sound of soft shuffling coming from upstairs, near Lily’s room. My sister and I exchanged nervous glances. We knew it wasn’t either of us. Gathering the courage, we crept up the stairs, hearts racing. As we entered the dimly lit nursery, we froze.
Lily wasn’t in her crib.
The window was slightly ajar, and something—or someone—stood in the corner of the room. It was a shadow, dark and distorted, but unmistakably watching us. We both screamed as the figure turned, revealing a grotesque, twisted face that bore a haunting resemblance to Lily. But this…thing was no child.
Suddenly, the baby’s laughter echoed from behind us. We turned to see Lily back in her crib, smiling sweetly, as if nothing had happened. The shadow was gone. But from that day on, my sister swore she would never leave Lily alone in that house again.
We moved her out the next day, but deep down, we both knew…something had followed them. Something that was never meant to leave.